Title: Dream On

Author: iridescentZEN

Rated: R

Fandom: Melrose Place(199s Old School Version)

Spoils: Last Exit To Ohio

varietypack100 prompt: 047 Heart Pairing: Kimberly/Michael

Note: This is dark!fic. Character death. It's canon. Please feed my muses and read and review. I appreciate feedback, and it tends to be the fuel those hepped up muse skanks drive on. Thank you.


The dream Kimberly Shaw was having felt so real. Of course it would though; it was as much memory as it was dream. They were running. Michael was chasing Kimberly down the beach's sandy shore. It was a completely innocent moment with the both of them caught up in love and care free like children. It was a slow, lazy day and they were both in a playful mood. So happy, so content, so utterly in love with one another. She felt the warm sand squish between her toes, parting to make an impression of her feet that would be swept away by the wind or the next tide. It was a moment of pure joy etched in sand then washed away.

It was love.

Michael caught up to her, both of them laughing hard as they hit the sand and coming to a stop with him on top of her. The feel of his warm hands cradling her back so that she didn't hurt herself when they crashed burned through her dress. Whenever he touched her it burned.

"You're so beautiful, Kimberly. I love you." Kimberly could listen to Michael say those words forever.

"I love you too, Michael."

The kiss they shared was sweet, warm, and painfully addictive. She was a junkie and Michael was her particular drug of choice. Their tongues danced with one another in a familiar rhythm that had their bodies humming with pleasure. Everything was so wonderful and so right. There was no stress, no bills, no hospital. No Amanda (vicious power-monger), Jane (vacuous bitch), Sydney (inhuman), Megan (literal whore) or that under-aged slut (nameless, faceless, under-aged slut) that used Michael like a pawn as a means of extortion. Though Kim always figured that Michael probably didn't put up much of a fight. Michael was a man that couldn't turn down an offer. She knew that from experience.

I wish I knew how he felt. I would love to sleep with him. Just once.

Kimberly wanted to die like this. In Michael's arms. On the beach with the sun shining down on them and the sea salt smell in the air. His lips against hers with that burn that threatened to turn her into ash, and his hips nestled between her thighs. Her fingers were threaded through his thick, black hair and as much as she enjoyed being with him, it was a curse to love him. In a way, she felt like an archaeologist that couldn't stop digging her way to an accursed tomb with the thrill of discovery and untouched treasure was worth the risk.

There was no one else on the beach.

Just Michael and just Kimberly. Man and woman, husband and wife.

"I'll always love you." Michael made the statement as though it were a vow, his expression solemn.

"You'd better," she warned, giving him a sexy grin.

Michael gifted her with his touch, showing her how much he loved her with his body. With his fingers, his mouth, his hard chest pressing against her soft breasts. Their rhythm was older than time, as old as the ocean's waves that rolled as passionately as their hips. Michael was so very deep inside her and yet never deep enough, making her feel things that she only felt for him. They had a passion that was indescribable, and something they couldn't find in any other lover.

This beach was their sanctuary.

Kimberly was his only wife here. In her heart, she was always his only wife. Not a number, not wife number two and three. Not another dumb bimbo with the last name Mancini.

It was a rationalization that made no sense, because Kim knew his true colors. Where's the rat that I know and love? Her bright eyes, shining with intelligence had looked upon those colors and were blinded by their brilliance. Kim did her best to mute the boldness by closing her eyes to the blinding schemes and lying eyes, accepting Michael's flaws but never really seeing them.

They crashed together. In a car, his fault. With a car, her fault. In a car, her fault. In bed, and now on the beach. Their bodies connected until the earthquake hit, the resulting tsunami taking what they gave to one another then sweeping it away. The moment of ecstasy was as fleeting as their footsteps in the sand.

Suddenly, the sky darkened and abruptly Michael pulled away from her, his eyes dark and unreadable. There was a hint of blonde hair, the outline of a perfect body (she chose it), and Michael took off in slow motion after the shadow while Kimberly still shook with the after shocks. (She screwed up everything.)

"Michael, what's wrong?" A cool breeze took them by surprise. Kimberly rubbed at her arms where goose flesh formed. The ocean was angry, the waves were getting bigger and started to pound the surf brutally.

Michael was speaking, but not to her. "Look, she was my wife. No matter what you think, I loved her."

The blonde was Megan, fleshing out the outline of her body that had only been shadow, somehow managing to encroach and ruin a perfectly wonderful happy place. Like all of Kim's plans, the business with Megan had back-fired. Megan held out her hand, waiting for Michael to take it. The smile on the ex-prostitute's face was for Kimberly. A victorious smile.

Megan's words ran through her head. I've taken him to places he's never been.

No.

No, he couldn't.

Speaking of ex-wives in the sanctuary was not allowed, let alone having one trespass into what was theirs.

"You gave him to me. He's my husband now," Megan said, not sparing Kimberly an ounce of sympathy.

No. She made a mistake. She wasn't going to lose him. Michael wasn't going to leave her behind.

He couldn't leave her behind!

Kimberly was going to see Michael, she had to see him. The real him. She wanted to hold out her hand and have him touch it, have him squeeze tight and not want to let go.

Even if it was for one last time.

God, please.

In reality, Megan was there. They were standing in the driveway of the beach house. 1125 Beach Front Walk.

Weren't they?

What was the dream and what wasn't?

"Michael, please. Please don't leave me," she cried out, not understanding his reluctance to touch her and only wanting to be in his arms again, but the more she reached for him the farther away he seemed to be. "Who are you talking to?"

"Marian," he told her, without moving his lips.

No! I want to go. I need to go!

There was no way for Kimberly to get out of what had turned into a nightmare. No way to escape the blur of what was real and what was not. Michael's words rumbled obscenely loud in her head. Oh, and you can stop with the death act. It's getting old. Real old.

There was a blinding pain then. The worst headache of her life as a tingling jolt ran through her when the blood vessel in her brain exploded, and she prayed, begged, that it would be quick and that she wouldn't live the next sixty years in diapers, without the ability to speak and in constant pain. That the popped balloon of artery wall, the ruptured berry aneurysm would cause a stroke strong enough to take her out of the game for good.

The pain caused a shock that paralyzed her. Every breath she took felt forced, like it took an eon to inhale. And there was just a moment of stark realization that the end was finally there. The car crash should have killed her. The night she washed down a bottle of sedatives with the last drops of a bottle of wine, she should have never woken up. When she blew up the apartment building and landed in the pool, Peter should have left her dead! Death had been chasing her for years and was finally catching her in his icy grip and not letting go.

The sound of Kimberly's own voice in her ears was so soft, so pained and so very apologetic.

Someone was holding her.

Mom.

She started with mom. It seemed so right to end with her as well.

Couldn't see. There was nothing but inky darkness.

"Good-bye, Kimberly. I'll never forget you." It was Michael's voice but he was no where near her. Everything was disjointed and wrong. Kimberly was trapped somehow, caught between living and dead, and she could still hear them, hear him.

What was going on?

Comfort.

Warmth.

The splash of tears that weren't from her, fell on Kimberly's cheeks. The sound of an anguished cry, her mother's, rolled like thunder through her body.

Oh God.

It wasn't pretend.

This was her final act.

Life was as fleeting as a foot print etched in sand.

Funny, when she saw this house for the first time she always thought of the life she and Michael were going to have. Two successful doctors, a couple of kids, maybe a dog. She never imagined that she would be dying only a few years later in the driveway.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I should have stayed with you ... but I love him."

Finally, there was peace.

The dream was over, but Kimberly would never wake up.

End.