"Order up."

Maria turned back to the window and grabbed the two plates. Liz was on a break, and she was handling the last of her dinner customers.

One hour to go.

"Hey, Mrya," the cook called through the window, "you're gonna' have to deliver this call-in."

"Is it for the guy across the street?" she asked sweetly.

"Yeah."

"Not a chance in hell," she smiled.

"Come on, Liz is out, there's only a couple customers, just run it over."

Actually, she was a little curious about how the guy lived…

"All right - but just this once."

She ran in back and grabbed her coat, then picked up the brown sack with the guy's food.

The door to the building was unsecure, and for the first time she realized that she didn't know his name or apartment number. She glanced around inside the entryway for mailboxes but didn't see any. Actually, now that she looked around she didn't even see any stairs. Just a short hallway with an apartment door at the end. For a moment, she debated going back to the diner to find out where he lived, but then decided it wouldn't hurt to try the door. This building couldn't have very many apartments, if it wasn't his, then the person would probably know him, and could at least direct her to the stairs.

She walked up to the door and knocked. There was loud music emanating from inside. Some sort of hard rock. After a few seconds with no answer, she knocked again, this time a little harder. The music quieted considerably and the door was thrown open.

This was definitely his place, and that was definitely him. Standing there, shirtless in faded old jeans. He had paint splatters all over his torso and his jeans.

No drooling. He's a jerk, he's a jerk, he's a jerk…

"Uh, delivery," she said holding up the bag.

He looked a little surprised, and she was beginning to wonder if the cook had been trying to play a trick on her or something.

"It's you," he said, looking at her sideways and narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah…" she said slowly. This guy was weird. Hot, but weird.

She held the bag out to him, eyeing the twenty in his hand. Maybe he didn't realize that if he paid her she would leave.

"Oh," he said looking at the bag in her hand, "ah, come in, I've got to get…"

She couldn't hear the rest of what he said, he'd started walking away from her. This had gone from weird to weirder, and although her instincts warned her against it, she followed him into the apartment. After about three steps, she stopped, dumbfounded. Now she knew why there weren't any other doors or stairs. The living room was huge and four stories high. The entire lower level was open, and in the corner she saw what could only be described as an artist's studio. Then, on the three upper levels there were open hallways with railings facing the room and at least four doors per level. The entire place was done in dark mahogany and metal, trendy and expensive. His apartment was the whole damn building.

"Hey," she heard him say somewhere to her left.

Turning, she saw him standing at his kitchen counter holding money out to her.

"Oh, sorry," she said softly as she walked to him and grabbed the money and coins he held out to her and plopped the bag onto the counter. Looking down into her hand she almost smiled. Of course, $11.50, exactly what he owed. She glanced at the twenty he had left on the counter. So, if she'd been someone else she would have gotten a tip, and a good one.

Shaking her head slightly she turned to walk out the door.

"Can't you at least say good-bye or thank you or something?" he asked, his voice close behind her.

She paused, without turning around and said, "Something."

Then she walked out the door.

***

He watched her walk down the hallway and out of the building before closing his front door.

Weird chick.

Maybe it was dumb of him not to just give her the twenty. Then again, maybe not. He remembered what she'd done with the tip he gave her the morning before. Yeah, she was weird.

He had just started to eat his steak when he got a phone call.

"H'lo," he said, chewing his meat loudly so that whoever it was would know they'd interrupted his meal. He couldn't think of a single person he wanted to talk to.

"Michael," Tess's voice sounded through the earpiece.

"Oh, hey."

He could talk to Tess.

"So, I just wanted to make sure I'm still invited to the opening tomorrow night."

"Yeah, of course," he said, spearing his steak with his fork and lifting it to his mouth to tear off a piece with his teeth. Only Tess would think she was uninvited because he'd been rude to her boyfriend.

"I heard about the Isabel thing…and the Max thing…"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, are you really all right?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Good, because I think she's planning to go too."

He nearly choked, "Oh?"

"Yeah…"

Figures, Isabel had never stopped being supportive of his work. She'd shown up at his last opening in New York a few months before.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asked, not really interested in continuing the conversation.

"Uh, Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't know, do you?"

"Know what, Tess?" his food was getting cold.

"Max and I broke up."

Awkward pause.

"What?" he asked, not sure if he'd heard her right.

"You heard me."

So that's why she thought she wasn't invited anymore.

"When did this happen?"

"Last night, after he left your place."

"Oh," he didn't know what to say.

"We're still friends, aren't we?" she asked quietly.

They'd been friends before she started dating Max, a little more than friends actually.

"Yeah, I don't know why not," he said.

"Ok," she sounded relieved.

"Ok."

"Well, see ya' tomorrow night. Oh, and break a leg by the way."

"Yeah, thanks. Tomorrow."

Hitting the off button on the phone he sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Max and Tess broke up. They were practically married. She'd had the dorm room across from his senior year, and they'd sort of hit it off, it was before he and Isabel were officially together, so they'd screwed around a little. Then, one day they were hanging out in his room and Max had come over and the rest was history. Now they'd broken up. After five years. That was major. Wow. That had to be tough.

Oh crap.

He picked the phone back up and dialed her number. What an idiot. Not a word. No 'I'm sorry' or 'Are you ok?'…

"Hello?" her voice sounded weak.

"Tess? God, I'm sorry - I'm an ass. Are you all right?"

"No," she started to cry.

"Well, do you want me to come over or something?" he didn't really know what to say, he knew she didn't have many good friends and that she considered him to be one of the few.

"Oh, no. I'll be ok," she sniffed.

"I'm sorry. You and Max, that's a big deal."

"Yeah."

He didn't know what to say. Probably should say something about things looking up or…hell, he didn't know.

"Yeah…" he wished he was good at the comforting thing.

"Well, thanks for calling," she said.

"Sure. Uh, hope you feel better."

"Ok, bye, Michael."

He hung up the phone and stared down at it. Then it rang again, the caller ID said it was Max. Great, more fumbling attempts at consolation by Michael Guerin.

***

Kyle was sitting in front of the computer when she got home, a sure sign that Abby was already in bed.

"Hey," he said, not turning around.

"Hey. What did the doctor say?"

"Five months," his voice was dry and flat.

She watched him for a moment, and she was glad he had something to do. When he'd been in the wheelchair the computer and the television had been his only means of entertainment. He used to read a lot, he'd been a journalism major in college, but his eye glass prescription had changed considerably since the accident and she hadn't had the money to get him new glasses yet.

"Oh, ah, there's a letter for you, Maria. Left it on your bed."

"Thanks," she said as she made her way down the hall to her room.

There was indeed a letter, a very official looking letter from a collection agency. Great. She needed to get $300 to her credit card company by the end of next week or they would take her to court. Super. It wasn't as if she'd meant to let the minimum payments go, but it had been a rough couple of months. What was she going to do?

Re-folding the letter, she stuffed it into the drawer of her nightstand. Kyle didn't need to see it. He'd just worry, and worrying wouldn't get them anywhere. She'd come up with something. She always did. Glancing around the room, she wondered what she could sell. Her stereo and television were already gone, the ones she'd worked so hard to buy before she started her freshman year. Then she spotted her jewelry box, all pawned, even her grandmother's pearl earrings. Was there nothing left? Did she not own anything of value anymore? She might have to ask Kyle if she could pawn something of his. Not that he owned much anymore either.

No, there had to be another way, something she could do on her own. Standing resolutely, she grabbed some clean clothes and headed into the bathroom to think and to shower.

***

Michael sat in the corner and watched the people milling around the room. They were all dressed in that way that 'self-aware chic' sort of way, and they all had their little finger foods clutched with their cosmopolitans in their hands. On the sound system, some strange neo-jazz music was playing, it cracked him up that these people thought this sort of music inspired him - try Metallica. He watched them as they wandered around the room, admiring the slices of his soul he'd let someone hang on the wall. If he overheard one more person say, 'Ah, yes, I see what he's feeling here', he was going to puke.

Instead of watching the pretentious ones, he decided to try to spot the girls. He knew they were here somewhere. Probably about a dozen of them. They'd be standing around, trying to catch his eye. Yep, there was a redhead across the room, definitely eyeing him. A nervous looking brunette stood a few feet away, pretending not to stare, yeah she was one too. Two blondes over by the makeshift bar, they didn't stand a chance, he hated platinums. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

It was what he did at openings. Ever since his first hit a couple of years before. Isabel had been there, and all of his wounds had been fresh, so he'd grabbed some random girl, who had been more than willing, and did her in the back office of the gallery. Now, it was what he did to occupy his mind at these stupid things, he'd sit around trying to decide which one it would be. It wasn't a secret. People knew about it. Over the summer he'd even found a website about it, some of the girls had posted reviews of his 'work'.

The redhead was in the lead when a tall, dark haired guy came and sat down next to him.

"How's it goin'?" the guy asked.

Michael looked at him for a second. He didn't look weird, probably just bored, "Fine."

"You look like you got strong-armed into coming to this thing too," the guy said, pulling a stick of gum out of his pocket and stuffing it into his mouth.

"Yeah, you could say that," Michael smirked. The guy didn't even know who he was. How refreshing.

"I'm hiding from my girlfriend. She keeps asking me what I think, I'm afraid she's gonna' figure out that I don't 'think' anything," the guy laughed slightly.

What on earth was this poor normal guy doing at this thing? Michael actually relaxed and sat back a little in his chair.

"Yeah, I think I had that girlfriend once. Next thing you know she'll have you dressing like them," he said, giving the guy a knowing look, and gesturing to the milling crowds.

"Yeah, no kidding. Since when is jeans and a t-shirt not good enough? I mean look at this," the guy waved his hand over his outfit, "I had to change twice before I got approval."

Michael laughed, "Tell me about it, man."

"Yeah," the guy laughed, "don't get me wrong, though, I love her. She's amazing. Like one in a million. Just wish I wasn't her 'project', you know?"

Michael smirked and nodded.

Then he spotted her. He'd known she was there, but seeing her was a little bit different than being aware of her. Beautiful, perfection. Perfect black dress, not a hair out of place. She was coming toward him. Great.

"So, have you two met?" she smiled at him as she stared down with those liquid brown eyes.

'You two'? What two? He turned to the guy next to him who was staring at Isabel wide-eyed and shaking his head slightly.

"This isn't…" the guy's voice trailed off while he pointed at Michael.

Michael looked at the guy and then back at Isabel. Dammit. Be cool…

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said, looking up at her, and wishing he was anywhere but next to her new man.

"Michael, Alex. Alex, Michael," she waved her hand gracefully between them.

Taking in a deep breath, Michael turned and held his hand out to Alex. The guy looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but he shook back.

After a second of awkward silence, Alex stood up and Isabel snaked her arm through his. She was still smiling knowingly down at him. He hated it when she was right, but he actually had liked the guy.

"Tess was looking for you," Isabel said. "She seems upset."

"Wouldn't you be?" he asked. Then he smirked, no she probably wouldn't be.

"I suppose you're the one we have to thank for a being awakened by a drunken Max at 4 a.m.? He was sitting in the kitchen with a carton of ice cream singing 'All by myself'," her tone was playful, teasing.

For a second, it felt like the good old days, despite the fact that she was hanging on another man's arm, and he actually grinned, "Well, at least I drove him home."

She laughed. Her laugh was rich, full, amazing. Alex was looking down at her and smiling. The guy had it bad, really bad, it was written all over his face. Then, she looked up at him and met his eyes. He'd never seen her look like that, never.

For a few seconds he just sat there, staring at them. He'd never seen anything like this before in his life. They were beautiful. Searching each other's eyes, smiling. It was breathtaking…he couldn't take it, his chest felt like it was caving in.

"Well, I'd better go find Tess," he said, getting to his feet. He looked Alex in the eyes, and had a feeling that something had passed between them, so he gave the guy a nod and received one in return.

Then, he walked straight out to his car.

***

One thought had been running through her mind all day… $300, $300, where am I gonna' get $300? There was no way. She knew there was no way for her to get the money. All day she'd been trying to come up with a way, now it was time to go home and she was no closer to an answer. It was hopeless.

If she could just keep it together long enough to get home, long enough to lock herself in her room…

"Maria…" Liz smiled sweetly.

"Yeah?" she asked as she pulled on her coat.

"Would you deliver this on your way home, please? Save me a trip?"

"Not to the guy across the street, right?"

"Oh, come on Maria, I heard you delivered to him last night," Liz's voice was bordering on a whine.

"Yeah, that was a one time deal. By the way, why didn't you tell me that he tips you guys?"

"I thought you knew. He tips big. And when he comes in late at night he always tips a lot too."

"Great, so I'm the only one," she couldn't believe it, but there were tears stinging her eyes. So, she kept it together all day, and the fact that the jerk didn't tip her was going to set her off…Perfect.

Liz started to say something, but Maria didn't want to hear it. She grabbed the brown paper bag and ran out of the diner, waiting until she felt the cool night air on her cheeks to release her tears.

***

He was sitting on his couch staring at the vase of dead flowers on his coffee table. How fitting. There was a light on in the kitchen, but the rest of the place was dark. It should be.

Why did she have to be there? He wished he could believe it was to flaunt her happiness in his face, but he knew it wasn't. She'd been there to support him. Because she cared. That only made things worse. Why couldn't she just leave things alone? Why did she insist on them having some sort of relationship? Couldn't she just cut him loose?

She was madly in love, it was practically storybook. He had never seen anything quite like Isabel and Alex. It was the sort of thing that should make you happy, give you hope. Instead it depressed the hell out of him. There was no storybook for him, more like a fractured fairytale - he felt like he was the evil lord the princess's father tried to force her to marry before the handsome prince came along. Yeah, if his life was a storybook then he was the villain.

The knock on his door disturbed him. Must be Max, probably still broken up about Tess. He wasn't in the mood to try to cheer Max up.

Slowly, he stood and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. The door seemed to be miles away, and it felt like it took him years to reach it. When he finally flung it open he was surprised.

It was her. Again.

"Here's your food," her voice cracked as she thrust the bag into his face.

"Uh, come in," he hadn't expected it so soon, he'd just placed the order.

His wallet was still in the pants he'd been wearing earlier, so he left her standing in the entryway while he sprinted upstairs to his room. When he came out a minute later, he found her slumped on the floor with her back against the wall just inside the living room. Her hands were covering her face, and he could see her shoulders shaking.

What the f*ck was this?

"Um, what's wrong?" he asked, looking down at her.

Maybe she was a drug addict or something. That would explain the perpetual bags under her eyes. He'd always figured she had some good-for-nothing guy at home who made her work all of those hours, maybe a couple of rugrats - but it looked like things were even worse than that.

She hadn't responded to him. The light from the kitchen lit her body in strange relief, and he had to fight the urge to grab a sketchpad. There was a look of desperation about her. Yeah, she had to be a junkie.

"Look, I'm sorry you're having a meltdown and everything, but is there any chance you could go have it on the street instead of on my floor?"

For a moment her shoulders stopped shaking and she slid her hands down slightly to reveal her eyes. Soulful eyes, full of worry. No, she looked too coherent to be a junkie. He was starting to feel sorry for her, which pissed him off. Everybody has problems.

Lowering her eyes, she stood shakily to her feet and took a swipe at her cheeks with the fingers of her left hand. Her jaw was clenched and she was biting her bottom lip, obviously trying to keep a handle on her emotions. She looked like a lost kitten. Why was he letting her get to him? She was just some girl.

They stood for a few moments, just inches apart. Him staring at her while she stared at the floor. It took a little while for him to notice that her hand was outstretched, palm up.

Oh, yeah, have to pay her.

He opened his wallet, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what he'd ordered. She was affecting his concentration, and he hated it. Dammit, he couldn't tell her he didn't know how much it was. He always knew, and she knew that he always knew.

She sighed and spoke, though her voice was tremulous, "T-bone, baked potato, dinner salad. $13.75."

So now she was reading his mind. She wasn't special, she wasn't any different than anyone else. Why was she getting under his skin?

"Yeah, I know," he said, irritated because she'd known that he didn't.

"Look, I am having a meltdown, and I can't go home like this. Would you mind if I used your bathroom for a minute?" her tone indicated that she thought he would refuse.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. It's upstairs, first door off the stairs."

"Thanks," she mumbled as she turned and walked up to the second floor.

He watched her as she moved away. She had an unassuming way of moving, her tread was light. It seemed as though she flitted up the staircase, he had an image of a bird taking light steps, ready to fly away if startled. Then, she tripped on the last stair, but recovered smoothly - indication that it happened often. Why was she so fascinating?

After she closed the bathroom door, he plopped down on the couch. How did he go from obsessing about Isabel to watching the waitress as if she were the most interesting thing in the world? He was messed up in the head.

Maybe he was just horny. He hadn't gotten laid. Yeah, that was the most logical explanation, she wouldn't have caught his eye if it weren't for that.

She exited the bathroom and he watched her move down the stairs. Her hands smoothed her hair, which was pulling out of the bun at the back of her head.

He stood, intending to walk her to the door. She stopped in the entryway and looked up at him. Somehow he knew she wanted to thank him.

Her lips moved slightly, and her tongue snaked out to lick them. It did something to him, although he wasn't sure what. She sighed, and her chin trembled slightly as her eyes filled up with tears again. Quickly, she looked away and started to move past him.

He didn't know why, but he moved to block her. She looked up at him, startled. Without thinking, he grabbed her face and kissed her. For a moment she pulled back, but then she leaned into him, placing her hands lightly on his chest.

It was only a few seconds before they broke apart. Staring at one another in shock. Then, her eyes darted quickly from right to left and she stepped past him, practically running out of his door.