March 1982 – Fairfield, CT

The familiar weight of a hand on her hip in the night surprised Angela. There was always an adjustment period when Michael returned, but the transition this time only had capacity to jar. She jolted a bit.

"Angela, I'm sorry," Michael whispered. He didn't get any closer, but kept his hand where it was.

Even in the groggy darkness, Angela felt herself drowning in humiliation, and she rolled her face into the pillow. I can't believe he thought of me like that. She'd felt so lonely during that time, and him saying what he did felt like he thought she deserved it.

"I didn't mean that. Really, I didn't. I was just in the moment of the conversation, and that came out. I don't know why."

Angela didn't move, but she wanted so much to believe him - a thousand times more than she'd wanted the ice cream - and she didn't notice her grip on the pillow relaxing.

Michael slowly rubbed his hand up the curve of her hip. "I made it sound like I don't think you're attractive." Angela now squeezed the pillow so tightly she felt her nails through the fluff. Michael let out a soft chuckle, "If there's one thing I know to be true," his fingers trailed the back of her arm. "it's that that's not it." His hand lightly surrounded her clenched fist. "I've never not been attracted to you."

The forever comforting anesthetic of his contrition now felt like it bore annihilation. Angela bolted upright, and he started.

"What about from behind?" she said louder than she expected.

The dim hallway light through their semi-open door lit only the most prominent features of his face, but she could see he was confused.

"What?"

Angela's grieving voice was granted the witness of tears. "Before you left…why did you want to turn the light off?"

She could tell Michael was thinking, and found herself appreciating not getting the knee-jerk answer of someone trying to win an argument.

"Turn the light off…" he mumbled to himself, looking to the side. Despite her invitation for conflict, his answer came out quiet. "What?"

She caught his gentleness, and took a breath before she answered in kind. "When we were having sex before you left, I backed up to the end of the bed…and you wanted to turn the light off." The stress of her voice culminated in a squeak. "You sounded disgusted."

His eyes widened in clarity. "Oh, my goodness – honey." He paused for a few seconds as he reached up to interrupt her stream of tears. "I- I don't know why I said that… It was a long time ago… But, if you were backing up to me-" he let out a self-deprecating laugh, "I would not be disgusted…" He shook his head as he glanced down her body, then back up to her eyes. "There's just no way."

Angela exhaled one massive sob, and fell against his chest. The grip her taxed dignity had had on the pillow transferred to his arm, and she was allowed an ironic but overwhelming sense of release. Michael rolled all the way onto his back, and she tucked her head, crying into his t-shirt. He placed his open palm on her back and held her securely to him. They didn't speak, but the air was clearer than it had been in a long time. Angela started to breathe deeply, letting herself be soothed.

After a couple of minutes, Michael said, "Shit. All this time, you've been thinking about that? No wonder you've been bitchy."

Angela's hand stopped its slow run down his bicep, and moved up over her head to cover his mouth. She didn't change her position on his chest, but answered dryly, "You know, Michael, this is kind of a sweet moment, and it'd be really nice if it could stay that way."

She felt him laugh a little under her ear, as he patted her back. "You're right. No more truth for now."

She pushed herself up so that he could see her playful, half-lidded stare. "You got something to say, George Washington?"

Michael tilted his head, and shrugged comically, "Not really…I was just wondering why you wore that dress today if you were so pissed." Angela stopped breathing, and she felt her face get hot. He stuck his index finger in the air, smiling, and continued with aggravating precision. "And furthermore, why did you kiss me like that?"

Her nose crinkled, and she climbed up onto him with a wide grin. "Oh, shut up," she said right before she convinced him to stop laughing.


Jonathan ran into the kitchen in his pajamas, and climbed into his chair. He took an eager, but careful sip of the orange juice Angela had poured him. "Where were you yesterday, Mommy?"

"Uh, I was sleepy, honey. So, daddy came to get you." Angela ran her hand over her son's hair on her way to put the juice container back in the fridge. She sat down across from Michael at the table.

"Oh…did you get good sleeps?" Jonathan said with Crunchy Crawler milk dripping from his chin.

Angela smirked at Michael over the rim of her coffee mug, "No. No, not really."

Michael chuckled and lightly clinked his mug with hers. "Here's to not getting 'good sleeps'."

Jonathan joined the toast, "Not good sleeps!" He laughed, delighted to be in on their joke.

Angela and Michael laughed.

Michael looked to Angela. "Hey, so, I was so busy enjoying not sleeping that I forgot to tell you something. It looks like we're up for a Platino for the condor film in Peru – Best Documentary!"

Angela's face lit up. "That's wonderful, honey!"

"Yeah! The awards ceremony is in Panama City next week. The Institute is flying us down!" he said through a giant smile.

Angela's eyes shot up to his halfway through her sip of orange juice. She drew her glass away from her lips, trying not to spill. "Next week?"

Michael nodded excitedly, "Yeah, Talbot called us on location and let us know." He glanced hesitantly at Jonathan before returning his attention to her. "It wasn't really a good time to talk then, but I've been on cloud 9 ever since!"

"Yeah, yeah, I can see why...and when you say 'us', you mean…?"

"You and me! Everyone on the team was given a plus one."

Angela froze, not wanting to tip the boat already.

"Can I go, too, Daddy?" Angela was grateful Jonathan bought her a few seconds, even if she was already hurt for what she knew was coming for her son.

Michael ruffled Jonathan's hair, "Sorry, Little Tiger. This is a grown up thing. But I'm sure Grandma would love to have you stay with her while we're gone!"

Jonathan dropped his head, and his bottom lip pooched out.

Michael's face softened, and he gently rubbed Jonathan's shoulder. "We won't be gone long, son. It's not a big trip."

"You always say that," Jonathan said quietly.

Michael sighed. "You're right. But this one really isn't long." He looked up to Angela, who was still staring at him blankly. "I was thinking, maybe four or five days? There's leeway with the return date. But if we're flying down to Panama- might as well make it worth the trip, right?"

"Right…" Angela said softly. "…Well, we better get going! Can't be late for work." She got up, downed her juice, and put her glass in the sink. "Jonathan, hurry up and eat your cereal. You've got to get ready for school. Don't forget your new book for show-and-tell," she rattled off as her coffee mug led her through the swinging door.

Michael watched her harried exit, and then blinked absently at Jonathan. "You heard your mother. Go get dressed," he said quietly. Scooting his chair back, Michael got up and followed his wife upstairs.

Michael opened the door to their room as Angela was scootching her pantyhose over her toes. "You okay?" he said, shutting the door behind him.

Angela glanced over her shoulder at him before returning her attention to the fragile material. "Uh, yeah. I'm just, uh, I need to talk to Paxton about taking next week off."

"Angela, this is a really big deal."

His penchant for negating her responsibilities at work tightened everything inside of her. "It's also last minute," she pointed out as she stood from the bed and pulled up her hose.

The air in the room started to ice over, and Michael answered stiffly. "They only told us a couple weeks ago, and the two of us haven't been really talking... Not to mention, I thought you'd consider it good news…" He paced the room while she buttoned her blouse.

Sighing, he walked over to her. He brought his hand to her arm, and spoke quietly. "This is important. To me."

Angela stopped getting dressed and looked up at him. Wow. He just let me in a little. Angela's heart warmed, and she touched his cheek. "I know, and that means it's important to me… We just have a lot going on at the office, and I can't say yes or no, yet. But I'm really," he looked down dejectedly, "really," she caught his eye a little, "going to try… I don't know if I can take off four or five days at the drop of a hat-" his head went back down sharply in irritation, and she shrugged. "I have to see. I want to be there for you." She put her hands on his shoulders, "Michael." He looked up at her, piqued. "I'm so proud of you... You're right; this is a really big deal. You kind of sprung this on me, and I'm still collecting my thoughts. But I'm going to do everything I can to be there." She stretched on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Try to have faith in me, okay?"

Michael said nothing, but backed away to take a shower.


Paxton stared at Angela in disbelief. "You want to take off when?"

She kept her face serious, "The 8th through the 12th. I know it's really late notice, but-"

"Angela. You know what we have lined up." He looked down at the planning calendar covering his desk, and pointed at next week. "Look – amidst everything else, two of our biggest clients are flying in. And those sessions always produce follow-up calls. I need you here!"

Her level countenance wavered. "Mr. Paxton, I have to go. My husband is getting an international award. I just found out this morning-"

"They gave him a week's notice to plan an international trip?" he said skeptically.

"No, see, I just didn't know he had the trip until this morning." …Great. Healthy communication would've brought something this big to light weeks ago. And now I've invited my boss into my marriage problems…

A few beats went by as Paxton eyed her silently. Angela felt increasingly uncomfortable with how much she'd revealed. She may have been oversensitive, but her marriage was a constant source of embarrassment to her. She'd hated when Anna found out, and had hoped desperately that no gossip had ensued. But she really didn't want Paxton to get wind of it. The threat of unprofessionalism viciously haunted every woman working outside the home; she was always trying to prove herself. It was bad enough with him being her boss, but, truthfully, him being an attractive man…made it worse.

She felt the need to explain, "He's been out of the country for months, and communication is always difficult in these circumstan-" Paxton shook his head in irritation. "But that's neither here nor there…" she drifted off weakly.

Paxton redirected, "You scheduled the last of these two meetings."

"I know, and I wouldn't have made it for then, if I'd known…"

He wiped his hand in the air. "Look, Angela. You're right, it really doesn't matter what you should've done when. The schedule stands. You make this work. If you aren't here, you make sure there's someone to run the meetings. You make sure you're communicating with the clients - before, during, and after."

Angela gave a crisp nod. "It'll happen."

He stared at her enigmatically for a couple of seconds. "I know," he said seriously.


Michael came into Angela's office that afternoon with flowers. "Hey, Sheila. Can you please tell my wife I'm here?"

"Yes, Mr. Bower," Sheila smiled professionally, and buzzed Angela's office.

Michael walked around as he waited, staring at the agency's various awards displayed on the walls. Angela walked into the lobby quickly, and came up to her husband smiling. "Hi, honey." She gave him a kiss. "What are you doing here?"

He brought the flowers up to her line of vision, and smiled slightly. "Can we talk?"

"Oh, Michael, they're beautiful!" She took the bouquet, and leaned down to smell them. "Mmm…" She looked up at him, tilted her head, and smiled. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Come on," she said nodding toward her office. He smiled at her, and held out his hand. She took it, and led him back.

They rounded the corner near her office, and ran into Paxton.

"Mr. Paxton," Angela tried to smile widely. "You remember my husband, Michael." Michael gave a perfunctory smile.

Expressionless, Paxton looked from Michael, to the flowers, then to Angela. He held her gaze for a second or two, then turned to Michael.

"Michael," he nodded coolly, then continued walking down the hall.

Angela's eyes widened as she pulled Michael into her office, who was twisting his neck backward to watch Paxton walk away.

"What the hell's his problem?"

Angela shut the door quickly, shushing Michael in her mind, knowing it wouldn't do any good out in the open. She shrugged. "He wasn't very happy about me leaving to go to your thing next week."

"He's got a lot of nerve! You're my wife!"

"I think he's just irritated about having to scrounge around at the last minute to make all of our client meetings work and everything." She paused and amended, "Well, actually, I'm going to be doing that, but-"

"You think? What else would he be pissy about?"

"Well, me orchestrating everything remotely doesn't make us look very professional. But he didn't say, and I'm not pushing it."

"Professional? What he just did to me wasn't professional! What an ass!"

"Michael, please." She lowered her voice to a forceful whisper, "That ass is my boss!"

Michael stewed silently for a few moments. "Wait. What do you mean, 'orchestrating remotely'?"

Angela looked down. I just can't win… She looked up to Michael, "We have two different clients flying in from out of town during the time I'll be gone. The meetings are highly involved. I have to be available to answer questions, and-"

"You're going to be working while we're in Panama?"

"Some of the time, yes."

Michael threw his hands up, and looked aimlessly in the air, "Shit."

Angela slumped a resigned shrug, "Michael, I'm trying my best."

Michael was quiet for several seconds. Finally, he shook his head to himself. "I just wish you'd care more about what I think than what he thinks."

Angela raised her brows to volley back his reasoning, "Michael, it's not that simple."

He kept his gaze straight, in pointed challenge, "It could be."


A/N: Angela's insistent plea, "That ass is my boss!", is my take on a very similar line and situation from the pilot. IYKYK (and you probably do). :) So, that's not mine.

Also, please excuse my *shameful* disregard for the timing of the Platino Awards. I am aware this is 30+ years premature. I'm sorry. And, upon further reflection, this didn't even make sense. It was shot in Peru, but the submitting company was American, and therefore ineligible. Please let this go, and I will try to, as well. xD

Also, I forgot to put this on an A/N a couple chapters ago, but a BIG thanks to markaleen for helping me sort out when Mona would've gone back to college. This timeline can be a headache, and I really appreciate the help!