April 1983 – The Waldorf Astoria Hotel, NYC

Angela's closed eyes opened in surprise. Regaining her composure, she stumbled out, "N- Now?"

Michael looked seriously into her eyes, and said, "Yes, now. We fight all the time." He placed a gentle kiss to her lips. "We never seem to remember how much we love each other unless we're having sex. But I need you to remember. Please hear me out."

Angela twisted him off of her a little. "Michael, you're scaring me."

He shook his head quickly. "No, that's why I'm doing this like this. I'm not trying to incapacitate you. I need you to trust me." He looked at her confused face, then leaned down to kiss her mouth again. He did it thoroughly, his tongue reaching far into her mouth and sweeping every surface on the retreat. He fringed it with a soft press to her lips. It all felt so sincere, Angela gave him some lead. I owe him that much.

She caught her breath, and looked nervously up at him above her. "Okay," she said, but her whole body was tight.

Michael gave Angela a genuine smile, and then moved off to the side of her. Her calves hung off the bed as he reached down to stroke her through her nylons. He rested his head in his other hand, and her eyes shut.

"Angela, I want you to be with me."

Her eyes opened and she frowned, still trying to get used to this bizarre breed of multitasking. She had to dip her hips into the mattress to speak. "I want that, too," she rasped, looking him in the eye.

He smiled, looking playfully amused by his abilities. Then his eyes turned more serious and tender as he continued to touch her. She closed her eyes again, and relaxed as best as she could. But the friction from his warm fingers and palm through the netting made her twist and arch.

"Damn, woman," he breathed. "I've missed you."

Her eyes still shut, Angela nodded in distinct agreement, and brought her opposite hand over to massage his hair.

"Angela, when I was in the field," Michael began, and Angela's whole body froze.

Oh, fuck! The conjured images of her husband doing this to another woman nearly suffocated her, and she slapped her hands over her face.

"…Talbot called me," he continued, frowning.

Michael stopped what he was doing, and gently peeled her hands away from her face. Pausing a second, he resumed his work and leaned in to mouth and suck on the nipple nearest him.

Angela slowly relaxed, and Michael moved to kiss her mouth again. He stopped his caress, and brought his thumb into her nylons so he could pull them down. While making a concerted effort to continue breathing, Angela tried to help him get them off. She was still just taking in everything.

Michael climbed on top of her, and rested between her legs. Angela had to blink a few times to refocus, and even then, she was struggling. It felt so good to have him this close. She reached around him to undo his cummerbund.

"Anyway, we aren't going to be editing the leopard shoot."

Angela tried not to scrunch her face. This is really awkward. She decided to close her eyes, and just enjoy the feel of Michael's body against hers. He seemed to want to run the show.

"No?" she breathed, attempting to help unbuckle his pants.

"No. The Institute will take care of that. But they picked our team to work with a group of scientists." He worked off his pants and socks, and resettled.

Angela pushed against him, inviting. "That sounds exciting," she said, just to say anything while she tried to focus on the decadent burn. She opened her eyes and unbuttoned more of his shirt. Going as far as she could, she nodded for him to help her with the rest. He obliged, and then pulled of his t-shirt.

Angela took a reassured breath. This was weird, no doubt about it. But if her husband wasn't confessing to an affair, and his near-naked body was warm up against hers, she could still recharge.

"It is," he said seriously, leaning down to alternately kiss and grip her breasts. Angela sighed contentedly, closing her eyes. She slid her hands along his hips inside his boxers. "Their goal is to communicate with gorillas, and they want us to film it."

Angela stopped moving.

Gorillas

She opened her eyes, "Africa?"

Michael nodded, and scootched down her panties. Angela helped him slide off his underwear, too, and in a hurry akin to slugging back a shot of her beloved dancing juice, she pulled him into her before she could fear any more.

They both took several seconds to melt into each other. Angela breathed deeply and clenched around him, in full appreciation of the way filled her and the closeness it implied. Michael moved them higher up on the bed. When he started to glide in and out of her, her continued his explanation.

"It's six months."

Angela held onto his back, and tried not to dig in her nails. Michael entered her over and over again. He was so deep, she closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn't say anything else for a bit. She just wanted to enjoy him, and nothing else he could say at this point was going to make that any easier.

Michael seemed to take her cue, and focused on pleasing her. Angela ringed her thumb and finger between them, trying to make it nicer for him and really just enjoying feeling them herself. She'd missed everything about this. He was right about one thing. It was a lot easier to remember how much he loved her when he was being so selfless.

The safety Angela had always felt with Michael's heaviness on top of her, now comforted her in spades. His solid hits jarred her pleasantly into the mattress, and she let go and started to groan.

Michael adjusted so he could rub them together more strategically. He kept his speed and strength as level as he could while leaning down to her ear, "Come with me," he whispered.

Angela had almost forgotten their conversation. She was right at the edge, and didn't want to remember anything. "I can't," she mumbled somewhat coherently.

Relaxing herself as best as she could, she let Michael continue to work her. And he did. Fast, strong, and wet, he slid over her again and again. "Yes, you can," he said determined. "Just leave it. Come. Be with me!" Just as she was going to tip, he begged her again. "Angela. Please!"

She yelled out in frustration as much as physical release.

Gasping and sweaty, Michael stayed inside of her. She caught her breath, and smoothed some damp hair off of his forehead.

Angela kissed him. "Thank you, Michael," she said softly. She was exasperated and confused, but there was no arguing how grateful she was to be here with him. He took very good care of her in bed, and she'd never deny it. This was the one place she didn't feel alone with him.

"I've really missed you," she said, running her hands down his back to grab his butt. He started making slow strokes, and she pulled his butt into her, lifting to meet him.

"I've missed you, too. Too much." His thrusts got faster and harder. "I can't do this anymore, Angela." He exhaled. "I need you with me. Not with him."

And then Angela realized what this was all about.

"You want me to choose?" she said, her voice wavering as much from emotion as from the hits. She stopped meeting him and just braced herself.

"I want you to choose me!" Michael pleaded into her eyes. He slammed into her, desperately hard, but his face looked even wearier than that. "Please, baby."

Angela like the roughness. It didn't feel malicious at all. The way he was doing it felt sincere and satisfying, and he'd certainly gotten her wet enough for it. But she was increasingly distraught about his agenda, and his honest passion confused her. She thought she saw him almost cry when he made his final push, "Please choose us." He growled in release, and collapsed on top of her.

Angela stared up at the ceiling. She didn't think she'd ever felt him that deep, that intense, but he felt so far away. Sadness was already rushing in. She couldn't believe it. She missed him so much. And even now, having him, there was barrier between them, and she couldn't get closer. They both lied there, recovering physically, if nothing else.

After a minute, Michael placed his face at Angela's throat and kissed it reverently. "Thank you, baby," he mumbled into her skin.

Pushing himself up, Michael pulled out. "I know that was weir-" He looked down, and saw tears spilling off the corners of her eyes.

Michael didn't say anything for a couple of seconds. He moved his hip to the side of hers, and hesitantly wiped her tears.

She didn't know what to say, but she felt devastated. Even in all this, he's missing it. He gets me so well as his lover, but as a fellow human being, he's clueless.

Michael searched her eyes for a long time. After a bit, the sadness and desperation each of them saw in the other's eyes started to match their own.

Michael's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Angela replied similarly.

He dropped his head to her chest, and she closed her eyes in pain. Why is it always like this?

He shook his head, "Really?" He brought his head up. "You'd really choose your job over me? Over our marriage? Over our family?"

"Michael, I don't understand. Why do I need to?"

"Because I can't take it anymore! You're with him all day long, and don't see me for months! I was scared to death to ask you this! I know how much you care about working. But deep down, I thought you cared about me more!"

Angela shook her head, trying to come up with words that wouldn't rip them further apart. She ran her hand lovingly through his hair. "Michael, I'm not 'with' Paxton. I never have been. I'm with you, and that's where I want to stay."

She could see his hurt hardening his face. Taking a cue from him, she pulled on his shoulder. "Come here. Please?" Michael hesitated a second, but climbed back up and laid the length of her. She held firmly onto his back, under his arms.

"Michael, listen to me." Angela looked intently into his eyes. "If something were in my power to give you, I'd give it gladly. I'm so sorry you don't already know that. But this isn't mine to give. My creativity, my purpose, what lights me up – if I willfully give that up for a miscommunication…" At his glare, she explained, "Yes, a miscommunication. I think you think this is about Paxton, about me choosing other men over you. But it's not. You can't have eyes on me all the time, and I can't quit every job where there are good-looking men. And neither could you."

"Gotta be honest, Angela: that doesn't really phase me," he said dryly, still unwilling to thaw.

Angela couldn't help but smile. She smacked his butt. "You know what I mean. What if the Institute hired a beautiful woman – would you quit? That's ridiculous. And honestly, it would be way more disconcerting than you staying. But regardless, my job fulfills me in a way that has nothing to do with you. It's an outlet. It feels like what I'm meant to do."

"Well, I thought you were meant to be with me," he said, expressionless.

She was so afraid. Tears covered her eyes, and her heart started to slam into his. Maybe it can reach him when I can't.

Michael's face softened. Sighing, he leaned his head down to kiss her softly. Barely brushing her lips, he whispered, "I never could stand to see you cry."

He kissed her again, soft but serious. She kissed him back, pleading in this alternate language they had. He ran his hand over her hair and down her face. He put his forehead back on hers. Squeezing his eyes shut, he whispered, "Please come with me. Let me take care of you."

Michael's attempts to stop her from crying were failing. Angela kissed him back as genuinely as she could, holding his back tight to her. He shifted their weight slightly, so his right hand could run down her arm to the small of her back. He held her there closely. She loved how he touched her; she felt so seen and understood. Then they'd speak in their given languages, which, despite the label, were clearly not the same.

Angela squeaked, "I can't! Even if I didn't have a job, I can't live in a tent for six months - with a kindergartener!"

"It sounds worse than it is. I can make it more comfortab-"

"It's not me!" she cried, kissing him again, deeply. "Please, Michael," she began, speaking and breathing desperately. "Please don't ask me this. I will do whatever I can to show you you're important to me, to show you you're the only man I want."

He looked into her eyes, and spoke seriously. "But this is what I want. I can't do what we've been doing. Not at this point. I do want you." He watched his fingers trace her face, then looked back in her eyes. "Damn it, I want you bad… But you working for other men – I can't do it."

Angela looked at him with soul-crushing sadness. A quiet, but honest question emerged, "What do you think I'm doing there, Michael?"

He did cry then; huge, wracking sobs. He rolled back on top of her, so he could hide his face behind her ear. Horrified, Angela waited. She hugged his grieving body tightly, and burrowed her face in his shoulder.

After half a minute, Angela preempted him softly. "Michael. I'm not-"

He pushed himself up quickly, tears still running down his face. "You're a fucking whore! Don't you get it?"

Too stunned to speak, Angela just stared up at him.

"He pays you a fortune to keep you in reach! You've deluded yourself into thinking you're taken seriously there, but I've seen the way he looks at you. And he does it a lot. When you bend over, when you toss your hair, when you skip down the fucking hallway! He's watching you. I've seen it. Anybody else could do what you do, Vanna, but he wants you. So, he's biding his time. And in the meantime, he's just enjoying the show!"

A little more coherent now, Angela pushed herself to sitting, and scooted back from him. Blinking, she stumbled out, "What did you call me?"

Michael pushed himself up onto his knees, and wiped furiously at his eyes. "You get paid to get him off. What would you call it?"

All this time. That's what he's thought of me…

It took everything in her not to kick him in the face. She was shaking, and in that moment, she let her rage murder her hurt.

She started speaking slowly, just to steady the ponies. "I have six years of Ivy League education to qualify me for this job. I was personally hired by one of the founding partners at my old agency, and then, despite being only a year out of graduate school, he handpicked me to take over as a vice president in his stead. I've earned millions of dollars for Wallace & McQuade, spearheading scores of accounts over the years. I have fantastic relationships with all of our clients. And if I lap your income entirely, it's not because my ass looks better in a skirt!"

Michael glared at her. "It's like you don't even hear yourself! 'An old man, who normally doesn't do his own HR work, hired me personally.'" He giggled like a giddy teenage girl, "'What luck, right? Then, he chose me, a twenty-something Barbie doll, over all his other proven employees, to lead everybody at an even bigger company.'" Michael batted his eyes obnoxiously. "'I have great relationships with everybody who hires me.'" He tried to squish his pects together, as he bounced up and down on his heels. "'And I make us all so. much. money!'"

Angela looked at him in bewilderment. She couldn't even formulate distinct thoughts. She was just surrounded by shock, hurt, and confusion.

Michael plowed ahead. "Let me ask you something, Angela. Think back. All that stuff you're seemingly so proud of, which do you think your boss cares about more? That? Or the way you pop open your top collar button when you're stressed?"

Her disbelieving stare narrowed into a steel mask. I hope he's just insane.

With a valiant indignance, Angela kept her gravelly voice from breaking. "Michael, I have no idea what goes on in my boss' mind, and that's not my responsibility. But I am absolutely certain he is not the one who most needs to broaden his view of me. Have fun playing in the woods."

Getting off the bed, Angela went to take a shower.