Chapter four

He wasn't even sure where he was going. She wasn't either, but she hated doing that to him. It was worse than any cancer diagnosis. He couldn't shake the feeling, especially now, that it was because he wasn't good enough for her. In truth, he always felt that way. He just never had the stones - or a good enough reason - to admit it.

As he slid inside of the cab, hundreds of thoughts began bubbling in his mind. The first was that he had nowhere to go; the second was that he didn't have his wallet to pay cab fare. That was embarrassing. He'd have to go back there, and she probably would have yelled at him for leaving. He quickly got back out, leaving a confused (and rather angry) cab-driver behind. He thought, though, that the man probably had hundreds of stranger stories to tell at the dinner table.

He sulked back home. The rain was steadily pouring. It was strange, considering it hadn't been raining much in a while. It seemed to fall at the most inopportune time. It wasn't even a calming rain, like the kind that you call fall asleep to. It felt like a hundred little pennies being shoved in his face. On top of that, he had to muster the courage to go back inside the house. He wasn't sure what he would find there. Would she be crying? Would she have packed all of his things already? Would she be upset at all? He hoped so; not a malicious way. It just would have shown that she cared. That's really all he wanted.

The door slowly began to open. Her head shot up. No way he'd be back this soon, she thought. He was. "Forgot my wallet-" he muttered out before she was right there. Even when she was sick, she could still walk fast. His mind was a bit blown, but he wasn't saying so. She wasn't letting him leave this time, at least not without an explanation. "We need to talk about this," she said firmly. He was aware of this attitude. It was one she rarely got, but when she did…well, look out. It never ended well. (At least not for whoever it was aimed at.)

"What's there to talk about? You don't want to be with me anymore."

"I still love you."

"Then why do I need to be apart from you?"

"You don't understand…" That did it. He loved her, enough that he'd walk to China and back. He hated the way she did that, though; trying to simplify everything, or make it seem less significant because "he wouldn't understand". His eyes filled with hurt at that moment, and she recognized immediately. Time to take a step back, she thought. "What wouldn't I understand?" he asked calmly, his voice also laced with hurt. She had to be gentle, she knew that.

"I don't want to feeling like you have to take care of me," she admitted, much to her own dismay. It was the truth. She hated asking for help. If there was one thing she'd always learned throughout her life, it was that getting what was rightfully yours, or getting anywhere you wanted to go, meant having to get there yourself. No exceptions. Her statement confused him. They were in love, weren't they? That meant team-work.

"It's not an obligation," he said finally. "I want to do it. I want to see you get better. I don't want you facing this alone." He took a long pause. "And I won't let you," he finally said. As it would turn out, they had the same level of perseverance, and the same idea that if you wanted what was yours, or what you felt like you deserved, then you had to fight for it. He was more than willing to do that for her.

She wrinkled a brow at him. He was charming. Charming, but frustrating. How would he really stand there and suggest that he wasn't going anywhere, when she suggested (demanded) that he did? Was he crazy? "You want to take care of me?" He simply nodded. "You're my fiancé," he added. His demeanor was almost that of Forrest Gump's. Everything had a simple philosophy behind it. There was no reason to get wrapped around things, or to overcomplicate them. It distracted from the main goal; that goal was her.

She folded her arms and sighed. Clearly, he wasn't interested in any type of negotiation. "Go sit down," he finally said. "I bet you're hungry." She blinked a few times. He rarely cooked, mostly because she insisted on doing it so much. She slowly made her way back to the couch, watching him walk away. He was practically oozing with confidence. It was…frustrating, yet oddly attractive. She shook her head. Now was not the time to be thinking about how attractive he was. …Was it?

After several smoke alarms, as well as two bowls of vegetable soup, he finally had it. He secretly wondered why it was so hard to make. After all, it was broth and vegetables. He knew it would help her, though, and that she wouldn't argue its numerous health benefits. Anything to make her happy.

She ate it without a fight. She felt bad; seeing him scramble around the kitchen to turn the smoke detector off, and insisting that she not help must have been embarrassing. The least she could do was eat the soup. Surprisingly, it was actually good. He fed her a few bites. "You don't have to do that," she said, trying to take the spoon away. He shook his head. "Want to," he said simply. She watched him carefully as he fed her. Was he up to something? Was he going to leave anyway? She didn't want him to, of course. She wanted to give the illusion that she didn't need him.

He chuckled. "Why are you staring at me like that?" he teased. "You only do that when I have something on my face, or when you're in the mood." She playfully pushed him. "Well, you do have something, right there," she said, wiping his dimple with her thumb. Their eyes locked, time-traveling all the way back to their first kiss. They were sitting at just the right distance. All they needed was the execution. He licked over his lips. "Remember that time we-" His question was interrupted by her lips, half-crashing into his.

His eyes widened, then closed; his eyebrows raised, then lowered. She wasn't usually quite so spontaneous. He was pretty sure that she had her routine for the day timed to the second. The thought scared as well as amused him, mostly because he thought she did for him, too. He leaned forward for a moment, reciprocating before he carefully wrapped his arms around her, minding her back.

Soup didn't seem like such a big deal now.