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Mike knocked on the door again. "Carrie? Are you okay?" No, I most certainly am not. Tempting as it was to answer his query in that manner, Carrie settled for the rather mundane, "Coming! Just a minute!" Her body was still on fire. Her skin was flushed, her hands were shaking, and her breathing was uneven at best. She knew that this was not going to be a dream that she would not be able to recall minutes from now. Everything she'd experienced while she was asleep had been indelibly imprinted in her memory, and not amount of wishing, hoping or praying would be able to make it go away. She slipped on her shoes, silently pleading with herself to remain calm. What would Gus do at a time like this? she asked herself. She sat up and smoothed the wrinkles in her clothing as best she could. Thank God her hair wasn't too much of a mess. She stood up and fixed her posture into one of confidence, hoping that she could mask the nervous and rather pleasurable twitching of her overactive nerve endings. She walked over to the door and threw it open, fully prepared for whatever happened. Mike looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was mussed and his whole expression was one of dejection. Carrie gave herself a mental slap as she found herself thinking that no matter what he looked like, he was still gorgeous and she wouldn't mind it at all if he. . . She clamped down on her overactive imagination. "Mike, what's wrong?" "Can we talk?" "Sure, come in." She held the door open and let him pass through, and closed it on the two of them. He trudged over to the couch and slumped down on it. The same couch where minutes ago she'd been having an incredibly erotic dream about him. She decided not to sit next to him, for her own safety. She perched herself on the edge of her desk, and began blushing furiously as she remembered what had taken place on it only minutes ago. She jumped off of it quickly. Is there any place in my office that doesn't remind me of that dream?! she asked herself. Mike looked up at her, his brow furrowing. She had bolted from the desk as if it had bitten her on the behind. "Carrie, are you okay?" "Yeah, sure, I'm just fine. Really!" She grabbed her desk chair and pulled it over so that she could sit facing him while they talked. Her answer was a little to bright and chirpy for him. She's acting like I'm going to jump her or something. He ran his hands through his hair, and decided not to ask any more questions. She reached out a hand and laid it on his knee, willing herself to not do anything more than that, and asked him again, "What's wrong?" Mike lifted his eyes from her hand, to her face and said without preamble, "Robin's got cancer. Gus thinks she might be dying." The tears started to well up in Mike's eyes and Carrie felt like the worst kind of pervert. Here she was going through the aftershocks of her unrestrained hormone-induced sexual fantasy about Mike and he was facing the possibility that the mother of his firstborn son, a woman that he had loved, was dying. She sat down next to him on the couch, gathered him into her arms, and rocked him gently as his façade of strength broke when confronted with her wordless acceptance. "Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry." Carrie had no thoughts of resisting as he wrapped his arms around her. She stroke his hair and whispered soothing words that had no meaning, but spoke volumes to the both of them. He had been so strong for her for so long, and now he needed her. She knew as she held him, as she felt his silent tears against her skin and the mute sobs that made him shake, that she would always be here for him. "Mike, I'm here," she whispered, kissing his forehead and laying her cheek against his hair, "I'm here."
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