Inspired

By Kate (kateafur)

Category: M/M, AU
Rating: R, maybe even PG-13...nothing too terrible!

Disclaimer: The show has been over long enough- can't I have them now?

Summary: What happens when you're inspired by someone you don't even know?

A.N.: This is a fairly short fic (3-4 parts) that pretty much fell out of my brain. Thanks to Cindy and Didi for their help!

Santa Fe, New Mexico. July 23.

That was the night I first saw him.

I just started singing the second verse of the third song I ever wrote. I wasn't really concentrating on the song, instead I was wondering how rich I'd be if I actually got paid every time I'd sang that song. I was thinking that I missed my apartment and, had really been eight months since I'd last seen it? I thought about how I'd spent more nights in cheap hotel beds in the past three years than in my soft, comfortable bed back home.

I sing with my eyes closed.

I always have, I don't know why. Well, actually, I do. Singing makes me feel extremely vulnerable. Does that make me some masochistic sick freak to love it so much? When I sing, I'm reliving all the emotions I felt when I wrote the lyrics and usually that's a feeling I don't want to broadcast to the entire audience. Not with my eyes anyway. Maybe a part of me is afraid of what I'll see.

Singing has always been something just for me. A release. A way to deal with all the emotions that run rampant through my life. I don't want to be the next big thing. Sure, I'd like to be appreciated for what I do, who wouldn't? But I'm not out to conquer the charts with my music. I sing because I love it. Three years practically living out of a suitcase, wandering rather aimlessly around the country, you kind of have to. I sing because it is so much a part of me, I can't imagine not doing it.

I used to sing for myself.

But that night, I opened my eyes. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, rich like caramel and endless like the stars.

And now I sing for him.

*

Dallas, Texas. July 27.

He was there too.

I couldn't stop thinking about him…those eyes. I only caught a brief glimpse that night in Santa Fe. It was like staring directly into the sun- a fire so luminous that it hurt to look. But when I opened my eyes again, he was gone. I searched the crowd many times that night. Nothing.

However, at that smoky little club we played in Dallas, I saw him again. I didn't expect him to be there but something inside me told me to look. And there he was.

That time, I didn't dare look away. I held his gaze for what felt like an eternity. There was just something about it…. like he was reaching into my very soul. I sang one of my best sets that night, searching deep for all the emotion I could find to pour my heart out there for him. For some reason, it didn't make me feel unbearably vulnerable. It felt safe. Crazy as it sounds, it seemed liked he understood.

*

Miami, Florida. August 28.

He's haunting me.

I sing and he's there, watching me with those eyes. I don't understand it. Over a month and six cities later without fail, he's in the audience. He usually lurks in the back, toward the bar. He nurses one beer the entire show. His eyes never leave me that I can tell. By the time my set is over, no matter how fast I rush out, he's gone.

I've asked around at every show and no one remembers him, let alone knows him.

I'm beginning to think he's just a figment of my imagination.

And, boy, does my imagination take liberties with him! He haunts my shows and he haunts my dreams…

I've memorized his face, his body. Well, as much as I can from what I've seen. Mystery Man is tall and big, muscular but not overly so. His beautiful eyes are surrounded by an even more beautiful face. Not girly pretty, but that rugged masculine beauty that makes a girl weak in the knees. His lips…wow, full and utterly kissable. Everything about him…he just makes my body hum.

I want to talk to him, need to talk to him. I need to know that he's not just someone I created to fill my empty heart, but that he's really there…

It's been thirteen days since my last show. Since I last saw him. Does it make me a sorry human being that I've felt utterly empty since then? That a normally appreciated reprieve from nights spent singing the same songs in smoky, noisy clubs seemed like an endless drought? I am so pathetic.

I'm lying here on a beautiful sandy beach, baking in the harsh Miami sun, and all I want is for time to speed up so I can see him tonight… The butterflies in my stomach aren't nerves for tonight's performance; they're an overwhelming fear that he won't be there.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I watch the endless cycle of ocean waves pouring onto the shore. What if he doesn't come? These past few weeks, I've changed my entire outlook on performing. I do it for him. If he were to just disappear into thin air, just like he appeared, would I be able to go back to my humdrum life? Would I be able to sit up on that small stage at night and pretend that I still get a thrill from doing it? The possible answer to that question scares me.

"Yo, M!" I roll my eyes as my cousin Sean drops next to me in the sand.

"I thought I asked to be left alone?" I shoot a withering glare at the freeloader whom I have the misfortune to call blood.

Sean snorts and shoves a hand through his short, curly blond hair. "Oh forgive me. I forgot the Diva needs her 'special time'." He says those last two words with obnoxious air quotes so I'm left with little choice but to chuck a handful of sand in his direction.

"Shut up, Sean," I sneer as he sputters, trying to get the sand out of his mouth. Oops.

"Really, M, I don't have to tolerate these inhumane working conditions. I could just quit. What would you do then?" Sean gives me his patented puppy dog look. I snort.

"Throw a party?" I blink innocently at him. Sean quitting? That's a totally laughable thought. As my roadie, bodyguard, and sometimes drummer, Sean thrives on the fact that he is required to do little more than follow my ass all over the country, meeting and bedding as many different bar whores as he can find. For him, it's heaven.

"Oh my little cousin, I've got nothing but love." Before I can protest he scoots over and envelops me in a tight bear hug. "Nothing but love."

I roll my eyes, "you're such a freak." But I hug him back. Truthfully, things wouldn't be half as interesting on the road without Sean's run-ins with local law enforcement. I hardly pay him anything for tagging along either, just set aside money for bail when needed.

"What's this? A love fest and I'm not invited?"  And seconds later, the second and final member to my meager entourage has joined the hug.

"You're always invited, Whitman!" Sean says happily and from my vantage point of being squashed between the two tall men, I see Sean give Alex a noogie of love to prove it. Alex reaches around me to try and get Sean back. Before I become a casualty of testosterone, I squirm out from between them.

"Are you guys still drunk or something?" I study them carefully. Sean looks his usual slovenly self, his curly hair unruly and wearing yesterday's clothes still. Alex is an improvement; at least he looks like he showered recently.

"Of course I'm not drunk, M, that passed hours ago," Sean winks at me. Standing up, Sean dusts the sand off his jeans. "Okay, ladies, it's time for me to hit the showers." After ducking to avoid the piece of driftwood that Alex aims at his head, Sean waves and trots off to the motel.

I turn to Alex, “So what’s up, Alex? I thought you were going to cool it on the sun for awhile?” I reach up and tap his badly burnt nose gently, unable to hide my grin.

“Well, I figured I could brave it for awhile. There are a few things I need to talk to you about.” Alex gets his serious ‘manager’ face. I sit up attentively. Without Alex, none of what I’ve accomplished so far would be happening. We’ve been best friends practically since birth, staging our own performances since we figured out that hairbrushes make the best microphones. It was Alex who encouraged me to expand beyond singing at the Flying Pepperoni on open mic nights. Without Alex, I don’t know where I’d be.

“Go for it.” I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head there, watching him attentively. Not being attracted to Alex in any romantic or sexual way, I often forget how good-looking he is. A little on the lanky side, he still manages to pull off that whole geeky yet sexy look. Plus he has these beautiful blue eyes, clear as the sky. Not as entrancing as my Mystery Man’s, mind you, but definitely up there. It took awhile for other ladies to catch on to him, but now he doesn’t have much of a problem picking up girls when he’s interested.

“Okay. First things first, these past few weeks you’ve been amazing, Maria. More amazing than usual.” Alex flashes me a genuine smile.

I blush a little, then the idea catches up with me as to why it’s been like that. How can I ever explain Mystery Man to Alex?

Alex continues, “Your CDs are selling like hotcakes at the show. I think word is really starting to get out on you. I’m expecting a packed house tonight and there’ll even be a few local reporters there to scope things out, in addition to a local radio station. So, I definitely think things are on the up and up!”

“Wow,” is all I can say. Alex looks ecstatic. This is what we’ve been trying to do for the last three years. Sure, I’ve had my share of publicity, minor as it has been. But reporters and a radio station? Pinch me!

“Definitely wow. You can bet your ass I’ll be working my ass off to make something of this. It’s about time the world got to know Maria DeLuca!” Alex wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his side. I don’t hesitate to hug him back, floored by the possible change in my life. Three years I’ve done this… Not as long as some, but much longer than others. I’ve long ago come to terms with the fact that I might never get a break. But, still, the hope is always there.

Squeezing Alex tight, I plant a big, noisy kiss on his cheek. He squirms like a little boy being forced to kiss his smelly Aunt Ruth. "Alex, have I told you lately that I love you?"

Alex maneuvers out of my grasp and swipes at his cheek. Shaking his head, he grins at me and then pinches me cheek, "Aw, and I love you my little Maria." I scrunch up my nose and stick my tongue out at him.

"I'm not little," I pout.

Alex just snorts. "Anyway, Maria. I just want to say that I don't know what's gotten into you these past few weeks but whatever it is, keep it up. You've been wonderful."

I offer my best friend a weak grin. If only he knew… My Mystery Man. My heart skips a beat, the worry of him not being there tonight washing over me.

"Thank you, Alex. What would I do without you to keep my ego nice and healthy?" We both laugh.

"You'd do just fine, Maria, just fine," Alex stands up and stretches his arms over his head, yawning. "I think it's time I get out of the sun and back to bed. I'll catch you later."

I wave bye and fall back onto the sand. Staring at the bright blue sky, I'm suddenly inspired.

*

"Thank you," I smile graciously into my microphone as I finish a song. Squinting, I try and make out Mystery Man in the crowd despite the harsh lights that this club seems so keen on. There. I sigh in relief. He hasn't moved in the past three songs.

Summoning up my courage, I tear my eyes off his form and search the audience. "Tonight I have a new song for you. It was inspired by someone in the audience. Someone I've never met…" I finally let my eyes drift back to him. I expect my confidence to wane, but instead I feel a renewed sense of boldness for the emotions I'm about to expose, in front of this entire audience, for a guy I don't even know. "…But would very much like to."

I reflexively close my eyes as I begin to strum my guitar, surprisingly not at all nervous about bumbling my new song. The club is quiet as I begin to sing, feeling the words in every pore of my being.

Grace in light

Somehow I found you here

Torn from the hope and fear

That holds us inside

My courage building, my voice grows stronger. I brave opening my eyes, but don't bother looking beyond the small stage. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest, almost in tune with my song.

Pull me out

Out from the world I've known

And all love was broken cold

That brought me here

Strumming a few more chords, I take a deep breath and let my eyes drift to my inspiration. Then, I pour my heart open for him to see.

From you one look

Just one look

And everything is shattered

From you one word

Just one word

Towers burn and fall, fall, fall

Despite the lights nearly blinding me, I'm sure I can see his beautiful amber eyes glowing in the dark void of the audience. My body is tingling with the excitement of the unknown and the possibility of it becoming a reality. The rest of my song comes out in a rush of emotion of which I have little control. I'm struck numb, lost in the silhouette of Mystery Man, as the crowd applauds wildly.

The lights dim and suddenly I can see with perfect clarity the equally stricken expression on Mystery Man's face. There's a sudden rush of electricity through my body and it seems as if there is a direct connection from me to him. It is invigorating. I feel as if I could stay here, unmoving, unblinking, all night long. The crowd begins to disperse, however, and interrupts the moment. Frantic, I jump up from my stool and search out Mystery Man with no luck.

Taking a deep breath, I leave the stage, unable to shake the hope buzzing through my system that we may finally meet.

*

"Hey, M!" I ignore my cousin and finish my conversation with a local reporter. Sending the man on his way with an overly bright smile that quickly fades, I eagerly search the bar for Mystery Man. It's been nearly an hour since my set ended. I rushed out from backstage as soon as possible, insisting on doing all the schmoozing Alex lined up for me out in plain sight.

In that hour, I did not catch one glimpse of him and now the crowd seems to have thinned to nothing with no sign of the man with the soulful eyes. My heart drops, bruised. I feel tears prick my eyes. Maybe he was all in my head.

"M!" I continue to ignore Sean, even as he comes bounding up to my side.

"M!" I don't hear you!  What? Three syllables too much effort? I turn away from him, trying to stop the tears from leaving my eyes. I take a deep, shuddering breath.

"Ma-ri-a!" He finally shouts, into my ear. Jerk.

"WHAT?" I whirl around, happy to take all my frustrations out on him.

Sean ignores me then proceeds to drape his arm over my shoulders as if we were best buddies in the middle of a happy conversation. "So, what was up with that new song? Don't get me wrong- it was kick ass. But who the hell did you dedicate it to? Inquiring minds want to know!"

Closing my eyes for a minute, I curse Sean's ability to always say the absolute wrong thing. My heart is still aching from disappointment. I want nothing more than to go crawl into my bed and never come out.

"No one," I whisper, hating the way my voice cracks.

"No one?" Sean is oblivious. "Why?" He appears to consider the question himself.

I just shake my head and start to walk away.

"Oh! M! You're a genius!"

That gets my attention. I give him a weary look, waiting for Sean's version of reality.

"So the audience gets all hot and bothered wondering who that someone special is. Brilliant!"

"Yeah, that's it," I say dryly. My heart hurts.

"Say, maybe next time you can dedicate some sappy song to me? Maybe lament for a while about how you broke my heart and totally regret it since I'm such a catch? Yeah... That would work! Genius!" Sean is staring off into space, all dreamy-eyed.

I don't have the strength to roll my eyes so I simply walk away.

*

I sit alone on the beach, staring out at the dark waves. While hiding in bed was a nice idea, watching the raging ocean under the shining moon held more of an appeal. I dig my fingers and toes into the cool sand, accepting the salty wind as it whips my hair around my face. Normally on broken-hearted nights like these, I scribble endlessly in my journal, needing the release. But tonight is different…

Tonight I feel the ache deeper than ever before. Have I lost him? When I hardly knew him at all? The thought is paralyzing. I don't even realize I'm crying until I taste the salt on my lips.

The waves blur into the starry sky as tears cloud my vision. What is wrong with me? Why is this affecting me so much? I furiously swipe at the moisture on my cheeks, cursing under my breath when I'm rewarded with a cheek coated in sand. Great, just great.

Brushing off what I can, I decide to call it a night. I stand up and gaze at the ocean for one last long moment. Life will go on, it will.

Turning around, my breath immediately catches in my throat and my heart leaps. There, at the edge of the beach, stands Mystery Man. I gasp, frozen to the spot.

It's him, it has to be. The moonlight shines on his face, illuminating his chiseled features. Stunning. He looks up at me from under his shaggy hair with those amazing eyes, hesitant and shy. I stare at him in shock.

"You," I finally breathe out. I'm unsure if he even hears or if my voice is carried away by the wind, now picking up pace. I shiver.

He nods and takes a step toward me. My heart goes wild in my chest. I struggle to keep the hair out of my face as I take a step toward him. We do this for a few long moments, eyes locked: he takes a step closer, then I do, until we are standing a scant two feet from one another.

The thought that I should perhaps be worried about a strange man that for all intents and purposes has been stalking me for the past few months and has now followed me to a deserted beach in the dead of night tingles at the back of my brain, but I do my best to ignore it. Staring into his eyes, I know. I can see him, really see him, and I see someone just as afraid by this…whatever this is between us…as I am. But also so lost to it, that it has become everything.

"Who are you?" I ask, almost inaudibly and very much in awe of the man before me. In the flesh, he is so much more than I ever imagined in my dreams. He is beautiful.

His gaze drops from mine and I feel the absence of his stare like a sharp pain. He takes a breath, considering. For a moment, I'm afraid he might run. Then, he slowly extends his hand in the space between us. I look cautiously between his face and hand, confused by this utterly mundane greeting. But what did I expect?

"Michael Guerin." His voice is like velvet on my skin. Dazed, I place my hand in his. I startle when I realize how large his hands are. Looking down, I can't contain my 'oh' of pleasant surprise. Perfect…he can't really be so perfect? I squeeze his hand gently, then refuse to let go. I take the opportunity to step a little closer to him. His sandy hair is whipping around his face. It takes all my self-restraint not to reach up and brush it out of the way.

"Michael." I test his name on my tongue, loving the way it sounds. I grin and tilt my head toward him. "Maria DeLuca."

He smirks and my skin feels like it will simply slide off. "I know."

"It's good to finally meet you, Mystery Man Michael," I tease, watching his smirk grow wider. He tugs my hand gently, closing the distance between us even more. I can smell him now, even in the ocean air- clean and masculine, warm and inviting. Home. I should be scared or nervous. But honestly? The rest of the world has melted away and I can only see him and this feels so…right.  Looking into his eyes, I can tell he feels the same.

"Mystery Man?" He scoffs with a grin. Then, he grows serious. An instant later, I feel his hand warm and rough against my cheek, though his touch is achingly gentle. I gasp. My eyes slide shut, lightening shooting through my veins.

"Sand," he whispers huskily. Opening my eyes, I realize our faces are mere centimeters apart. His thumb is caressing lazy circles on my cheek. My eyes drop instinctively to his lips. My breath comes fast as I realize what wonderfully kissable lips he has. Realizing becomes knowing when suddenly my lips are crushed against his.

I'm kissing Mystery Man…. Michael…Oh wow…

I stand rooted to the spot. I'm unable to process anything other than his soft lips on mine until I feel his hand tangle in my hair and then it's all over. I react to his kiss urgently, my senses on overload as our lips dance. I run my hands up his chest, feeling the strength hidden there. When his tongue seeks entrance to my mouth, my body nearly explodes at the sensory overload. In a sudden frenzy, our hands and mouths eagerly map one another out.

His kisses leave me wonderfully dizzy. When we pull apart, gasping for the same air as our foreheads are mated together, I feel like I would promptly drop right to the ground if his arms didn't hold me firmly to his body.

"Wow," he exhales, one hand gently rubbing the back of my neck. I nod my agreement, glad he is as affected as I am. Which makes me wonder…

"Why me, Michael?" I say firmly, pulling back a little so I can read his eyes. His face immediately shuts down. He removes me from his arms. Panic surges through my body, already emotionally confused by tonight.

Eyes clouded in an emotion I can't recognize, he studies me carefully for a moment then simply turns and starts to walk away. My heart stops. No…. This is not happening. I can't breathe.

After a few steps, he turns around to look at me. I'm still stunned into silent shock. Rolling his eyes, a highly unappreciated gesture, he walks back to me and yanks my limp hand into his. As he roughly pulls me up the beach, I come back to my senses.

"Hey! What's with the manhandling?"

He scowls at me, but slows his pace a little. "Well, you want to know, don't you?"

"Well, yeah…" I waffle, suddenly aware that a strange man is dragging me off to some unknown location. Hot man, yes. Amazing kisser, oh definitely. Me falling head over heels for him? A distinct possibility. But this does not change the fact that he could be an escaped rapist murderer for all I know. Which would explain why he could follow me all over the country… Oh God!

I stop dead in my tracks, wrenching my hand from his.

"What?" He says harshly and a bit annoyed. A grumpy one, Mystery Man. I like. Oh…damn.

"Nothing," I say nonchalantly. "Just that it's getting late and I have an early day tomorrow…" The lame excuse dies coming out of my mouth. Damn! Normally, I'm a top-notch bull-shitter. Why can't I tell a half decent lie to him?

He smirks and this time I'm not melting. "Huh." He studies me with a knowing look. Annoyed by his smugness, I hold my head high, daring him to argue. "Well, if you were afraid, then that's all you had to say."

I gape at him in mock offense. "I'm not afraid." How dare he!  "Of you?" I scoff. "Please."

He just shrugs in an utterly annoying, arrogant way. "If you say so."

"I do say so!" Stomping ahead a few steps, I give him a furious look. "Well? Are you going to show me or what?" Damn him! What is this guy's deal? He can even get me to go marching willingly to my own death! Insane!

He chuckles and then slowly walks toward me, a serious expression on his face by the time he stands before me. "Maria," he says softly.

I'm so pissed with him I could scream but when he says my name, it all just melts away. Turning from his imploring look, I focus my gaze on an indiscriminate spot in the distance, not wanting to be affected so easily by him. God, I love the way he says my name.

"Maria," he pleads gently and I'm lost. I meet his eyes. He places a gentle hand on my cheek. "Trust me. I promise I won't hurt you."

His words ring pure and true in my ears. Somehow, I know he's not just talking about right this second. His eyes tell me more than I need to know. Nodding softly, I intertwine my hand with his and prepare to follow.

*

We end up outside a door at the same hotel I'm staying at. I look up at Michael with a curious expression. He just shrugs.

He opens the door and pulls me inside. I feel as if I should hesitate but, hell, I've come this far. And I trust him, I really do.

The room is dark. Michael flips on a light and what I see absolutely floors me.

Paintings. Of me. Over a dozen of them.

I gasp loudly, unsure what to make of the situation. They are beautiful, passionate…painted by a man who was truly inspired.

"Michael?" My voice sounds shaky and distant.

He walks ahead of me into the room. "Ever since that night in Santa Fe…" He pauses to steal a look at me. "I've been painting for years, but never anything truly great, never inspired. But then I saw you and I couldn't stop painting."

My eyes dart from canvas to canvas, seeing myself through his eyes. "Painting me?" I squeak, as if the answer weren't blatantly obvious.

Michael shrugs. "Mostly." He moves a few canvases aside. "These two aren't." I nod at the two landscapes, desert scenes, painted in bright vivid colors. "I have some more that I shipped back home that are similar. I just…kept the ones of you."

Overwhelmed, I fall to my knees in front of a painting of me performing. My hand hovers over the canvas, tracing the lines of the painting without touching it. The rich colors of the portrait make me look alive. I look beautiful. I move to do the same thing to the next painting, my head spinning with this new development.

"I have journals filled with thoughts about you."

I wait for his reaction, but he hardly seems surprised. He just nods, almost refusing to look at me. We sit in heavy silence for a moment.

Finally, I stand up, crossing the room to stand near him. "What does this mean, Michael? This…" I gesture wildly at the room in general, "between us?" I can't help the fear from creeping into my voice. This is too strange for words. Stuff like this…well, it just doesn't happen.

His eyes meet mine. I can see my fears mirrored in them. "I don't know," he replies, voice heavy with emotion. He sits on the bed and buries his head in his hands. I sit next to him, close enough that our thighs touch.

Being so close to him again sparks my body into high speed. How can he unbalance me like this? It scares the hell out of me. I can tell he isn't exactly comfortable with it either. I look to him, searching for an answer, anything to help what I'm feeling.

His gaze is fixed on my lips. I can see the slight flush on his cheeks, feel his hot breath on my face. I watch his eyes darken dangerously with arousal. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to forget the confusion and fear that he stirs in me and simply feel. His touch, his scent, the way I feel so alive when I'm near him…it's all rapidly becoming addicting.

I trace my hand gently over his face, mapping it out with my fingertips. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply. My pulse quickens. I bring my lips to his, our breath mingling deliciously, and then pause just before we connect.

"Maybe we just need to get it out of our systems?" I whisper, my voice low, not actually believing what I'm saying.

"Yeah," he chokes out and I know he doesn't believe it either. But then our lips are on each other's and nothing else matters. Falling back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, we struggle to get as close as possible. My skin is heating up. Every molecule in my body is suddenly on fire. He moans my name and I realize the passion I'm feeling is completely mutual. Then, as he tugs my dress over my head, his hands skimming my body, I'm lost to nothing but sensation. Yes, yes, this is so good…

*

Some time later, I lay safely enclosed in Michael's arms. The air is heavy around us and aside from our breathing the room is completely silent. My body still tingles where it touches Michael's, the apparent electric response of our bodies coming together.

Being with Michael, making love to him, did not get these strange feelings out of my system. If anything, it made me more aware of how special he is. The intensity of his eyes, his touch, his passion…well, it stirred places inside of me that I never knew possible. And I can't stop touching him…

"Michael," I whisper softly into the darkness, needing to break the weighted silence and interrupt my thoughts. I run my hand up his arm, tracing the tattoo on his tricep with my fingernail. His body shivers at my attention.

"Yeah," he murmurs, pulling me tighter into his arms and nuzzling his head into my hair, his nose tickling my ear.

"I'm scared."

The world seems to stop for a moment as the words I never planned on saying slip out. But it's true. I don't understand what is happening here. I'm at the same time afraid of losing it and of it becoming too much for me. Whatever 'it' is…

"Me too." His words are almost lost into my skin but I hear them. Knowing that he feels the same allows the emotion I've been trying to suppress bubble up in me. I shudder in his arms, a few hot tears slipping down my cheeks.

"Sshh, Maria. Don't cry. Please, don't cry." He gathers me close, smoothing his hand over my bare back. His comfort helps. I manage to pull myself together somewhat, not wanting to turn into a sobbing mess on our first night together.

"I'm afraid, Michael. I feel like I can't sing without you there, not with any kind of heart in it at least." I sniffle into his shoulder. "And I don't want that."

Michael sighs and gently sets me aside. Sitting up, he takes a moment to rub his face. I pull the sheet over my body, suddenly feeling too exposed.

He turns to look at me, eyes blazing with emotion. "You think I want to be trailing you all around the country?"

That stings. I turn away from him, shaking my head. "No."

He rubs his eyebrow wearily, calming a bit. "Maria, I haven't been to my studio in over a month. I'm painting with cheap supplies in sub-standard conditions. You're the only thing I want to paint. I need to paint something else, but it's always you. I know I can't live like this…but, God help me, I want to."

I close my eyes, absorbing what he said and understanding completely. I feel him move further away from me, so I quickly move to his side, unable to bear the physical distance right now. Kneeling on the bed behind where he sits, I rest my head on his shoulder. He doesn't acknowledge me at first.

"But we can't," I say quietly. He tilts his head to meet my eyes. We share a heavy look of understanding. His eyes are a brilliant bronze, making my heart ache in a way I've never known. He simply nods and hangs his head.

Sliding out from the covers, Michael starts to dress. "What do we do now, then?" He asks, pulling on his shirt. Shaking my head wearily, I fall back on the bed and close my eyes. I can sense him watching me while he continues to dress.

With a long sigh, I finally sit up, raising an eyebrow at him. "I could eat?"

Michael's hard expression cracks and he lets out a loud laugh. It seems a little rusty but it's music to my ears. Shaking his head at me, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down the bed. 

"Hey!"

Trapping me with his arms, he hovers over me, a sly smirk on his face. "You really want to eat now?"

"You're the one getting dressed!" I scoff then whimper as he trails mere ghosts of kisses on my neck. "I'm hungry." I grab his face, stopping his slow torture, "Let's not worry about this now. Let's just be together, okay?" I plead, watching his eyes soften. "I leave for Atlanta in the morning," I add softly.

He searches my face for a moment, finally nodding. "Okay." Then he leans down and kisses the life out of me. Just as I decide food can wait forever, he pulls away, "I know a place."

"Great," I say breathlessly. My eyes fall reluctantly on the clock. I turn away from the harsh red numbers taunting me. I don't want to think this will be the only night I have with Michael. But if it is, I plan on making the most of it. Reaching up, I pull Michael's head back down to me. "Food can wait," I mutter between bruising kisses. He offers no argument as I tug desperately at his shirt.

*

"Awful, just awful! I can't believe you would do that to someone you consider a brother!" I shake my head in amused disbelief as Michael and I walk up the beach back to our hotel. The sun is just starting to climb the sky and the waves are calmly lapping at the sand.

"It rocked! And Max got over it."  Michael smirks at me, swinging our entwined hands between us. I just playfully roll my eyes, unable to stop myself from smiling. After spending a few more hours in bed, Michael took me to some all night diner where we sat and traded stories. The vivid but blurred emotions that I've come to associate with Michael have been brought into sharper focus now, made more real, after learning some details of his life. 

Michael Guerin is a fascinating man. He has this habit of scratching his eyebrow when he's nervous or flustered. He puts more Tabasco sauce on his food than any human has a right to. He can drink a cherry cola with breakfast food. He's had a hard life and it shows in his personality. But there are these irresistible cracks of vulnerability in his stonewall and I want nothing more than to crawl inside and lose myself forever.

But I can't. Over the past few hours, that fact has become increasingly real to me.

We come to a stop in front of our hotel, our easy conversation trailing off. I think we both know that our time together is nearing an end. It's too good between us. There is too much there for two virtual strangers. Too much for two people who have never really had much of anything before.

I gaze forlornly at the rising sun, my throat starting to sting as reality sets in. I will not cry. "Michael…" I begin, unsure what I want to say.

Michael pulls my chin so I look him in the eye. "Don't," he whispers, his voice catching slightly. He traces my lips with his fingers. "Not yet."

Leaning in slowly, I can tell his eyes are burning my image into his brain. Unable to bear it, I close the distance between us and kiss him passionately. It's a painstakingly slow kiss, the heat between us gradually building. I try to memorize every sensation rolling through my body. Finally, we part when air becomes a necessity.

I scatter light kisses over Michael's face, unable to look him in the eye just yet, unwilling to stop touching him.

"I could come to Atlanta," he breathes, eyes closed. I stop. Our eyes meet slowly. When I see the desperation written so clearly on his face, a few tears betray my desire to remain Teflon and escape down my cheeks. I bite my lip, wiping imaginary tears off Michael's cheeks while ignoring my own. Standing up on tiptoes, I kiss his forehead tenderly.

"No, you can't," I say regretfully. He buries his face in my neck. I hug him close, speaking gently into his hair, "Michael, it wouldn't work. We both know it. We have different lives. I need to sing. You need to go back to Santa Fe and paint. And we need to do it on our own."

His breathing is rough, desperate, against my skin. I clutch him tighter to me, my hands trying to soothe him. I never want to forget how it feels to hold him, comfort him.  

"Besides," I murmur calmly into his ear, "if you plan on making your living as an artist, you're going to have to paint something besides me. I don't think I'd have much of a wide-market appeal. People don't pay big bucks for portraits of struggling musicians." Michael chuckles into my shoulder and I can feel him regain some of his control. I smile lightly.

Michael pulls away to study my face intently. "I won't see you again."

"Maybe not," I affirm softly.

"You'll do fine, Maria," he says solemnly. "You are so talented."

"Michael…"

"No, listen to me. You can do it on your own. Just don't be so afraid of what people will think."

I step back, hurt. "I'm not afraid-"

"Yes, you are," he cuts me off. Anger wells in my chest. I start to turn away, but Michael grabs me close. "You put your heart out there for me, Maria. Do it for everyone else and you'll see…you'll inspire them too."

I can't speak, the truth of his words cutting me deep. "What about you?" I finally sputter accusingly. "Why can you only paint me?"

Michael sighs, wrapping me tight in his arms. "Because I'm not exactly eager to put myself on display either."

I grin into his shoulder. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"Yeah," he says sadly. "We are."

We stay like that for a few minutes, holding each other. Eventually, though, time begins to weigh on me and I walk us closer to the hotel parking lot.

I guess this is it. I see Sean and Alex on the other side of the lot, loading their stuff in our van. I need more time. If only…

"This isn't fair." I stare up into Michael's amber eyes and can't fathom never losing myself in their depths again.

"No. But we're doing the right thing, Maria," Michael admits. He kisses me on the forehead. "You're beautiful," he whispers into my hair.

"So are you," I reply with total conviction. Feeling his doubt, I give him a heavy look, "Don't let anyone let you think otherwise, okay?"

He nods and I again will myself not to cry. There's nothing left to say so with one final soul-searing kiss, Michael regretfully turns to leave. Unable to watch him walk away, I close my eyes tight.

Numbly, I walk toward the van, my brain struggling to process what has happened in less than a day. Sean and Alex are staring at me questioningly, obviously witnessing my goodbye with Michael.

"Don't even start, Sean," I threaten, glaring at him. Sean just shrugs innocently.

"Maria, is everything okay? Who was that guy? He looks familiar." Alex studies me, concerned. I refrain from biting his head off too only because he's not obnoxious about his interrogations.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" I say wearily. Alex nods in understanding. "I have to finish packing. I'll be back in a few minutes."

I hardly register my walk through the hotel. Once inside my room, painfully identical to Michael's, I fight the urge to break down crying. I need to be stronger than that. Tears won't bring Michael back; they won't solve anything. My eyes fall on my guitar, propped in its case up against the wall. Michael's words come back to haunt me. He believes in me and I don't want to let him down. I won't let my self down anymore.

Scrambling to find my journal, I drop to the bed and begin to scribble furiously. As I rush to translate into words all the emotions I've experienced over the past few hours, I feel the first traces of peace begin to wash over me. I don't stop until Alex comes to make me leave for Atlanta.

*

St. Louis, Missouri. September 5.

It's been one week since I said good-bye to Michael. Seven days missing a touch it only took me one night to learn, but perhaps forever to miss.

Atlanta was a disaster.