Part 1

Michael stared across the counter at the girl as she filled his coffee cup. As usual, she avoided his eyes. She avoided everyone's eyes. When she was finished, she turned away and returned the pot without a word, then moved around the counter to check on the people in the booths.

Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill and tossed it on the counter. He knew what the tab was without waiting for her to give him the check. Actually, she never gave him a check for anything anymore. Breakfast - four slices of toast, quarter cut of cantaloupe, three eggs 'sunny side' up, four sausage links, one cup of coffee - $4.75. Usually he left the exact amount, but he didn't have any quarters, and he didn't want to sit around and wait for her to make change. He never tipped her.

Spinning on the stool, he put his feet on the floor and started toward the door. He had his hand on the knob when he felt something pelt his shoulder. Before he had a chance to turn around, he heard the clang of a coin on the floor. The quarter rolled to a stop a few inches from the heel of his boot, so he stooped and grabbed it. Trying not to smile, he stepped out of the diner and walked around the corner to get his car.

***

She watched through the front window as he roared past in his brand new SUV. Bastard.

"Mrya," the cook barked behind her.

How was it that he turned her name into a one syllable word?

Sighing, she turned and picked up the two plates of pancakes to be delivered to the second booth. Murray's Diner. She was the only waitress in the whole place - not that it was big - five booths, five tables, eight stools. One Maria. Thank goodness mornings were never busy.

After she dumped the plates off in front of the customers, she walked behind the counter to clean up after him. Craning her neck to the side until it popped, she glanced up at the ancient clock above the door, 8:15 a.m., wonderful - only thirteen more hours to go.

***

He handed the valet a ten along with his keys. The kid flashed a knowing smile as he climbed in the driver's seat.

"Punk," Michael muttered under his breath as he walked through the front door of the restaurant.

He didn't have to say a word, they knew him.

"Right this way, Mr. Guerin."

She was at her favorite table by the window. It was probably her favorite because the sun hit her perfectly there, shining on her flowing blonde hair. A smile slid smoothly across her face, but didn't touch her eyes. Her perfectly manicured hand slid across the white tablecloth, inviting a touch from his own. He stared at it as he sat down across from her.

"Michael," her voice was smooth, almost a purr.

"Iz."

The hand that was stretched toward him was slowly retracted, but in such a fashion that it looked completely natural. No one would have guessed what had really taken place.

A waiter was standing beside him, waiting for an order. Ignoring the menu, he looked up at the man, "I'll take a cheeseburger."

He enjoyed her slight intake of breath, the small frown that settled briefly over her beautiful features. There were no 'cheeseburgers' on the menu here, and he knew it.

The waiter had been trained to accommodate, however, and merely smiled and nodded, moving away. More than likely they would have to send a busboy down the street to buy hamburger buns.

"Do you have to do that?" she asked him, with a polite smile.

He shrugged. She needed to know that he wasn't her trained monkey anymore.

"How's New York?" he asked, leaning his chair back on two legs. This should get a reaction out of her.

"Lovely," she said softly, glaring at him.

Michael could almost hear her mind working, 'I taught him better than that', as if she had been his mother and not his lover.

"What do you want?" he wished he could have met her eyes when he asked the question, but he didn't want to risk her seeing past his false bravado.

"I miss you," she raised her eyebrows as though daring him to contradict her.

"I'll bet," he curled his lips into a wry smile, looking out the window.

"Things shouldn't be like this between us. We had too much for this to be all that's left," her voice was soft, and he knew she was being sincere. It was the strange thing about her. She'd be the cool ice princess, and then she'd show a little soft side. Isabel gave 'peaks' of vulnerability the way other girls would give a guy a peak of cleavage.

This would be so much easier if he could hate her.

"I don't want to be your friend," he said still staring out the window. They'd had this conversation before. There wasn't any reason to have it again.

"I know," her tone was resigned.

For a few moments they sat in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable. They'd known each other for too long. He wished there had been a clean break, but there hadn't. The last two years had been hell. If only he'd had the guts to walk away and never look back after he found her that night. Instead, they'd slowly pulled apart. She'd moved across the country a year ago, but they were still in touch, still having little meetings like this one.

Salads were placed in front of each of them, and their eyes met.

"I'm moving back," she said slowly.

"Oh?" he was genuinely surprised.

"Yes. I'm getting married."

"Oh…" he didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected that. Don't crack, Guerin…

"He's in software. I think you'd really like him," she glanced down at her plate and actually blushed. No, it was more of a flush. He couldn't help but stare. She looked happy.

A million questions buzzed through his mind. Who was he? Where did she meet him? How long had she known him? What made this guy the 'one'?

In lieu of those questions, he threw his napkin on the table, and angrily asked, "Is that why you brought me here? To tell me that?"

She slid her hand across the table again toward him, her eyes pleading for understanding, "Yes. I wanted to tell you in person."

Without another word he was on his feet and on his way out the door. Somehow she'd done it again, she'd managed to hurt him. Let her pay for lunch. Just like the good old days.

***

"Do you want fries with that?" Maria smiled at the little girl.

"Yes, please," the girl smiled in return.

Winking at the girl's mother, she turned to give the order to the cook.

Her feet were killing her, and she wanted a shower more than anything. It was 7:00. Only two hours to go.

She tried to remember when she didn't measure the passage of time like that. A countdown. At work, it was a countdown to going home, and at home it was a countdown to going back to work. Her life was depressing as hell.

The diner was packed as usual for dinner, and she and Liz buzzed around filling orders. She'd bitch about the fact that there were only two waitresses, but if there were more she'd lose out on all of the extra tips she needed. And, of course, it was good to be busy, time passes quickly when you're working your ass off.

The dinner rush was over by 8:30 when the bell above the door sounded announcing a new customer. She didn't have to look up from wiping off the counter to know it was him. He had a presence.

Sighing, she moved to stand in front of him. He always sat at her section of the counter. Even when she would switch with the other waitress on duty, somehow he knew and would move to where she was. She'd given up trying to avoid him.

Grabbing silverware from below the counter she set it out in front of him and moved to get his Cherry Coke. He didn't even acknowledge her, just stared around the room at his fellow customers. She slammed the glass down in front of him, and pulled out her order pad, tapping it with her pen as she tried to remember what day it was.

Uh…Let's see…Wednesday, chicken fried steak.

Just as she started to write, he shook his head at her, smirking, "Actually, I want a cheeseburger."

She shrugged and started scribbling on the order pad, making out his usual cheeseburger order: well done, no mayo, fresh tomatoes. That was the first time in over a year he hadn't ordered his 'usual' for a particular day. Not that he ate every meal there. It's just that when he did, he had a routine.

Liz smiled at her as she handed an order in, "Aren't you about done for the day?"

Maria nodded, "Yup, half an hour."

Liz patted her cheeks and grinned, "You look sleepy, why don't you take off? I've got things under control."

Maria smiled, "Nah. Don't wanna' miss out on the last few dollars of the hour. Besides, I might luck out and get another big tip from 'Mr. Happy' over there," she jerked her thumb toward the man at the end of the counter, "Did I tell you he left me a whole quarter this morning?"

Liz laughed, "It's your own fault, Maria."

"Yeah, whatever," Maria winked at her and moved to refill the salt shakers.

It wasn't really her fault. Her first day working, he had come in, and she'd accidentally spilled coffee in his lap. Of course he'd been a huge jerk about it. Glaring at her when she apologized, and jerking the towel out of her hand when she'd tried to mop the hot liquid out of his lap. She'd tried to joke with him, to lighten the mood, "Hey, at least you don't have to tip me." He'd smirked at her as if that were already a given, and finished cleaning himself up. That day (and every time she'd seen him since), he left no tip. He knew what everything cost, and what his bill would be, so he always had exact change.

Now that she thought about it, the tip from earlier and the change of his dinner order were extremely unusual. She studied him from a few feet away, maybe he was ill or something. Not that she cared. He was a jackass. Kind of a hot jackass, but still a jackass.

She tried to keep herself busy, so that the time would move faster, but it seemed like an eternity before it was finally 9:00. Right on the dot, she headed into the back room for her coat and purse. Liz was standing in the kitchen.

"Hey, could you handle 'Mr. No-Tip' for me? I'm off," she said quickly.

"Sure," Liz smiled and waved, then blushed slightly, "tell Kyle 'hi' for me."

Maria smiled over her shoulder and walked out into the diner. She and Liz had become good friends over the last few months, and she knew her friend had a little crush on Kyle.

She passed behind him on her way out the door, and she was surprised when he stood and followed her. It was kind of creepy, so she paused just outside the door to make a show of zipping up her coat. He seemed not to notice her as he walked straight out the door and across the street. She knew he lived in that building, occasionally he would place an order by phone and someone would have to deliver to him. Not her though, she'd put her foot down the first time someone mentioned it.

She watched as he walked in the door of the four story, then started to walk home. His expensive vehicle was parked just down the street, and as always she had to resist the temptation to take out her keys and run them down the side of it. All of that money, and the bastard couldn't even tip her. It wouldn't be such a big deal if it weren't for the fact that he ate there nearly every day. Tips from him would make a big difference. She thought about how much money she'd missed out on in the last eighteen months. Mind boggling. For a moment, she almost laughed out loud. Never in her life did she think she'd spend time dwelling on something as trivial as this. It was just another reminder of how lousy her life was.

It seemed that she'd walked the three blocks to her building in record time, and she sighed slightly as she started up the stairs. Now, off to sleep just to turn around and do it all again tomorrow.

"I'm home," she called as she walked in the door.

"Hey," Kyle's voice sounded from the bathroom, "we're still bathing. Someone is taking forever."

She smiled as she kicked off her shoes and hung her coat up. Picking up a teddy bear and a barbie on her way down the hall, she started to smile.

"Hi, Auntie Maria," Abby sing songed from the bath as Maria peaked her head into the bathroom.

"Hey, kiddo," Maria giggled slightly at the sight of Kyle. His shirt was soaked with bubbles. There were even some in his hair. He was balanced precariously on the toilet seat, with his legs sprawled awkwardly in front of him. For a moment she stared at the braces attached to his calves and thighs, they were the only physical remnants of the ordeal that had upset all of their lives.

Throwing the towel he was holding at her he grimaced and reached for his crutches, "Would you mind?"

Maria opened the towel and smiled, "Nope. Be my pleasure. You wash, I'll dry."

He laughed as he moved past her out into the hall.

"Ok, munchkin, time to get out," Maria smiled at her niece as she walked up to the tub.

"Um, five more minutes?" Abby scrunched up her nose and looked up with puppy dog eyes.

"No way, it's already past your bed time."

"Ok, ok," the little girl grumbled as she stood. Maria wrapped the towel around her quickly and whisked her out of the water, cradling her in her arms as she sat on the lid of the toilet.

"Oh, you're getting so big," Maria smiled down at her, "I wish you would stay a baby forever."

"No!" Abby giggled and climbed off her lap.

After about five minutes of struggle, Abby was dry and dressed, and Maria was trying to get a brush through her hair. Kyle had forgotten to use conditioner, again.

"You've got to remind your dad about the hair conditioner, sweetie. Otherwise we get bad tangles."

"I forgot."

"I know, just remember next time. Ok?"

Abby smiled and nodded, then winced as Maria made another brush stroke. Maria couldn't believe how quickly her niece was growing up, it seemed like she had just learned to walk, and now here she was four years old. When her hair was all combed and parted, Maria patted her on the head.

"Go tell your dad you're ready for bed."

"Ok."

"Oh, wait, give me a kiss goodnight."

Turning back from the doorway, Abby huffed a little, but complied.

Maria walked into her room and grabbed her sweats and a t-shirt and a change of underwear and headed back to the bathroom. Time for that shower she'd been craving all day.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the steam filled room and walked out to the kitchen to grab a snack before heading to bed.

"Hey," Kyle said from the kitchen table.

"Hey."

"You look tired," he said looking at her worriedly.

"Yeah, I am. No biggie though, sleep helps," she tried to smile reassuringly.

He nodded sadly, and looked down at his hands. She knew he hated it that she had to work so much.

When he'd had his accident, she'd been in her sophomore year at the university. The doctors were fairly sure he was paralyzed from the waist down, and he'd been in a coma. On the fourth day after he'd been in the hospital, Vickie had called and asked her to come over and babysit Abby, and had never returned. The tenth day, Kyle awakened, and his recovery since then had basically been a miracle. He wasn't paralyzed, but his legs were in pretty bad shape. It had taken over a year of surgeries and physical therapy before they'd even been sure he would walk again.

Maria had been forced to quit school to take care of Abby before Kyle was even out of the coma, and she'd had to work hard to keep up with the bills. Thankfully he was fully covered in the medical arena, but there was a baby to take care of, childcare, a car payment, food, shelter - it all added up. She'd gotten the waitressing gig at the diner because it was so close to Kyle's apartment, and when Murray had said he was hiring another waitress she'd begged him for that job as well, they'd set up an 'under the table' arrangement for her overtime, and she was grateful for it. Although it had been tough, she hadn't complained. Kyle had done the same thing for her when their parents died when she was fifteen, quitting university to work construction so that he could take care of her.

"I wanted so much better than this for you," Kyle's voice broke her out of her reverie.

She sat down across from him with her little container of yogurt, and tried to joke with him, "Hey, my life's great. I've got the best brother in the world, not to mention the greatest niece."

"Yeah. You work six days a week for fourteen hours a day. Your life is a bowl of cherries. I hate it that you have to do this," he looked forlorn. She hated it when he got depressed. It scared her. If her life was bad, his was horrible. He couldn't walk, he couldn't work, his wife had left him, he had major money worries…the list went on and on.

"Nah. It's good for me. Builds character," she smiled, trying to coax him out of the doldrums.

Noticing that she was worried, he put on a small smile, but she wasn't fooled.

"I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow," he said staring at his hands, "he told me last time that he should have an estimate by my next visit - you know for how much longer it will be before I can get these damn things off."

"Yeah," her voice was soft, "I remember."

"It shouldn't be more than four months," he said.

"I know, but you need to give it as much time as the doctor says. You just got on the crutches, you don't want to push it and end up in the wheelchair again," she said sternly, hoping he wasn't going to try to push himself to do more than he could.

"Yeah, yeah," he whispered resignedly.

"Well, I'm off to bed. See you in the morning," she kissed his cheek as she hopped up and headed down the hall toward her bedroom, thankfully able to close the door before the tears started.

***

Michael barely heard the knocking over the sound of his stereo. Grabbing the remote he pushed the volume down as he walked to the door.

Max. Of course.

"Hey," he said leaving the door open for his friend as he turned to go back to work.

"Uh, hey," Max said.

Michael threw the remote onto the sofa and turned back to the large canvas he had hung on the wall. "So," he said, voice full of sarcasm, "let me guess why you're here."

"She called me," Max said carefully.

"Of course she did," Michael almost laughed.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard, but she wanted to tell you herself."

"Well, she did, so nothing to worry about. I'm completely 'in the know' now."

"Michael, she's not trying to hurt you."

"Who said she hurt me?" he asked, picking up a brush and swiping it angrily across the canvas. Black. He'd done nothing but paint in black all night. How cliché.

"Look, I know you're upset. You can save the tough guy act for someone who might actually buy it."

"Maxwell, why don't you just go back outside, get into your shiny car, drive back to your shiny neighborhood, with your shiny family and your shiny sister, and leave me the hell alone."

"You need to let it go," Max said, obviously holding back anger.

"Let it go. Yeah, I'll get right on that. Glad you figured it all out for me. Guess you can go home now," to emphasize his anger, he flung the brush in his hand at the canvas.

"All right, I'll go. Just remember that at some point you're going to have to move on. It's been two years for crying out loud. The broken heart excuse will only work for so long."

"Yeah, thanks again for stopping by. Next time I need some words of wisdom I'll know who to call," Michael called over his shoulder as he heard Max heading for the door.

Get over it.

Yeah. Just like that. Get over it.

Max didn't understand. And, if Max didn't understand, no one would. They'd been friends for as long as he could remember. Max came from a wealthy, affluent family and Michael had been a foster care kid, but they'd always been the best of friends. Though Isabel had always attended private school, Max's dad had insisted that his son get a 'hard knocks' education, which included public school. Growing up, Michael had always envied Max his perfect life. So, when he was older he'd naturally gravitated toward Isabel. She represented everything he thought he wanted.

After high school, he'd gone to university, mainly because he couldn't think of anything better to do. That was when he'd gotten close to Isabel. By the time he graduated, they were a full blown couple. She'd literally consumed his life. He'd even let her pull him into her world. Eventually he found himself dressing the way she wanted, acting the way she wanted. Even his career could be attributed to Isabel, she'd pushed him. Then, after three years together he'd walked into her apartment to find her in bed with another guy. That was when the pain began.

It was the trust more than anything. He had trusted her, and she betrayed him.

Smearing black paint onto the canvas with his bare hands, he smiled. There wasn't going to be another Isabel, he'd never be that stupid again. It wasn't like he'd actually loved her. He didn't believe in love. She'd just been a routine.