Part 35

It was midmorning when Michael awoke and he turned his head to the side to check on Maria; she was still out cold and sleeping heavily. Sometime during the night she had moved closer to him and her right arm was draped over his stomach, the side of her face pressed against his ribcage. His first instinct was to push her away because the feelings that washed over him as he looked at her, lying against him so trustingly were unfamiliar and unwanted. But after a few moments he realized she was tensing up in response to the tension in his own body and he forced himself to relax once more.

He had never gone so far as to actually sleep with any woman because it just created too many complications the next morning. He had never even allowed himself to just doze off for a little while after sex, conscious of the way that women might view such an act of vulnerability. This felt different though and he could hear the internal battle being waged over the decision to either accept it or run from it.

Still undecided, he carefully eased out from under her arm, gently settling her against his pillows and tucking the blanket around her curled up form. After searching the covers he located the remote and turned the television off and set the remote on the nightstand before quietly leaving her room.

Dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans with the knees ripped out and an old gray tee shirt he padded barefoot into the kitchen and began the search for food. He couldn't identify half of the things in the refrigerator but whatever the stuff was, Maria managed to turn it into incredibly delicious meals. He finally settled for a bowl of cereal - one of the very few junk food items she let him put in the grocery cart when they went shopping - and a couple slices of toast along with a glass of orange juice.

When he was finished eating he rinsed his dishes and placed them on the rack in the dishwasher, then went back to the bathroom so he could gather up all of the clothes scattered around on the floor. He carried them back through the house and started the washer before dumping them inside along with his clothes. He was just closing the lid on the washer when he suddenly remembered that his motorcycle was still parked in the parking lot at the supermarket.

"Aw, fuck!" He kicked the side of the washer without thinking and then swore again when pain shot through his bare foot. He hopped up and down on his left foot for several seconds before he grabbed onto the washer for balance and leaned over to check his right foot. Bending his leg at the knee he brought his foot up and he rubbed his abused toes, trying to soothe the agonizing pain shooting through them.

As soon as the pain began to ease up he lowered his foot back to the ground and winced when his weight caused his toes to feel like there was too much pressure inside of them. Great, that felt just fuckin' wonderful! He hobbled back to Maria's bedroom and stepped inside, checking on her before closing the blinds tightly to keep the sun out. He leaned over her and debated whether or not he should wake her to let her know he had to run out for a little while. Nah, he thought, he'd just leave her a note and let her sleep. God knew she needed it after last night.

He went to get a piece of paper from the desk and scribbled out a brief note, folding it in half and placing it on the nightstand where she'd see it if she woke up. Once that was done he finished getting ready and went outside to hook the trailer up behind the truck. He ran back in the house to double check all of the locks and to check on her once more before stopping in the kitchen to grab his wallet off of the counter.

She needs to eat. That thought stopped him in his tracks and he scratched his jaw as he glanced between the cabinets and the refrigerator. He had to go to the store anyway, he rationalized. He could just grab a frozen pizza. He was on his way out the door when another thought stopped him cold. You can do better than that; she sure as hell did better than that when you were recovering from that bullet wound.

What was wrong with pizza? he questioned silently. It's not that it's pizza, it's that it's frozen pizza, dumbass! Did she give you soup out of a can? No, she made it herself. "Yeah," he snorted, "I'm gonna make a homemade pizza." He paused on the threshold, prepared to step down into the garage, when it occurred to him that it couldn't be that difficult to make a pizza at home. Right?

He walked back into the kitchen and located the cookbook Maria used, rubbing his right hand over his chin as he thumbed through the pages. He finally located the section he was looking for and flipped through the pages several times over before he found one that sounded good. He scrawled the ingredients down on the notepad she kept on the counter and ripped the page out of the book before shoving it in his pocket and heading out to the truck.

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An hour later Michael was wandering through the aisles of the supermarket, trying to locate the items on his list. He had made quick work of loading the motorcycle on the trailer, relieved that it hadn't come to harm while it had sat unattended for so long.

It had taken less time to do that than it was taking to find a dozen ingredients that they probably already had at the house. But he didn't have the slightest idea where to look for anything except the basics, and Maria would have a fit if he messed up her organizational system.

"You look lost, young man," an elderly woman spoke up next to him as he stood in the aisle where the baking goods were shelved.

Michael glanced at her and shrugged. "You ever made a homemade pizza?" he asked, his eyes scanning over her bent form. She held onto a walker with a little basket attached to the front so that she could pick up a few things on her own.

"Of course." One frail, trembling hand extended in his direction and settled on his arm, patting it in a consoling gesture. "A word to the wise," she offered with a smile. "Don't stress yourself out over a homemade crust."

He frowned and looked down at the ingredients list again. "Well, the recipe said…" He trailed off when she shook her head.

"Trust me, young man, she'll appreciate the effort whether the crust is homemade or not."

"What? No, it's not - "

"Not for someone special?" she interrupted with a smile. "Of course not." She deftly removed the list from his hand and in a large, uneven scrawl, wrote out a couple of words before handing it back to him. "You'll find that over in the frozen food section; it's the best pre-made pizza crust you can buy." She chuckled. "If you're anything like my Earl, your good intentions with this homemade crust will turn her kitchen into a floured nightmare, and this will be much more appreciated."

After the old woman went on her way, her walker rolling and scraping against the floor with every other couple of steps, he looked down at the list again. Okay, well, it didn't seem quite so intimidating if he didn't have to make the crust from scratch. The recipe book had said something about kneading the dough… like he knew what the fuck that meant. This was much better.

He finished picking up everything on the list and hurried back home, running inside to check on Maria before dumping the groceries on the counter and going back out to take care of the vehicles. That finished, he washed up and emptied out the bags, carefully lining everything up on the counter and then checking the items off against the recipe.

He turned to lean against the island, his gaze sweeping over the cabinets as he tried to remember which one contained the baking pans. He always cooked his frozen pizzas on a sheet of tin foil, but the recipe said he needed a pan, so he had to find one. He knew they had one because Maria had been very specific about what she wanted when she had dragged him through a huge store at the mall that only sold kitchen stuff a while back. He didn't see what the big deal was; in his opinion, one pan was as good as the next as long as it did the job it was supposed to do. But, no, apparently there was a world of difference between dark, light, glass, aluminum, Teflon, and whatever other kinds she had gone on about. Admittedly, he hadn't paid much attention to her while she was rambling on about the importance of quality cooking pans. He had spent most of his time leaning on the cart and watching her, wondering if she was as fiery in bed as she was out of it.

He sighed as he pulled himself out of his thoughts and started to rummage through the cabinets in search of the pizza pan. He frowned when he finally located not one, but two pans. What the fuck? The recipe just said pizza pan, it didn't say anything about deep dish or regular. How was he supposed to know which one to use if the fuckin' recipe didn't tell him? He glared at the ingredients scattered across the countertop as if they held the answer he was searching for.

Where was that damned pizza crust at? He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled the freezer door open, grabbing the square box and jerking it out. He scanned over the colorful packaging, searching for any indication of whether or not it was regular or deep dish. Nothing. Fuck. Well, it would be safer to use the deep dish pan then, he decided. At least that way, if it was deep dish it would be contained by the high sides, and if it wasn't… well, it couldn't hurt, right?

"Whatever," he muttered, putting the crust away and retrieving the deep dish pan and setting it on the counter. It was too early to start cooking so he put the refrigerated items away and left the rest on the counter before going back to check on Maria again.

She was awake, but she barely moved when he entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed beside her. He didn't know what he was supposed to say or if he should even say anything at all; he wasn't the kind of man who really talked about stuff like this. He looked down when he felt her shift beside him and his eyes followed her hand when it inched closer to him, clenching and unclenching uncertainly.

He slouched down a little further and turned his hand over next to hers, letting her decide whether to take it or not. He could almost feel the emotions warring inside of her as her fingers twitched uncertainly next to his.

Maria stared at his big hand, her eyes tracing over it as she fought with her conscience. He wasn't her Michael, she knew that with every fiber of her being, so was it wrong to pretend that he was hers just for a few minutes? It couldn't be, right? Her hand moved, closing the distance between them and sliding her fingers through his and her heart clenched in her chest when he closed his hand around hers loosely. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over, running down her cheeks to drip off of her chin when she felt his flesh against hers. It was no use; she couldn't even pretend. Sure, there were plenty of similarities between the two men, but there was just no way to fool her heart into believing that he was her Michael, not even for a short while.

Michael frowned when she pulled her hand free and rolled over to face the wall. He had seen the tears on her face and he could see her body shaking under the covers. Was this some sort of delayed reaction from the night before? he wondered.

"You want me to bring you somethin' to drink?" he asked gruffly.

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Okay." His hand hovered over her trembling shoulder, uncertain as to whether he should touch her or not. He patted her shoulder awkwardly and leaned over her to motion at the cell phone on the nightstand. "I'm gonna work in the shop for a while; just call me if you need anything." He waited until she nodded before he stood up and left the room to go in search of something to occupy his time.

He puttered around in the shop for a while but he couldn't keep his mind focused on anything for very long. Less than an hour passed before he found himself back in her bedroom, but this time he settled in the rocking chair in the corner. She was asleep again, curled up tightly and clutching the covers to her chest.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he studied her ravaged features for several minutes. He stood and retrieved the framed photograph from the nightstand, returning to his seat and slouching down. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles as he stared at the picture in his hand.

What was it with her and his counterpart from that other universe? He chewed on his thumbnail as he tipped his head to the left. He had dismissed their relationship without a second thought but he had witnessed her emotional break the night before and there had been nothing contrived about it. Hell, he had seen women lose lovers and husbands after fifteen or twenty years together who hadn't reacted as strongly as she had reacted to losing a guy she had only been with for four years.

She was trapped here in a reality that wasn't her own, without her friends or her family, because she believed that it was going to help her bring her lover back. It wasn't just a teenage thing, he thought as he stared down at the picture. But, it wasn't just a sexual thing either, though it was obvious that they had been involved to that degree. No, the way the kid held her spoke of something deeper than the raging hormones of a horny eighteen-year-old boy. What he had seen the night before had been complete and utter devastation; for her to suffer such a shattering and emotionally-draining episode there had to be something… more between them. Something that even he in all of his cynicism was beginning to believe might actually be… love.

Fuck! he thought when realization hit him between the eyes with the force of a jackhammer. If this kid, this other version of him, was capable of loving this Maria girl with such depth and intensity… did that mean the same capability existed within him?

Now that was a scary prospect. And one he didn't wish to examine any further. He placed the photograph back on the nightstand and checked to make sure Maria was still asleep before he left to go get dinner started.

In the kitchen he turned the stereo on and turned the volume up a little before he opened the cookbook up to the page he needed and laid it on the counter. He turned the oven on to the indicated temperature and greased the pan before going to get the crust. He tossed the box on the counter before grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator along with all of the ingredients he had put away earlier.

After brushing olive oil on both sides of the crust he put it in the pan and squished it around to stretch it so that it was touching on all sides. Next came the tomato sauce, spread over the crust with just a little more than the recipe called for because it didn't look like enough to him. The barbecue sauce was optional, but he decided to use it since it was good on just about everything anyway. He laid the mozzarella cheese on thick because there was no such thing as too much cheese on a pizza. The same rule applied to onions and since he saw no possibility of kissing Maria in the near future, he piled them on. Bacon was optional and he decided that didn't sound as interesting as the other toppings so he vetoed it. He strained the pineapple chunks, draining as much of the juice as possible before spreading them over the pizza. Next, he added a layer of cubed ham followed by more mozzarella cheese and lastly he doused the whole thing with Tabasco sauce.

Finished putting it all together he stood back and eyed his handiwork, pleased that it actually looked like a pizza. Now all he had to do was put it in the oven, wait twenty minutes, and voila! Dinner would be ready. He paused as he reached for the pan, wondering if he should go make sure Maria was awake before he put it in. Yeah, he should probably do that, he decided.

He washed his hands and dried them on a dishtowel, tossing it on the counter as he walked out of the room. He entered Maria's bedroom and walked around the bed, crouching down and meeting her green gaze directly. "Hey, you're awake," he said in a gentle tone. Was that his voice?! "You feelin' any better?"

Maria watched him as he waited for her to respond, his demeanor undemanding and almost… kind. "A little, I guess," she admitted, her voice still a little hoarse.

"You think you'll feel up to eatin' here in a little while?"

She shook her head. "Don't feel like cooking, sorry."

"No, you ain't gotta cook; I've got it covered. I just didn't wanna put it in the oven until you felt like sittin' up and eatin'."

He didn't wanna put it in the oven, she thought. He must've gone into town and gotten something that he could cook. Well, he had obviously made an effort, so it would be rude to not eat whatever frozen delight he had purchased. "I need to wash up a little first," she said, motioning to her tear-stained face.

Michael nodded. "Half an hour be enough time?" He shrugged. "I can wait if you need more than that."

"No, that's fine."

"Okay, I'll bring it in here when it's ready, and we can watch a movie… your choice."

Maria wiped away fresh tears after he backed out of the room. She wasn't sure if it would be better or worse to deal with him being this nice. She sighed as she threw the covers back and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It was getting harder to ignore him as it was, if he started being nice it was going to make it downright impossible.