The next day proved to be just as mesmerizing as the day before while Christine watched the man she was quickly becoming quite attached to perform. She conversed, again, with his arrogant director and by the middle of the day decided to write him off. She had better things to do with her time than to listen to someone tell her about how amazing they are. By that time, she'd resigned herself to (not regrettably) listening to Michael sing and reading a book.

The time seemed to fly by. Christine made it through most of her book on Autoimmune Disorders and Michael was singing a song that sounded more like half a rap. It was very angry, she could tell by the attitude of the music and the lyrics. There was still so much she didn't know about him…

Christine folded her page and looked up. The room had gone silent and everyone looked toward the stage. She saw it, too. Michael dropped the microphone, one hand clutching at his chest. He looked surprised and Christine saw him trying to catch his breath. The doctor sprang in front of the girl friend and she threw herself onto the stage with him. Ortega had joined them, trying to pull her out of the way. Her strength over powered him (in her panic, she thought nothing of this) and she shoved him out of her path so she could get the Michael, who was lying on the floor. Ortega hovered over her shoulder and she snapped at him to grab her bag. Being the sensible type of male to be afraid of an upset woman, he did as he was told.

Michael had fallen unconscious. Christine examined him as quickly as she could. Trachea's deviating to the right.

"Quick," She shouted to Ortega, who was still holding her bag. "Pull a syringe out of there. I don't care what size! Pull the plunger out." He did so and handed it to her. She aimed, and forcefully inserted the needle under his left collar bone. The trachea righted itself and Michael began to cough. Christine, still straddling him, released a deep breath and felt herself relax.

"Call 911." Christine said to anyone who would listen. She heard footsteps running off behind her, but didn't look to see who'd done as she'd told. Michael sat up and enveloped her in his arms. The syringe hung limply in her hand.

Michael was free to go home once he'd been thoroughly examined. He had over done himself and his previous lung condition had contributed, as well. But it was nothing serious. A collapsed lung was something he'd experienced before and, no matter how scary it might be, it was something he'd have to anticipate in the future.

Christine was angry with herself. She hadn't been paying as close attention as she ought to have been and if she had told him to be more careful, this might not have happened. She should have told him to stop or slow down, but she hadn't. She felt a right idiot. But Michael should have known as well. He should have known he shouldn't over work his body as he did. So she blamed them both.

No one said a word even when they got inside and Christine yanked open the refrigerator door, stuck her head inside, and then shut it with a huff. Michael sat down and watched her lean against the appliance, cross her arms and glare nothing.

"You can't possibly be blaming yourself for this." He said in disbelief and earned the glare directed at him. "Christine, this wasn't your fault. My body isn't as…fit…as it used to be."

"I should have paid more attention." She grumbled. "If I had said something to you about your activities-"

"I wouldn't have listened." Her glare intensified.

"If something would have happened to you…" She cut herself off, chewing her lip. She'd almost said something she would have regretted.

"What, Christine?" He asked. She shook her head and pushed away from the refrigerator.

"Never mind. It's not important." He stood and cornered her against the counter.

"Tell me." She couldn't deny him. Christine didn't know what was happening. Was she beginning to learn what love felt like? "Tell me."

"I think…I'm starting to feel…"

"Was that difficult?" He asked with a small smile. She nodded. Michael sighed and pulled her against him.

"It's alright. We can't always help what we feel." Christine stiffened and felt her heart ache a little. Was he rejecting what she thought she might be feeling for him? Men! She couldn't believe it! She pulled away from him and glared at him again. He took a step back.

"Then tell me, Michael. Tell me that you don't love me." But all he wanted to do, all he could do at that moment was to kiss her. She saw it coming and prepared herself to push him away, to scream and shout, to make him hurt like she did. But while her lips bruised with the fury of his kiss, all of her walls fell down.

One of his hands gripped the base of her skull, raked through her hair, while the other arm wrapped around her waist to pull her flush against him. For a moment she could only go limp and allow him to kiss her as he did. Then her arms wound around his neck and shoulders and she threw herself into the kiss with as much enthusiasm as her body would allow. Michael left her mouth, but he didn't stop. He pressed his lips to her nose, then each eyelid and her forehead. He moved to her cheeks and along her jaw. Christine sighed and he stifled it with his mouth against hers in one more brief, albeit passionate kiss. While her kept her smaller body cradled against his own, they pulled their faces apart to look each other in eye.

"I can't tell you I don't love you, Christine." He murmured. Her eyes fell closed and a small smile graced her kiss-swollen lips. He traced her mouth with one finger.

Christine fell asleep far faster than he did. He was too tense. The bruise beneath her eyes hadn't complete heeled and although no one else blamed him for the mishap that took place just a week ago, Michael felt as though he was solely responsible. Not even she could dissuade him from this notion.

Michael fidgeted and when she stirred and sighed next to him, he settled for simply wrapping an arm tightly about her waist and using the other hand to run through her hair. It was knotted and tangled and while he couldn't sleep, with every knot he released from her hair, the tension eased from his spine and neck. Sometime after two in the morning, he drifted off to sleep. For just a couple of hours he was able to forget that this innocent young woman would be meeting his family and, worst of all, his father in the morning.

And he still had yet to tell her.