Daniel's House. Orlando, Florida.

Alive, is hardly the word Rebecca used to describe herself when she woke up. Her eyes squints at the light streaming through the room and when she brings her right hand up to shield her eyes from the glare, she is reminded of the wound at her wrist. The pain scorches through her arm and shoulder, stealing her breath away. Subtly, she lowers the hand back down beside her and curses at her misfortune. Within, she feels dead and numb and the burning ache in her head serves as a reminder that despite all her best efforts, she's still alive.

Memories flood through her mind, filling her eyes with unshed tears. She remembers the jingle of wedding bells, the priest in his snow-white gown, the bride and groom dressed in their impeccable wedding attires and the gasps of disbelief of the guests seated at the church as she yelled for the wedding to stop.

She can still feel his hand clamped hard around her arm, dragging her out of the church, shouting to his bride that she's nothing more than his past, the epitome of the worst moments of his life and the gravest mistake he has ever made. All the things which followed afterwards; a piece of a broken mirror she had used to slash her own wrist open, the blurry scenes around her as the car sped away, the smack of the tree as her car smashed into it, are all scattered, hazy images in her head.

But she recalls running in the rain, the memory so vivid and clear. She recalls the man chasing her and in the heat of the moment, she had panicked he was going to hurt her. That was until his strong arms had found its way around her middle, hauling her out of the middle of the road before the truck can end her life, burning her plans of suicide to ashes.

She'd almost died. Almost. The man. . . . what was his name? Colby. Yes, Colby. He had saved her life, brought her to a safe place and looked after her. Her tears comes free at the thought of a mere stranger running after her through the depths of the night to save her. A stranger saved her life while a man she loved and once gave her entire life to, betrayed her and married another woman.

She can't be grateful to Colby—try as she might—for saving her life. She wanted to die, she still do. She desire it. That's why despite seeing the truck nearing closer and closer, she had remained firm and rooted in place. Life is an open door to problems and heartache. She doesn't want to hurt anymore. She wants to sleep forever.

A door closing and the sound of footsteps bring her eyes open once more. Colby, the man who unfortunately saved her life appears at the doorway looking more refreshed and presentable than the first time she had seen him. The first thing that catches her attention isn't the sweet aroma of coffee or toasts. It's his chest, bare and shirtless.

Rebecca can't imagine him jogging at this time of the day with the sun being so high in the sky. But judging by the droplets of sweat beaded on his chest and face, he looks to have been doing something tedious before he had thought of bringing her breakfast. She only hopes he hadn't cooked for her. It will be too much. He has already done more than enough.

"Are you alright," he strides over to her quickly and places the cup of coffee and the plate of toasts on the table beside the bed before turning a worried look her way. Rebecca isn't really in the right state of mind or mood to be touched by his concern. Instead, it annoys her. "Why are you crying?"

She dabs the tears from her cheeks with her healthy hand, looking away from his eyes to stare at the window and the sky stretched a mile away. "I'm fine. Something caught in my eye."

So foolish. The line has been repeated so often in movies that even if they're true, it comes across as a lie. And she isn't exactly telling the truth here. He doesn't seem to buy it but doesn't press either. He just sighs and pulls the curtains from the windows, letting more light flit through the room as if earlier hadn't been enough. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A day. It's close to noon now but anyway it doesn't matter," he decides, taking a seat in the rocking chair. He smiles softly at her, "How are you feeling? Much better than the last time?"

"If I only sleep to wake up again, then I'm officially tired of sleeping," her words earns a chuckle from him and she quickly silences it with a stern scowl. "My head aches but I think the pain at my wrist has lessen somewhat."

"Daniel, the man who helped me bring you here, was waiting for you to wake up so he can give you some medicines and replace your bandages." He stretches the cup of coffee forward, "You need to drink this first. You haven't eaten in. . . . I have no idea but Daniel thinks it isn't healthy to take medicines on an empty stomach. Have this."

"I'm not hungry," she replies, inclining her face away from the cup of coffee.

"You need to eat," Colby insists, scooting his chair closer to the bed. The musky scent of his sweat fills her nostrils along with whatever he used to bath. She becomes acutely aware she hasn't taken a bath in days. "You won't get better without eating. At least drink this. You don't have to eat the toasts."

"I said I don't want to," her voice rises a bit this time, irritated with his coaxing. "I've lost the appetite for food."

She can make out from his knitted brows he's getting pretty frustrated himself. "Appetites don't matter in this situation. You need to eat whether you've the appetite or not so you can take your medicines. Do you want to be lying in this bed forever?"

"What if I do," she counters, looking him dead in the eye. "I rather prefer to be dead right now than to drink coffee."

Her words seems to catch him off guard. His jaws works but no words spurs out. He's silent for a moment before he whispers, voice almost sad and full of pity, "You really did wish to die, didn't you?" She doesn't reply; her courage fails her so she looks away again. Colby shakes his head, seemingly to clear the daze from his mind. His voice regains its firm, edgy tone from the previous night. "Well, I saved you and there's no way about it. I'm not going to stand by and watch you die. You need to get better. Now please, drink this."

"I said I won't!!!" Her hand flies up the next minute, batting the cup of coffee out of his hands. His grip on the cup isn't tight enough and the hot content spills over his chest and black jeans, making him yelp. Rebecca's eyes widen at the mess she has just created, "I'm so sorry," she begins to plead, trying to sit up but the ache in her body keeps her down. "I didn't mean to."

Colby holds his hands up as if in surrender of something. She expects him angry but he only meets her gaze with a look of regret. "It's alright. I shouldn't have pressed. Coffee might not be your favorite thing in the world."

Coffee is in fact one of her favorite things and toasts is a love which forced her last boyfriend to buy a toaster. "No, it's my fault. You see I'm not. . . .," tears runs down her face a second time and she quickly wipes them away. She suddenly feels like a child fighting for a lost doll. She's clearly a burden to him and her stubbornness is only adding up to his list of problems. "I'm not really the best person to be around right now."

He looks up at her from cleaning the coffee off him with a towel he had found on the table. His brown eyes turns soft seeing the stain of tears on her face. "Don't worry about it. It's fine. Really. We probably got off on the wrong start and maybe I was too insistent. But you really need to eat."

She shuts her eyes in exasperation, "I know. I'm just not hungry. I ache all over as if I was ran over by a car."

"Here," she flinches when his hand lands on her shoulder. They both stare at each other for a while—a hurt look in his eyes at her reaction—before her tense shoulders eases up. With his help, she manage to sit up and lean against the pillow he tucks behind her head. "Have this," he hands her a piece of toast and she reluctantly takes it, munching on it delicately. It's delicious but she doesn't allow herself a moment to savor it.

"Is there anyone you want me to call? A family member or perhaps a friend?"

"No," she answers quickly. Too quickly. It hits her in that moment that she doesn't want to go back home.

His brows furrows, "It has been two days since I found you. Your family must be worried sick. They must be searching for you everywhere. It'll be good to put them at ease."

Rebecca thinks of Ashley; her best friend whom she left behind at the farmhouse, of her mother and brother back at Los Angeles. They must indeed be worried about her but one phone call and they'll know where she is. She isn't ready to be found. She doesn't have the courage to face her family after what she did to herself. She isn't ready to face her problems. Not yet. "I don't want to call anyone. I've no one to call."

"But. . . ."

"If you want to leave," she shoves the last bit of toast into her mouth, munching on it quickly. "If you want to leave, it's totally fine and understandable. You've already done more than enough for me and I appreciate it but please, don't treat me as some sort of child who can't think for herself."

"You aren't exactly acting mature here by refusing to call your family and putting them at ease. They probably think you are dead. Letting them fret over you unnecessarily is childish and inconsiderate."

Rebecca forces herself not to glare at him, "Childish and inconsiderate? You know nothing about me and whether I decide to call my family or not, it's absolutely none of your damn business."

"Of course it's part of my business," he nearly shouts, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair but he catches himself and realizes it's in a tight bun. Rebecca is more than curious about the yellow streak in his hair but their conservation is quickly turning too heated to even be classified as normal. "I saved your life. You aren't well and as long as you can't even sit up on your own, I have to be here to help you. It's not a duty but a humane thing to do but you're making things more difficult."

When he stretches another toast forward for her to take, she swats his hand away. "I'm full."

He slams the toast on the plate, "You're so stubborn," he declares in palpable frustration.

"And you're too insistent," she accuses, "Stop being so protective of me. You saved my life but that's where the line is drawn. You aren't my father so stop acting like one!!!"

"Any father will dread it if he had a daughter like you; stubborn, picky and short tempered. I get that you have problems, you aren't exactly the best person to be around and you didn't exactly want to be saved but you're still alive. The least you can do is make sure my efforts don't go in vain."

Before she can think of any clever retort, a man appears at the doorway, staring confusedly at the two of them. Colby stands up from the chair, his protests and insults dying in his mouth. Rebecca is glad for the peace and quiet and something about Daniel screams friendly and trustworthy; a trait Colby can't boast off with his sharp looks and the yellow streak in his hair making him look like a 80's bad boy. "I can see you ate a bit of toast. That's good. How are you feeling, my dear?"

"I'm feeling a little better," she admits, eyeing Daniel as he dishes out bandages and stitches from the first aid kit. "What are you going to do to me?"

Daniel smiles warmly, sitting in the rocking chair. "Replace the bandage around your wrist with a new one and give you medicines for the pain. It won't hurt."

She manages a brave smile for his benefit while the man removes the old bandage around her wrist. She isn't a nurse but she knows the wound not being red or swollen is a good sign. It still ached though when Daniel touched it. She winces occasionally but soon enough, her whimpers dies down and all she feels is a cool breeze of relief as he stitches up her wrist before bandaging it. She sighs when Daniel finished the work.

"You're going to feel sleepy after taking these medicines. Don't fight it."

She nods and gulps down the medicines along with the water he had brought. She notice Colby watching the entire time with his arms crossed on his chest, the features of his face set in grim lines. He's still pissed, judging by the exaggerated eye rolls he gives her every time she meets his eyes. She rolls her eyes back in response. "Thank you," she whispers to Daniel, already feeling the effects of the medicines battling with her urge to stay awake.

"It's nothing. I'm glad to help. You can take a bath later when you wake up. For now, get some rest." Daniel says to her, urging Colby out of the room by the arm.

She has no idea what Daniel asks but Colby's voice rings through the room the next minute, "She's so stubborn," she hears him say. "She refused to drink the coffee and it took a lot of persuasion before she even ate a single piece of toast." Daniel's quiet laugh follows and she can't hear the conversation anymore as they appear to have stepped outside, a door banging shut.

I can say the same for you, she wish she can yell it to him but the lure of sleep is too strong to keep her eyes open any longer.

* * *

"She's so stubborn," Colby declares for the hundredth time while Daniel laughs, unfazed by the agitation on his face. The old man seems to take delight in his tantrums. To him, he must come across as a whinny kid complaining over all the things children tend to complain about. "Something tells me she doesn't want to get better."

The smile on Daniel's face disappears in a blink, replaced by a worried frown, "Did she say anything?"

Colby shrugs on the stool he's sitting on. "She's pretty upset I saved her. She doesn't have to say anything because her eyes already reveal a lot. According to her, being dead is much better than drinking coffee."

"Completely normal for someone who just woke up to find herself in an unknown place surrounded by strangers." Completely natural for someone who tried to kill herself, is more of a way to phrase it but Colby knows the old man won't bluntly say that out loud. "Be patient with her. She'll come around," Daniel adds, too busy plucking carrots to look at him.

Colby doesn't exactly have all the time in the world. With her waking up and Daniel assuring him she's getting better, he had hoped he might be able to return home in a few days or in a week's time. He hadn't been able to call his family yesterday due to the bad weather and the poor signal in the area. He has spent the entire morning helping Daniel weed and clear the garden after the damage the rains from the previous nights caused. For a man of his age, Daniel still has surprising strength and his palpable adoration and love for his garden only served to make him work harder in making sure it's restored to its former glory.

He called his family earlier before taking food to the woman but no one answered his calls. To say he was upset is an understatement. He wants to know how his family is doing, most especially his father after surviving three heart attacks the past couple of months. Somewhere deep down in his heart, he also wants to know if Mercedes is fretting over his disappearance like the rest of his family and loved ones are. The uncertainty of it irritates him. Mercedes continues pushing him away but he can't seem to let her go.

Despite all that, he had tried to be civil and polite to the woman but his grievances got the best of him. It also didn't help the person involved is annoying as hell, resulting in the disastrous conservation which ensued between them. To think he didn't even bother asking her name first and he proceeded to pestering her over eating and contacting her family. He knows he should leave her. She's getting better and Daniel is a nice person. He will still take care of her in his absence. She will be better off with him and he can just leave her and head back to Los Angeles to see his family.

But he can't. His conscience and everything he knows to be right won't allow him to leave her. As long as he's stuck here with her, he has to take Daniel's advice and be tolerant and understanding for her sake.

Tolerance, isn't his strong suit so apart from going to the kitchen to get something for himself and Daniel to eat for lunch, he busies himself with work around the house. The garden is large enough to fit the entire backyard and even after weeding and clearing the garbage, there was still a lot more to be done. The afternoon passes by in a blur of work and conversation.

Daniel is indeed a generous person and his presence alone makes him feel comfortable and useful in ways his own father haven't made him feel his entire life. For all that he has done for him, helping him with his garden and tending to the van was the least he could do to repay him for all the favours he has showered on them.

"I think I need a bath," he tells Daniel, eyeing the dirt and grime plastered on the jeans Daniel had been kind enough to buy for him yesterday.

Daniel waves him away with a hand, his spectacles long forgotten on a table inside the house. Without them, he looks almost young. "You go ahead Colby. I'll finish this while you bath. We'll see later what we will do about dinner."

As he races inside the house, he thinks back to the pasta they had for dinner last night. It was delicious so he probably won't mind having it again. Usually the door to the room the woman rests is always open in case she needs something but she can't make it the door to get it herself. Though after the brief encounter he had with her this afternoon, he doubts her pride will ever allow her to shout out for help. The door is shut close this time and Colby thinks it is for the best since she might try to slip out of the house unbeknownst to them.

As he turns the doorknob, he mentally reprimands himself for failing to knock first but the deed has already been done, judging by the faint creak of the door as it opens. He expected her on the bed sleeping blissfully but she isn't. She is standing in front of the dressing mirror, wiping water off her naked body with a large, white towel.

For a fleeting second, he willingly forgot his manners and all the good and the wrong in the world. Everything is foggy in his mind, even the memory of Mercedes's naked form and the very reason he had come to the room in the first place. He shouldn't be staring; he has seen her naked once before but at that time she was still sick, cheeks hollow and face flushed white and he had been tasked with the job of cleaning the dirt and blood off of her. The only thing he had seen without her permission was her chest and other things he doesn't want to mention.

Now she's better and almost glowing, his eyes drinking in everything he couldn't see the night before; her legs, the curve of her hips and the round of her ass. The sight of her keeps him transfixed, rooted in place at the door and he wasn't so sure he wanted to look away. But when her eyes snaps to him, he almost wish he had looked away much sooner.

To his surprise and amusement, her towel is what she throws first before two pillows comes raining down on him, one hitting him squarely in the face. "How dare you?!! Weren't you thought the simple manners of knocking before you enter a room?"

"I didn't know you were awake," he tosses the pillows aside and makes it to his feet. She hadn't bothered to cover herself with the blankets after she stupidly threw the towel at him. His gaze catches her arms around her chest before he turns his back to her, handing her the towel from behind. She yanks it from his hands rather furiously. "I'm sorry."

"So now, despite being annoyingly overprotective, you're also a pervert."

He resists the urge to turn back to face her, "I'm not a pervert. I just made a mistake in coming in without knocking. I made a mistake okay, and I'm sorry."

He can feel her hot glare at the back of his head, "Your apology would mean something if I actually believe you stumbled upon me accidentally."

Certain, she is now clothed with the towel, he finally turns to face her with a scowl. "And what makes you think I did it intentionally?"

She jabs a finger at his face, "Because if I hadn't caught you looking at me, God only know how long you would've stood there, mouth agape, just watching me. You didn't look away when you should have. Don't expect me to believe Daniel didn't tell you I was awake when he came outside."

"Daniel didn't tell me anything. If you think I want to take advantage of you, you're sorely mistaken."

She scoffs, crossing her arms on her chest. "Oh really and you expect me to believe that? Give me one reason I should think you aren't a pervert. Just one reason, Mr. . . ."

"Lopez," he finishes for her to which she rolls her eyes. "As for the reason, if I wanted to do something to you, I would've done it two nights ago. You don't remember but I got you into the dress you were wearing when you woke up."

She blushes hotly, blinking a few times, no doubt envisioning him unbuttoning her tattered dress in her head. Her sheepishness doesn't last long before her glare bounces back in full force. She angrily swipes a wet tendril of hair from her cheek. The orange dye is gone, leaving her hair in a dull, brownish colour but her eyes still makes her look strikingly beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful. "I sincerely don't care about something I have no memory of. I caught you looking at my nakedness and that, I remember perfectly well. And that alone makes you a liar when you tell me you didn't intentionally mean to stare when you did exactly the opposite."

Colby sighs helplessly. There's no getting through her. She's as hard as a rock. He doesn't want to waste his time trying to move her to listen or understand. "I just came here to take a shower. Now if you would please. . . ."

She blocks his way, standing firmly at the door to the bathroom to prevent him from entering. "You aren't going anywhere. I won't let you."

He's so much bigger and taller than her and the image of her lithe form blocking his path amuses him but he doesn't dare shove her aside even though that's what he desperately wanted to do. Shove her so hard, her towel will come undone leaving her naked again. "What exactly is your problem? Fine, I came in here without knocking but I apologized for it. What more do you want? Kneel before you and ask for your forgiveness?"

Her evil smirk takes him completely by surprise. She seems to be enjoying the argument they're having. "That won't be so bad," she coos, smiling as his mouth drops open at her boldness. "The 80's bad boy grovelling at my feet, begging for mercy."

"What bad boy?"

"Your hair," she says as if it is blatantly obvious. "The yellow streak in your hair makes you look like a bad boy and for that I don't trust you."

He laughs then, deepening her glare. "You don't trust me because of the yellow streak in my hair? How ridiculous can you be? I saved your life."

"Stop rubbing your heroic deed in my face," she yells at him. "I never asked to be saved, did I? Appearances matter a lot, Mr. Lopez. For the last time, you aren't going anywhere!"

As he scans her up and down, all he wants to do is laugh at how adorable she looks threatening him in her deep Irish accent. "Are you done now," he asks, quickly sweeping her off her feet before she can even react.

She gasps and beats feebly at his chest, "Let go of me," she cries, futilely trying to pry his hands off her but one wrong move and her wound may open up.

Colby doesn't care though, dropping her unceremoniously on the bed. It's a miracle the towel is still wound around her. "Stay there and let me take a bath in peace."

She pouts cutely, curling herself into a ball in mock surrender. Colby knows better. "I hate you," she shouts to him when he enters the bathroom.

Luckily, he is still presentable enough to open the door and poke his head out, shouting back at her face. "That makes the two of us."