~*4 Months Later*~

The new year rapidly approaches as Frankie drove down a desolate street. Maybe the new year will bring a new start...for everything. So much has changed, so many have change. Frankie appreciates the cards he has been dealted because it could be taken away with the blink of an eye. Flurries of powder started to fall from the sky as he pulled up in front of a cold and dreary apartment. Taking a satisfying breath, he steps out of the car and slowly approaches the beaten front door. He glances around him noticing that the once busy street is nothing but a dirt road of a farming village. How could so much change in such a small amount of time?

His lukewarm breathe collided with the frigid air as his raw knuckles wrapped loudly on the front door. A few moments later, a tired woman opened it cautiously with hot cocoa in hand. She wore a red flannel shirt and black leggins, never trying anymore to stay with the times, there was no time or money. "Frankie," Carmen smiled, letting him into her home, "So good of you to come."

"Well," Frankie sighed, peering at the drab christmas decorations tacked to the wall, "I figured it was the least I could do."

"She's in her room," Carmen informed him as she darted into Jared's tiny room. Frankie walked down the hall to Bridget's room; it was now always a hard walk. There she sat, an immoble muse of beauty looking outside into the deep unknown. She clutched the blanket meekly in her hands, trying to shake the pang iof pain in her head. Her blonde hair flew violently. Her legs were fastened to a drowning wheelchair, her face and spirit falling quicker and quicker into a pit of dispair. It made him ache mentally so bad to see her in such a state of withdrawal and depression. She thanked the lucky stars she survived, but it came at a crippiling price, litterally. The room, once a palace of posters and mirrors and magazine morphed into a desolate prison, cobwebbs hugging the corners. She hurtfully turned to Frankie, rubbing her neck lightly and a glimmer of content shining in her eyes. "Frankie," she smiled, and Frankie approached her.

"Hey," he gleefully smiled, leaving a pixie kiss on her cheek. Eerie silence filled the room as they both contemplated what to say.

"Look," she started, once again peering out her window. "I don't think..."

"Stop," he commanded, getting on one knee and taking her hand in his. He hated when she started a sentance with 'I don't think.' "I love you," Frankie told her with pleading eyes. Her sick-alled face whirled back to his. "If I didn't, I would be long gone by now. I don't know what else I can do to prove that to you. We've been through so much shit, most stuff people don't go through in a lifetime. We can do this, I know we can." He glanced down at probably the one thing that has gotten Bridget through therapy, the wheelchair and preliminairies of trial, the tiny tear drop forever hanging from her neck.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she lost her way in his eyes. Bridget knew Frankie was her angel, sent from above to save her from the one thing that brings happiness to people, love. She just hated that she couldn't go to many Dream Street events anymore, that she was know treated different or special, that Frankie sacraficed so much for her and she has nothing to do for him in return. She didn't know what was worse, her life before or her life now. But if she really thought, I think she knows the answer. "I just think sometimes..." she started, glancing down at her stumps of legs and frowning, "That I'm not good enought for you anymore...not like I was before..."

"You will always be good for me," Frankie told her sternly, gently cupping her pale face in his hands, "Always. If anything, you're more strong and determined now. I like that in a girl...I like that in you."

"I don't feel that way," Bridget cried, laying her head on his shoulder. "I feel so helpless...so meaningless...Oh god, Frankie," Bridget bawled, her tears leaking through his blue polo shirt, "That bastard..."

"Will get his time and just deserts," Frankie assured her, "They estimate 25 to life."

That melted a small smile on Bridget's face. Frankie's heart began to burn with passion for his fallen love. He took her in his arms tenderly as her tears started to dry away. That moment will be frozen in time in all our memories. The blue moon shined in the window on those two, no one else. You could hear the faint laughter of children and drunken adults in the night wind. You could smell the hot chocolate coming from the welcoming kitchen. You could see two friends, two lovers, two survivors basking in their love and fear of one another. Bridget patted his back lovingly as Frankie began to weep silently. Tears being shed for the one you love shows who a real man is. He regained his composture, whiping the salted tears from his eyes behind Bridget's back as his embrace loosened. "I guess we...better head over to Greg's," Frankie suggested, rising to his feet. "The party started an hour ago." Bridget grabbed him weakly. He looked down as she asked him a forcible question.

"Will you get me home safe tonight?"

"Always," was his reply, "always."