Mike felt his body stiffen as the elevator doors parted, his eyes coming to rest on the halls of the third floor.

After his experience here yesterday, he was almost certain he couldn't return; hearing all of those women speak so boldly about their loss nearly broke him, forcing him to confront his own loss until it drove him to the verge of insanity. Needing a distraction from his emotions, he had been somewhat thankful for the bridal shower and had been even more surprised to find that the bride to be was Eden.

Mike hated to admit it, but he had a good time in Eden's bridal shower last night. For the first time in his life, he didn't need to drink to forget his loss, he just needed to be in the presence of a bunch of women having a good time. However, when Judie dropped him off at his apartment, and he was all alone, he found that he couldn't fall asleep without indulging in innumerable cans of beer.

Cautiously, he took a step out of the elevator, pushing the janitorial cart. Unfortunately, he needed to keep working as a janitor until God-knows-when he would be required to dress up as Santa. But at least he knew what room those women held their grief meetings, and the time of the meeting. He would not make the mistake of walking in on them again.

He stopped before a door and jarred his knuckles on it softly. Pushing the door open, he stuck his head in. “I'm here for the trash.”

The room was empty but for the presence of a still figure on the bed.

Hoping to dash in and out without being noticed, he slipped in through the door and silently made his way to the trashcan by the window.

“Are you the trash-man?” A small voice called from behind him.

Turning from the trash, he turned to the little boy who was most likely six, lying with his back to the bed, and his eyes fixed on Mike. He appeared pale, his skin more white than Mike thought he had ever seen, with several machines connected to him.

“I'm the janitor,” he said.

“What's the difference?” The kid eyed him suspiciously.

Mike paused, his mind scrambling for possible answers. Really, what was the difference? Chuckling, he shrugged. “I'm not sure there is a difference.”

A small smile settled on the boy's face. “My mum says I'm smart.”

“And I agree with your mother. Who, by the way, should be here. Where is she?” He glanced briefly around.

“Somewhere crying.”

“Um,” Mike shook his head, unsure of what to say next. Should he get the trash and get out, or should he stay and continue this conversation with a kid, when he wasn't even sure he knew where it was going? He didn’t recall speaking with making kids since Maddie died, as a matter of fact, he didn’t recall having many conversations with anybody since she died.

Stepping forward, he settled on the chair beside the kid. “Who says your mum's crying? Maybe she's eating pizza? Maybe she went for a spar? She could have gone to get you a gift for Christmas?”

“I haven't made my list for Christmas yet. I haven't even seen Santa.” He shrugged.

“Well, between me and you buddy, I have it on good authority that he just left the North Pole. He'll be here shortly.”

“Really?!” His brown eyes lighted up with delight.

“Sure.” Mike smiled, nodding.

“Cool! How soon's he gonna get here?”

“Oh, that's classified information, buddy.” Mike rose to his feet. “But I have to get back to the trash, seeing as I'm trash-man and all.” He motioned to the trashcan. “Are you gonna be alright until your mum gets back?”

“I guess. I only pretend to be asleep so she can sneak away for a few hours to cry. She'll probably take a moment to return.”

Mike nodded, because he wasn't sure he knew how to respond to the boy's words. He turned to the trashcan once more, when the door pushed open. Lifting his head up, his eyes immediately came to rest on the blonde head woman from yesterday's grief group.

“Hey mum!”

“Oh, hey sweetie,” she said, her eyes still on Mike. The pink dash of color that stained her nose, as well as the slight puffiness of her eyes, made it obvious to him that she had been crying. “Hey Mike.”

He swallowed, his eyes immediately drifting to the floor. “I was getting the trash.” It was the only words he could think of in that moment, his heart breaking. He wasn't sure whether he was saddened by the fact that she had been crying, or saddened by the kid's knowledge of that fact.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sure.” He made his way to the door, pausing right by her. When he lifted his head up, a ghost of a smile graced her thin lips. “I am the trash-man after all,” he slowly whispered, offered her a small nod, before pulling the door open and making his way out.

Mike heaved a breath as soon as he was out of the room, his heart pounding dully in his chest. He tightened his hold on the cart and was about to head down the hall when someone called out to him. Pausing, he turned around to find Grace standing by the door.

“Yeah?” The word barely formed on his lips.

“Want to grab some coffee when you're done being trash-man?” She smiled, motioning to his cart.

Mike felt his lips curve into a smile of its own. “I'll see you in an hour.”

“Sure.” He turned from her once more and took hold of his cart, wheeling it down the hall.

He spent the next hour cleaning out trash bins and sweeping the floors. Stuffing the cart in the janitor's closet an hour later, he made his way to the only coffee shop across the street.

The bell on the door announced his presence as he stepped in, his eyes searching the room for signs of the blond head; she wasn't there. Pulling off his coat, he made his way to a table by the glass window, and settled on a comfortable seat, turning briefly to scan the streets for signs of her.

“Can I take your order, sir?”

Turning sharply to the side, a young waiter stood by his table, her hand poised over a notepad.

“I'm not ready to order just yet, but thank you, he said and she nodded, and strolled away.

Turning back to the window, a small frown tugged on the edges of his brows at the sight of Eden hurriedly making her way across the street. Her hair, styled in a ponytail, swung back and forth behind her as she practically ran into the coffee shop and headed right past him.

With his frown deepening, he turned just in time to see her settling on a table on the far end of the room, and placing her head on the table.

For a second, Mike considered ignoring her -he after all wasn't here to meet with her. Besides, what were the odds she would even be willing to entertain his presence?

Still, his eyes remained fixed on her, noticing then that her shoulders were trembling; she was crying.

Realizing she was indeed crying, he wasn't sure why --did something terrible happen? Did her Fiancé call her up and call off the wedding? He pondered on the possibility for several seconds, thinking that was most likely the case. It was either that, or she tried on her wedding dress and it didn't fit –-women could be dramatic like that; a few pounds could make them act like it was the end of the world. In his opinion, women cried for silly reasons.

Yet, the very sight of Eden weeping into the wooden table tugged on the strings of his heart.

Rising to his feet, he cautiously made his way to her table.

“Eden?” He stood over her, hands clasped before him. “Hey, doc,” he called and her shoulders stiffened, but she didn't lift her head up. “Are you okay? I don't mean to pry, but you're seated here all alone weeping into a table.”

He heard her sigh, before lifting her head up to reveal her tear stained face. “Pardon me, Mike, I didn't realize crying in public is now an offense punishable by hanging!” She glared at him.

He shrugged and settled on a chair across from hers. “It is not.”

“Well, thank you for the information! Now, if you won't mind leaving me alone, I would really, really appreciate enjoying my right to cry without being interrupted.”

“You didn't care so much about people's rights when you stopped me from jumping off of that bridge that evening,” he blurted, even before he had the chance to think about his words.

She stared wide eyed at him, her lips falling wide open. She made to speak, but seemingly not finding the words, closed her mouth again.

“Can I take your order please?” The waiter appeared.

Eden didn't tear her gaze off of him, not even for a second. And for a long while, he wasn't sure he could look away from her either. She sat before him, her eyes filled with something he recognized quite well; helplessness. It was like staring into the mirror, he thought, his eyes searching hers even as understanding began to settle in --he understood the sadness that dimmed her blue eyes, he understood the tears that trailed nonstop down her face, he understood the hopelessness plastered so plainly on her face, and immediately, he knew...

“Ede--” The word died on his lips as she sprang to her feet and stormed past him.

Rising to his feet as well, he ran after her, only managing to take a hold of her wrist when they were out of the coffee shop.

“Eden!”

“No, Mike! No! You do not get to compare yourself to a sick kid! You have everything, everything those kids do not have! You do not have the life threatening illness; you do not have a body that barely functions! You have a choice, Mike, they don't! You get to choose between life and death, they don't!”

With her words stunning him to silence, his hold on her wrist weakened.

“They don't, and there's nothing I can do! There's nothing any of us can do, Mike! There was nothing we could have done for any of them, or for Maddie.”

Mike felt his hand drop to his side, his heartbeat slowing down completely. For a second, he was back to a year ago, standing beside Maddie's bedside and watching her fight for her life. She deserved life, not him! He desperately wished he could take her place on that hospital bed. But he couldn't; he couldn't do anything to save his little girl.

“Mike?” He heard a voice he knew very well belonged to the blonde head.

Shaking his head, he turned from both women and made his way back to the hospital to do what he knew best; to be trash-man, because he had failed at being a father.