book 8:Come Back to Me

It is now April, two months since that fateful night where Mark and I became a couple once more. Other things have happened since then, too. The custody dispute is settled without much hassle, with Mark acquiring full custody of Luke happily, which makes everyone happy. Glenn and Sharon seem to have gotten even more serious in their relationship, as I've heard it said that marriage has been brought up in a few discussions.

I have gone back to my mother's house as well, and hardly had any control over my emotions as I stepped through that door. After picking up her valuables and anything I felt I needed to keep, I left the house for possibly the last time. It was quite an awakening as to how drastically my life had changed.

As I stand beside the curtain at a RAW show, I anxiously await my cue. The writers wanted us to explain our `kidnapping' scheme, which we did, and now, we are set to try to take over the WWF. If I remember right, this had been done a few times before, and I wonder if the fans'll welcome it. It's not just how this storyline will go over, either. I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach; something bad is about to happen, and soon.

His arms tighten around me before his hands travel down to my stomach, where he starts to rhythmically rub in circles. "I think you're more afraid of failing at this storyline than you are of overdoing it," he comments softly.

"Wouldn't you, if you were me?" I asked in the same softness, knowing that the storyline isn't what's bothering me. How could I explain the feeling I've got? I had the same feeling before my mother died.

Our theme hits before he can respond. Glenn walks up, and we head down into the ring. As we stand inside the ring, they show clips from last week. We had interrupted as many matches as we could during Smackdown, and at the end of the show, Vince called us into the ring, demanding to know what right we had for doing that. We came out to the top of the ramp, and told him that we had big plans for the company. With that, we left them hanging as the show closed.

The package ends, and I stand in the middle of the ring with Mark and Glenn; Mark has a mic. When the crowd dies down, Mark brings the mic up to his mouth, and says, "Vince, you may want to get your ass out here before we've got to hunt it down."

Vince gets this `Oh, really?' look on his face. "Is that so?" he comments, then goes off into his owner's stance. "I'm the owner of this company, and I can make and break you." He points to Glenn. "I made Kane become a great monster, dominating everyone he came in contact with, even you, Undertaker." He smiles cynically. "Speaking of you, I made you one of the greatest superstars ever to grace a wrestling ring, and look at the gratitude I get." Vince then points toward me. "Let me guess, this was the brainchild of the ungrateful bitch?"

I take the mic from Mark, and reply, "What's wrong, Vince? Afraid the company will be taken over by the lowly workers?" I smile evilly. "Whether you like it or not, Vince, times are changing. The lowly and naïve have become the powerful and wise, and you didn't see it coming." I scoff as I add, "And I thought you were the genius businessman."

Vince starts seething, and yells, "All right, I see that fining you isn't gonna stop you. Let's just see how much of a smart-ass you three are when I have you three face…Chris Benoit and Triple H in a no-DQ, no holds barred match." The crowd begins to cheer, and I have to smirk. Vince then begins to smile sinisterly. "But that's not all. Their partner is someone who'll be just a bit surprised he's on their side…Stone Cold Steve Austin!"

The crowd roars to their feet at the announcement. Mark takes the mic back. "Vince, throw whomever you like at us," he says, then softly chuckles. "We'll make `em famous." At that, Vince storms to the back, and we head back a few moments later.

The match itself is pretty intense, with everyone getting cut open by either a trashcan, a chair, or by being bashed by the WWF Championship belt that Hunter still holds. Despite the obvious dislike Steve has for his team, they work well together. Hunter and Chris even hold me while he wraps a steel chair around my head a few times. When all is said and done, it is we that come out victorious after we manage to give Benoit a Chokeslam, Steve the Last Ride, and Hunter the Child's Plaything. After the match, Glenn grabs a mic, and calls out, "Is that the best you've got?" Thus is how the show ends.

The next few weeks pass slowly by, and I begin to wonder what's with that nagging feeling I constantly have now. The storyline took so easily, and nothing wrong has happened yet. All I can think of is that I'm growing old, and getting quite paranoid as I do so.

The time hasn't been easy when Mark begins to grow more and more uneasy, which makes him somewhat unbearable at times. There are times when he's back to his normal self, joking and completely lovable; that's the best time to try to talk to him. While he's in one of his worse moods, I ask him to tell me what's wrong, but he mumbles something about it not being my business.

The night of April 22nd, things get out of hand, sort of. We are in the lobby with Glenn and Sharon, catching a late dinner, when a male fan walks up casually, and asks for an autograph from me. Not wanting to appear arrogant, I accept the out-held pen and paper, and sign it. After I hand it back to him and he says his thanks with a sly smile, I reply, "You're welcome."

I shake my head, and reply, "Every time I ask, he tells me it's none of my business." I take a deep breath, lean my head back, and close my eyes for a moment. "Wonder if I did something to cause this."

"Don't blame yourself; you know you didn't do anything," Sharon tells me, placing her hand over mine. "He's just being a real big jackass right now." She smiles at me. "He'll get out of it soon."

Weakly, I smile back; somehow, I still believe it must have been something I did to set him off to begin with. "Well, I'm gonna go hit the sack anyway," I say, changing the subject, and standing up. "'Night, you two…don't do something I would do."

I cautiously enter the hotel room, for fear of something to come flying at my head. When I see the coast is clear, I enter all the way, and close the door. "Mark?" I call out.

I walk toward the open bathroom door, and see Mark drying his face; he's already down to his boxers. "Despite what you say, your problems are my business," I tell him, and he rolls his eyes as he comes out of the bathroom. He brushes past me none-too-nicely, and sits down on the bed. I stand beside him. "I have a right to know what's bringing on these major mood swings."

"I'm not moody!" he protests with sudden loudness, making me jump. "Why don't you just stop badgering me with your `what's your problem' talks, all right? I'm just fine." He immediately lies down, turning off his bedside light, and pulls that covers up over his head.

My ire begins to rise as he does this; being ignored is something I don't feel like dealing with. "Fine," I say aloud, directing it toward his covered body. "If that's the way you want it, Mark Callaway, two can play at this game!" I turn on my heel, and head into the bathroom for a shower.

The morning isn't any better. Mark barely acknowledges my existence, and it's quite hard to appear as if nothing's wrong between us when we're eating breakfast with Glenn and Sharon. "So, what are you two planning on doing before heading to the arena?" Glenn asks, trying to lighten the mood.

I snag a glance at Mark when he just continues to poke at his food, and return my gaze to my friends. "Um, we haven't really decided yet," I reply. "What are you two doing?"

"Maybe we'll join you," I say, and smile. "We'll just have a blast before an awesome night!" Sharon smiles and nods enthusiastically in response. After finishing our meal, we head out to the parking lot, where we decide where to meet, and head into our separate cars.

After driving about an hour in raging silence, I can't hold my angry tongue any longer. "You might as well tell me your problem, since you're already pissed off at me," I say as I look out the window, not a drop of sweetness in my voice.

"It's what you've been doing to everyone else," he returns. "You smile at all the guys that come up for your autograph, and even when they don't. You're such a slut."

"You're a liar," he states instead, anger rising in his voice again, and I notice the speed beginning to rise as well. "Don't lie to me, Ally. Answer the fucking question honesty."

"I was intoxicated!" I defend. "It was the night that you and I got back together. I was drunk, and Glenn came to get me. I made a move on him, and he knocked me on my ass."

I turn to look in front of me, and notice the car beginning to head into the lane to the right. A car is coming up behind us. "Mark, look out!" I shout, bracing my arms by putting my hands on the dashboard.

He quickly turns the wheel in the other direction, but with the speed and the suddenness of it all, the car careens out of control. The front end hits violently hard into the cement median, with the back end of the car bucking up, crushing the windshield in, a blackness veiling over my consciousness as the tires hit the ground.

I don't know how long it is before I wake up again, but when I do, it's with a major headache. "Oh man," I mutter softly, bringing my hand to my head as I open my eyes; the first thing I see is the top crushed in. When I touch my forehead, a warm substance meets my touch, and I pull my fingers back into view to see red blood upon them. "Shit, what happened?" The argument floats back into my mind, and I remember everything.

I turn to look at Mark, and am horrified to see him slumped forward on the steering wheel, not moving, and blood oozing from the top of his head, his forehead, and various bloody cuts appear beneath it all on his face. His hair catches the glints of the sunlight from the smashed-in windshield area; with the front of the top of the car also smashed down, it begins to cause me concern. "Mark?" I call out softly, wanting to touch him but afraid of what I might do or find if I did. "Mark?" I don't get an answer, and I begin to feel the dread in my stomach again, the same dread I'd been feeling for the past few weeks. "Mark? Please wake up!" Fear courses through me.

A siren brings my attention to a halt as a police cruiser pulls up to the car. Two policemen walk out of their car, and one, immediately seeing that we needed medical attention, goes back to the car. Not long afterward, I can hear another siren as the ambulance and a small fire-truck pull up along side the car. After what seems like hours, the firemen are able to pry the top open like a sardine can, and get me out first. Once I get on my feet, I watch as they cautiously pull Mark out, immediately placing him on a stretcher. "He's unconscious, but breathing!" I hear one of them yell, and instantly, I'm at his side. "Miss, you're gonna have to back away so we can get him in the vehicle."

I stand back as they place the stretcher inside the ambulance, then I hop in, sitting beside him, taking his hand. "Mark, don't do this to me," I whisper, the tears beginning to fall down my face. "Please wake up." I don't even notice the other paramedics enter the vehicle, nor when the doors close or feel the ambulance begin to move. All I can think of is the anger I had felt towards him just minutes before, and how absolutely responsible I feel for the accident.

The ride to the hospital is quiet, save for the paramedics poking, prodding, and testing Mark for things, but I'm not paying attention. My focus is still on the fact that if I hadn't started arguing with Mark, we wouldn't be in this position. One of the paramedics break through my thoughts as he says, "Miss, we're here. You've got to hop out so we can get him out."

I climb out, finally realizing how much my arm and leg hurt as I did so. Ignoring the pain, I stand and watch as they pull Mark out. As soon as the wheels of the gurney are on the ground, I'm back at Mark's side, reclaiming his hand. I go inside the emergency area with the paramedics. One of the paramedics pulls me away from him as they head through a pair of double doors. "Sorry, but you can't go back there right now," he tells me gently, then leads me toward another door. "You should get yourself looked at."

The doctor in the ER room examines me, and stitches up the deep wound on my forehead. "Bad cut," he tells me as he finishes up the stitching. He steps back, crossing his arms. "It appears you tried to brace yourself with your arms. You're lucky they didn't break in any way, but it seems that your left elbow is severely sprained. Your right knee seems to have the same outcome. I'm guessing with the front-end collision, you stuck your leg out to brace yourself, too, and the knee took the shock. I'm advising minimal movement, if possible. No working-out, no work period."

"Oh, I don't know," he tells me. "After we wrap your elbow and knee, and fit you with crutches, you can wait in the lobby, and I'll check for you." I nod, and he begins his work.

After five minutes, I head out to the lobby, walking with the crutches the doctor gave me. `First things first,' I think to myself, holding back my threatening tears, and I head toward the payphone. I immediately dial Sharon's cellphone after depositing the change. "Hello, you've reached Sharon," comes her voice through laughter. By the sounds around her, I can tell that she and Glenn are still driving.

"You're gonna have to," I tell her, more tears coming down as I watch someone being ran through the ER doors, blood everywhere. "He took his eyes off the road to glare at me, and he was speeding, too. The car started into the next lane. I told him to watch out, and he turned so hard, so suddenly, and at that speed, the car spun outta control and hit the cement median." The sob escapes my throat. "He's unconscious, Sharon, and I'm so scared. It was all my fault!"

"We will, just sit tight," she returns before hanging up. I hang up the phone, and limp my way to a cushioned seat. Sitting down gingerly, I set myself up for a long wait.

About an hour later, Glenn and Sharon come rushing through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room. "Ally! Oh my God…are you all right?" Sharon asks as they walk up to me, and she sits in the chair next to me.

I nod, and reply with a thick voice, "Yeah, I'm good, just a few sprains. They won't tell me about Mark though. Something's wrong, I know it." I sigh deeply. "God…it's all my fault!"

A few new tears begin to slide down my face. "But I badgered him until he told me what pissed him off, and we got in this huge argument," I say, and sniffle. "If he hadn't have been pissed off at me, he wouldn't have taken his eyes off the road."

Glenn stands up, and heads to the counter. Sharon takes my shaking, clammy hands in her's. "It's not your fault," she says softly. "No matter what happens, it wasn't your fault. Everything's gonna be fine."

The doctor that saw me earlier comes through the doors just then, and he walks toward us. "Hi, I'm Dr. Prater," he says, shaking Glenn and Sharon's hands. He then looks at me sternly. "He's still unconscious. It seems that the impact caused him to hit his head awkwardly, and every hit after the first immediate impact caused a greater problem. He's basically slipped into a coma. The only thing that saved him from dying instantly was that he was wearing his seatbelt."

Dr. Prater shakes his head. "We don't know," he replies solemnly. "We just keep him here, under observation, and wait with hope that he does." He takes a breath. "It's also been found that he's had an unusual amount of damage to his knees and hips, which couldn't come from the accident."

Dr. Prater thinks for a few moments, then replies, "Right now, he's constantly talking about these three that are taking over the company…uh, Kane, Undertaker, and Devil Child."

During their conversation, I am thinking of Mark, lying in a coma alone in some hospital room. New tears slide out of my eyes. "Can I see him?" I ask, interrupting them.

Dr. Prater leads us through many hallways before we stop in front of a door, and he opens it. Taking a deep breath, I hobble into the dark interior. `Mark would like the darkness in this room,' I think as I stand in complete inability to move. Machines beep from everywhere it seems, but the sounds come from the far corner of the large room; a curtain separates the room, and light comes from the other side. As I hobble closer, I can see the very faint outline of a bed. The doctor comes up beside me, and draws back the curtain.

In front of my very eyes lays Mark, covered with the hospital blankets, and hooked up to I don't know how many machines. A new batch of tears spill over as I step closer to the bed, afraid to touch him, afraid to hurt him any further. The doctor pulls up a few chairs. "I'll come back in a few minutes," he says quietly. "I've got a few errands to run." He walks away, closing the door to the room behind him quietly.

I sit in the chair closest to Mark, and take his hand gently, rubbing his skin with my thumb softly. The tears continue to increase in number. "He looks so…fragile," I comment, barely able to get the words out.

I turn my gaze back to Mark. "I'm so sorry, Mark," I begin, not knowing what else to do. "If I wasn't so damn stupid, I could see why you thought I was a slut, and you're right; it did look like that. I shouldn't have been so encouraging toward anyone else." I shake my head at the oncoming headache; the medication I was given is beginning to wear off. "If I hadn't have made you mad, we wouldn't be here right now, and I'm so incredibly sorry."

I sit in the dark with him, holding his hand, for the next few minutes, just watching him breath in and out. `At least he's still alive,' I tell myself. `Should he wake up, maybe I can beg for forgiveness.'

The door opens again, and Glenn, Sharon, and Dr. Prater walk back in. "I don't think she'll be leaving his side much until he wakes up," I hear Sharon tell the doctor.

"It's against normal hospital procedure, but I'll pull some strings, and have a cot rolled in here as soon as I can," he replies, walking up to the other side of the bed to check on the monitors and the amount of liquid that's dripping in a tube that is inserted into Mark's other hand. He looks at me sternly. "If he ever awakens, he might not be the same. He could have brain damage, memory loss, all sorts of things that he used to have, but doesn't."

I have to chuckle cynically through my tears. "You people are always so pessimistic," I return quietly. "This is a time when you should say `everything's gonna be just fine, he'll recover very well'. Give me a bit of hope here."

I nod, and stand, hobbling out of the room. My first thought is to call Vince in the lobby. "Hello, Vince McMahon speaking," his voice calls out in a tone that means he's in a good mood. "How can I help you?"

"I'll be right there," he tells me before we hang up. I limp back to the room, sit down beside Mark, and take his pale hand in mine. As I gaze at him, he looks so deathly white that it begins to start a fluttering fear that he may not wake up at all.

A few hours, Glenn returns with Vince. Vince rushes toward me as I stand up, and he pulls me into an embrace. "This is so…devastating," he says quietly, looking toward Mark. He releases his hold on me, and moves to get a closer look at him. A few minutes pass by before I hear Vince chuckling. "I haven't seen Mark this quiet, this still, in a long time."

We do all we can to get Mark transferred to a hospital closer to home, but the doctors won't allow it. "Who knows what complications can happen during the transfer," Dr. Prater says as we argue with him. "He could stop breathing, or worse, go into heart failure…we don't know, and I don't want to take that risk."

"I've made my decision, Vince," I reply. "I want to be the first person he sees when he wakes up, and let him hear how sorry I am." I glare at the others, challenging them to say anything more.

Vince sighs, and says, "All right, Ally. I guess it should be someone close to him that stays." He rubs his neck in frustrated confusion. "We'll work something into the storylines for your disappearance. Glenn, are you and Sharon staying as well?"

I shake my head, and answer, "I was afraid to. I don't want Luke seeing his father like this. What if he doesn't wake up, Glenn? That'll leave him with only his mother, who doesn't even want her son in her life anymore."

Glenn places his hand firmly on my shoulder. "Ally, he will wake up," he tells me. "He will, because he's got you waiting for him to." He leans down, kisses my cheek, and goes to Sharon. "We'll bring you something to eat." I nod absently as they leave, not taking my eyes off of Mark's closed eyelids.

It is quiet, except for the beeping of the heart-rate monitor and the other machines around us. My thumb continuously strokes the smooth skin on the back of his hand. A thought suddenly strikes me, and I lean forward to touch his stomach with my free hand. Thinking of nothing else, I begin to rub in circles, hoping he'd remember this at least.

An hour passes quickly before Sharon and Glenn come back with a white Styrofoam box. Glenn sets it on the table beside me. "What are you doing, Little One?" he asks softly.

I sadly smile, and reply gently, "Whenever I was sick, nervous, or something, Mark would rub my stomach like this. I was hoping that if I did it to him, it'd bring him back faster." I sigh heavily, and begin to sob openly. Sharon and Glenn both hold me as I release my pent-up cry.

Three and a half weeks pass by so agonizingly slow without any change. I did manage to call Luke the night of the accident. As I knew, he wanted to see Mark, but I told him that it'd be just as upsetting, and that I'd call everyday to give him updates. After agreeing, we cried together, and hung up. As I promised, I called every night, telling Luke of what the doctors tell me. It gets extremely difficult without any change.

My ass is practically glued to that chair beside Mark's bed most days, and one hand holds Mark's, the other rubbing his stomach. The other days are usually when I call Vince to tell him of any changes, which aren't many. Glenn and Sharon are with me as much as possible each day. I know it tears them apart seeing me like this, but the way I see it, I have no choice; this is where I have to be.

Just like how Mark explained to me a long time ago, the doctors cautioned me that after two weeks, the chances of him waking up were growing slimmer. They advised me that it might be time to take him off the machines, let him spend the rest of his life a vegetable should he go on breathing on his own, or let him go on to the next world. Stubbornly, I refused to let them do that to Mark. He believed I would come out of my coma, and I wasn't about to give up on him.

The dawn of May 11th is bright and glorious, so the nurses tell me. The room is kept dark, and I don't really care for the dawn, the dusk, or anything that deals with happiness anymore. During the past few days, my hope was dimming, so anything bright and cheery I began to despise. "How can it be bright and beautiful and glorious when there are people laying in hospital beds, fighting for their lives, and half of them won't live?" I question one nurse as she brings me a breakfast tray. It had become a thing for the nurses to bring me food during the day when they came to check Mark's rates; they thought my staying by Mark's side was so romantic.

The nurse sets the tray on the table beside me. "Oh, deary, you must get out of this dark room more often," she tells me. "It really isn't any good for you to be in here so much. You're missing a lot."

I place the tray on my lap, and eat slowly, my gaze set on Mark's face. `How angelic he looks,' I think to myself as I chew. `It's almost useless now, to sit here, when he's not waking.' I close my eyes in annoyance at myself. `He will wake up, Ally. Stop being such a pessimist!'

I finish my breakfast quickly, and place the tray on the table. I retake Mark's hand, my thumb rubbing the back of his hand. "Mark, I don't know if you can hear me or anything," I say, and roll my eyes at my ignorance. "God, I've been here three and a half weeks…you'd think by now I would learn that you can't." I shrug my shoulders, and sigh heavily, thinking `What the hell.' "Do you know how much you're missed here? Everyone's stopped by to see you at least once, and Luke's so worried about you; we all are, of course, but for your son at least, come back to us." I close my eyes at the threatening tears. "Come back to me. I need you in my life, Mark; I love you…" A tear does escape. "I love you so much, it hurts, and the thought of you not here with me scares me beyond belief."

I laugh lightly as I wipe the few other tears off my face. "To think, a year ago, I turned you away horribly, had a verbal fit just because you wanted to go out for a drink or two," I continue. "Now that I think about it, it's been almost exactly one year since we first met. Isn't that strange?"

I turn on the radio on the bedside table, and immediately, the DJ comes up. "Well, ladies and gents, here's a great Janet Jackson one to kick off the mid-morning rush, `Come Back to Me'."

The door opens, and I quickly wipe the other tears off my face. "Hey, Ally, how are you holdin' up?" Glenn asks as he walks toward me, then bends to hug me. "You okay?"

"Out shopping, what else?" he says with a chuckle. He looks down at the table. "Why don't you go down to the caf, take the tray back to them, and maybe grab some air?" When he sees I'm about to protest, he lays a finger over my lips. "I'll stay here, and if he even breathes, I'll tell you."

I smile at the little joke, and reply, "Thanks, Glenn, for everything you two have done for me lately." I stand up, then lean over to place a kiss upon Mark's dry lips. "Be right back, Mark," I whisper lowly, then grab the tray, and exit the room.

It takes about ten minutes to get to the caf and return their tray; it looks as if everyone in the hospital is in there! So many people, such a long line. After dropping off the tray, I head back toward the elevators, but am stopped by the gift shop's glimmering objects. I enter the little shop, and wonder, `Why do hospitals have gift shops anyway? I always thought it quite strange.' I look around, and spot the flower stand area, where fresh flower bouquets are placed.

I walk over, gazing at the beautiful late spring flowers in crystal clear vases. One bouquet in particular catches my eye. It consists of a single tiger lily bloom, big and orange, set in the middle of light lavender lilacs, two white carnations, and various colors of forget-me-nots. I bend over to smell the tiger lily. "Do you like that one, Ally?" comes an old voice from beside me.

I look up in fright, and am relieved to see it's the gift shop owner, a man in his late seventies. "Yeah, tiger lilies were always my favorite," I reply, then become confused. "How did you know my name?"

"It's everywhere," he says with a shrug. "A lot of the nurses come in here, and they're always telling me about how you wait beside your love to awaken from his coma." I nod, glancing back at the bouquet. I want to buy it, but as I gaze at the price tag, realize I don't have enough money. The man picks up the vase into his hands, and hands it to me. "Here, a gift. Something to keep your hope alive in this trying time. The battle is complete."

I accept the gift with a touch of confusion, and hold the vase gingerly, as if it'd break if I didn't. "Thank you so much, sir," I tell him graciously. "This is just the `pick-me-up' I need." In a quick motion, I hug the man, and head back toward the elevators.

I cross the room, and place the glass vase in front of the other bouquets that others had brought. "Sorry," I reply distantly. "I got a bit…sidetracked." I gaze at the big tiger lily in the middle of the arrangement a moment longer, and turn back to take Mark's hand again. Smiling at the old man's words, I bend down to kiss Mark's lips, knowing I won't get a response.

A returning pressure from the other side surprises me, and I stand upright immediately. Mark's eyes slowly open, and he groans loudly. "What's a man got to do to get some food around here?" he asks groggily, shifting slightly.

I begin to smile excitedly. "Mark, you're awake!" I exclaim, and lean back down to hug him. I hear his sharp intake of breath, and I pull back quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you."

I nod, and say, "I'm pretty good. Had a few sprained joints, but they're all healed now." A few tears trickle from my eyes in my overjoyed happiness. "The worst part was watching you lie here, unconscious for three and a half weeks."

"No, don't," I interrupt. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have bugged you about anything, then we wouldn't be in this predicament. I'm so sorry, Mark, so incredibly sorry."

Mark's hand escapes mine, and his fingers trace my cheek. "You know better than that," Mark says gently. "It was my fault for taking my eyes off the road, and I should've known you couldn't help but be your sexy self around other people." I smile at the comment, which makes Mark smile. "Come down here."

Mark quietly laughs. "You knew I'd wake up sometime," he comments. "I couldn't just leave you like that; that's not my style." I join in on his laughter. The door reopens, and Glenn and Dr. Prater walk in.

After the many tests, Mark is free to leave. Once he's dressed and ready, Glenn, Sharon, and I lead the way out of the room. A sudden thudding sound makes us turn. Mark is stumbling backwards, holding his forehead. I go to his side, laughing a bit. "You forgot to duck through the door," I tell him, placing my arm around his waist.

I pat his hip, and reply, "How could you forget? They were poking you all day." Mark shrugs as we walk out of the hospital. The sun blinds us as we get into Glenn's rented car. "Where are we going?"

We walk through the front door a few days later, and immediately, running footsteps can be heard from upstairs. "Daddy, Ally!" Luke shouts as he races down the stairs. He collides into Mark's legs. "I'm so glad you guys are home!"

"Everyone kept asking me where you guys were, but I didn't tell them," Luke tells us once Mark places him back on the ground. He then smiles. "Let's go out to the backyard." With Mark's nod, Luke runs down the hall toward the backyard doors.

I punch his arm softly with my free hand as we begin to head down the hall. "Hey, it was your fault I blew it to begin with," I reply. "If you hadn't have been tickling me, I would have held my tongue." Mark chuckles at me, and places his arm down my back, his hand resting on my hip.

We go through the open sliding glass door that leads out to the backyard. Slayer runs up to us, yipping his pleasure as Luke chases after the wolf toward the pond. We follow after the two, and come upon the gathering of superstars and their families. "Welcome back!" they shout as we walk up.

The night continues on happily and with tons of fun. I watch, specifically, Luke run around with some of the other kids. By the look in his eyes and the laugh that escapes his throat, I can tell that Luke is truly at his happiest moment. Just seeing him happy makes me even more glad for Mark's reawakening.

Someone's laughter catches my attention, and I look up to see Hunter and Bri joking with one another. When they see my gaze, they walk toward us. "Mark, you should've seen Little One!" Bri exclaims, still laughing. "She stayed by your bedside the entire time you were at that hospital. I don't think she even left your side to use the bathroom."

Mark laughs, and replies, "See, that's where you're wrong. I am not her master, nor is she mine. That's what goes wrong in many relationships." He smirks down toward me. "Besides, the truth is, she knows she can't live without me, not even to use the bathroom."

I stand up, getting into his face as much as I can, considering he's a bit taller than I am. "If we want to have `foreplay', as you two put it, in front of everyone, we will," I return, and smile deviously. "After all, this is our place of residence, and should you challenge it, you won't be having anything to do with such activities, as you won't have anything to use."

Bri snaps back, "I got that part, Hunter." He smiles back down at me. "Okay, Little One, I ain't gonna challenge you…especially when I know that you'll make good on that, and if not you, the Deadman will."

"I ain't touching anything down there, Dogg," Mark replies. "I don't know where that's been." He stands up beside me. "And even if I did, you still wouldn't catch me near it."

The party doesn't last too long into the night, and we're in the house before one. "There," I state, straightening out the bedspread on Mark's bed. "You should be good for now."

Mark comes up from behind me, and places his arms tightly around my body. "Who says I'm staying here alone?" he asks softly, placing sweet kisses on my cheek. "I don't recall this being only a party fling."

I lean back against his body, closing my eyes in contentment. His lips continue to softly caress my cheek, his hands beginning to roam. "Mark, stop before something overtakes us," I say as gently as I can.

He does stop, then releases my body from his grasp. He sits down on the side of the bed, and looks up at me. "Come here, Ally," he says, patting the bed beside him. I sit down as well, and feel his arm snake around my waist. "We've got some serious discussing to do."

I place my head on his shoulder. "I know," I state with a sigh, not sure of what he means, but I have a pretty clear idea it's not something we haven't discussed already.

I feel his hand take my left hand, and I look down at our hands as he says, "I was thinking, and you know how dangerous that can be." I laugh as I look back up at up for a moment, then back down at our hands. He slips a piece of thread over the tip of my ring finger. "You know how people say `third time's a charm'?"

Mark brings my hand up to eye level, resting his arm on my shoulder. "I'm thinking that the saying's right," he says. He then opens his hand to release something. It slides down the thread, and ends up on the first knuckle on my finger. When I focus clearly, I see the most gorgeous ring I've ever known to exist. In the center of the gold band sits a small sapphire, and tinier diamonds surround the precious jewel. In complete shock, I look back up into Mark's eyes. "Marry me, Ally."

My eyes widen even more as more surprise hits me. My gaze goes from Mark's green eyes to the ring and back up. My mouth opens and closes numerous times, as I can't think of what to answer. "The longer you do that, the more nervous I get," Mark says, a light laugh to his voice.