"How come you sing about that lovey-dovey' crap, when you ain't never been in love?" Meek eyes question.

I turn away from my record player, glancing back at the little one; trying to figure out the purpose of his question. I don't think anyone has ever asked me about my reasonings for anything I do, well at least not with sincerity.

After a minute of muted contemplation, I give the "little man" another once over and chuckle lightly.

"I don't think you have to be in love to sing about it..." Simple enough answer.

Seemingly unmoved and notedly unsatisfied by my curt answer, he gives me a hard look, his own cute little poker face, before placing his precious palms on his hips; enhancing his extremely small stature.

"Uh-Huh. I maybe the size of one, but I am not six years old. I'm twelve! I know about this stuff, you the one who doesn't." He retorted, huffing at his assumed win.

Once again, I find myself chuckling at "Little Man". Not because he's just as he depicted-nearing the height of a six year old-but because he reminds me of myself at his age. I too convinced myself that I knew all about love and every shade of it; that was when I was infatuated by a willowy Diana, I of course know better now.

This tickles me indefinitely, but in a sense, his question is a valid one. Twenty-two years old and all I know about love is never sleep with revengeful women like Tatum O'Neal or the obsessive ones like Brooke Shields. There's plenty more to add to that list, but that isn't the point. The point is, Little Man is right. I don't know a thing about what I sing.

Of course I have a few companions, that including one special female, but I'm not nearing the "love road" anytime soon. Well that concludes it, I don't know a lick about love.

Little man got this one right.

"Someone's quiet... Are you thinking?" He coos minutes later, giggling at his own inside joke.

I shake my head at the miniature pre-teen, wondering how in the hell something so little can pack so much whit; he's a funny little one.

"Maybe, yeah. I have to be honest Emmanuel... I sing from wishful emotions..." I sigh, giving up my curt act completely; might as well be honest with him-with myself.

His smile slowly fades, quickly replaced with a concerning frown. That frown isn't one I'm too fond of. I hang around Emmanuel to forget my troubles, not vent about them. That defeats the purpose of fun talks about silly cartoons or the current popular animated movie out.

I just hate dragging people into my internal problems; no matter how close they are to me.

"Say what now?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"I want the real thing Little Man... I really do." I continue, too far ahead of myself to stop my heart from pouring. "I want those crazy butterflies, as weird as that sounds. I want the whole shindig. I want it... But I can't have it."

By now, Emmanuel has found comfort in a nearby recliner, dangling his feet above the ground as he listens silently. Although he seems distracted (glancing absently at his fluttering feet), I know I have his divided attention.

Therefore, I continue.

"Like in the movies... That one scene when the man catches the girl and does the whole cliche, 'I love you and I can't live without you' line, and the girl just falls in his arms and reiterates that. Then they kiss, and it's not just any kiss..." I trail off dramatically, a picture forming in my head. "It's the kiss, that at that point, tops all others. Then he looks into her eyes and says those three words..." I pause, finding my body halting from its subconscious pacing.

"I love you?" Emmanuel finishes, peering up from his previous focus.

"I love you..." I repeat, feeling a sudden warmth in my heart.

The room falls deathly silent. Emmanuel surely confused by my shift in mood and I, myself trying to figure out where this sudden "want" is coming from.

I don't know how many minutes passed before I blinked violently and gratefully took comfort in the plushness of a nearby armchair, slumping into the chair carelessly before glancing over at Emmanuel; who looked on with utter perplexity.

I sighed aloud. He wouldn't understand. I wouldn't and didn't even expect him to, but I wish he could. Then maybe, just maybe I wouldn't feel so foolish for feeling like this. Day dreaming like a teenage girl, gawking over overly dramatized romance films.

I'm one sad case.

"What about that girl... The black girl?" He broke the silence, suddenly.

"She's not 'the black girl' Manuel..." I scold, giving him a lazy glance before turning my gaze straight forward. "Her name is Jesse... She's just a friend."

"That's what they all say man! She ain't my girl, she a friend... A friend that you secretly like!" He enthuses, chuckling at his own silliness.

I playfully roll my eyes. Again I say, for him to be half a gallon of milk, he sure acts he is the entire gallon; and then some.

"Manuel... You sure know everything, don't ya?" I playfully sass.

"Nope! Just enough!" He chirps, slapping his small palm against his lifted knee. "You just don't know enough. Man, if Miss Shields and Miss O'Neal ain't fit you right... That girl does! I really like her..." He trails off, glancing to the ceiling as his fantasies seemingly played out there.

"She's mine... You can stick to your cabbage patch dolls..." I chuckled, earning a lodged sham; which a skillfully dodged.

"I will! And I'll name one Jesse Rose in her honor!" He teases onwards, shaking his head before sighing heavily. "I may be twelve, but from what I see with my mom and dad... I know you and Jesse are something."

By now, my giggles have died along the subsequent round of silence. My mind taking a break to comprehend Little Mans statement. I've only known Jesse for a few months, and although she seems like the perfect candidate, I can't risk losing what we already have; she's too different and special.

"We're friends. Just friends." I sighed finally, actually feeling the sting of that statement.

I mean I just met the girl a few months ago, I can't rush and ruin a-so far-great friendship. It's been awhile since I had a companion and I'm frankly still nursing the burning wounds I've created for myself, from those past companions of mine.

I just don't know.

"Mhm... So I'll see you in a few years, at ya'll wedding?" He beamed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

This kid.

"What did I just say? There will be no weddings of any kind, any time soon!" I chuckle, rising from my seat.

"So should I wear teal or the classic black and white?" He pauses, taping a little index finger against his chin. "I honestly think you should wear lavender and see how much she really loves you!" He finally bursts into cackles a minute later.

I roll my eyes at the little man, allowing him to continue on his teasing tangent. Michael Jackson isn't getting married any time soon, and definitely not to Jesse Rose; she's just a friend.

Just a friend.

"Are you sure you want to do this Mike?" He stresses, turning his head away from the dressing room door.

The last hurrah; tonight is my last performance, concert, and distraction from my future. After this, I can officially end my countdown and finally collect my pieces to the eminent puzzle. In less than a month I'll be elatedly married to the beau that I've been stuck with for nine years.

I've counted down, prayed about, and even dreamed about the day that I'll finally have her hand in mine, with a stunning rock to withhold my promises on hers. It's been a long road full of tough terrain, but we're nearing the end and I just can't wait.

With a ear to ear grin spreading my lips and a stomach churning with excitement, I glance over at Bill silently. Self assurance seems like an understatement. I've wanted to do this for awhile. Now that I feel the time is right, I refuse to back down.

"Yes. I'm positive. I've wanted this for awhile now and Bill... This is the perfect night." I finally express, my heart-once again-fluttering at the thought of it all.

With an uneasy smile, Bill nods and mumbles the inaudible before turning towards the door; knocking softly.

"Five more minutes!" He and Brandon; my stage manager, called out simultaneously.

My smile, if possible, widens as I flash Bill one last, cheeky grin, before dashing off onto my designated spot; allowing the anticipating chants from the fans to rev up my confidence. I'm ready and I'm relieved that the fans are as well; that's definitely a good sign.

Soon, the hoots of gentle horns sound and my cue is given to charge back onto the stage; for the last time.

Although I'm inwardly saddened by the acknowledgment of this performance being indeed my last, my elation and anxiousness of the sub-sequential weeks to come, relieves me of that glum; reviving me completely.

I love my fans, but I can't wait for my fiancé to finally become my wife-not for too much longer at least. So this has to be the last hooray; for now. But of course, I will not bid ado without a proper goodbye. I wouldn't want my fans to be too disappointed. I have a little something up my sleeves and I'm sure the attendants of tonight's show will not be the only ones left mesmerized; that's guaranteed.

"There's a place in your heart, and I know that it is love..." I smile as I reveal myself to the adoring faces below.

With arms spread wide, I pour out a simple message about healing an ill-stricken world; allowing my passion to cover me in sheer hopes to touch just a few hearts tonight.

That's one thing I'll miss once I exit stage left; relaying these messages that are so near and dear to my heart. I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment each time these beautiful people return my lulling lyrics, chanting them as if the lyrics are a pledge of allegiance; and they are.

That's why I give my all into my performances; I know I'm receiving just as much as I give. My fans are engenders of these feelings of acknowledgment and completion. The callous words of the media and ignorant journalist are more so tawdry at this point; they mean nothing.

When I'm here, surrounded by the lovely aurora of my biggest supporters, a flame reignites in me. A flame of love; and by the hands of love, I am invincible.

"Make a better place..." I smile into the microphone, stepping back to cue the staff and childre.

The first of all children, being my one and only Nutty.

This is his first ever debut to the public in nearly two years. I've kept him well hidden from the public eye for many reasons; one being the fact that Jesse and I would be bombarded with either offers from talent scouts or cameras trying to capture a nice picture to sell. It is a tough decision to step out of my comfort zone and share another piece of me with the world; I'm terrified by the acknowledgment of not knowing what to expect.

Nevertheless, I can't even help the wide grin that spreads my lips as I watch my little one trot alongside Ricky-one of my dancers-his smile wide and inviting. He isn't even aware of the fact that this is "daddy's world". He doesn't understand that there are millions of people watching him; that these same people will go insane once they find out who his parents are.

But I rest assured that one day he'll understand. But for now, all he can comprehend is that he's surrounded by smiling faces and the most important smile being that of mine; his proud father.

"Michael, there's no one in there anymore..." She sighs aloud, her fingers absently grazing my curls.

I glance up at her, removing my ear from her torso; taking mental note of the blatant pain in her tone as I glance up at her.

I know that there's no longer a living angel in her stomach. I know and I am well aware that we lost our precious little one months ago; that doesn't stop me from subconsciously wishing that there was.

I missed our blessing.

"I-I know..." I return her tone, now standing upright; her waist tenaciously captured in my hands. "I know."

I can feel her slow breaths as she leans into me, resting her chin on my shoulders. She's revisiting the time that bilked her of our first blessing; a beautiful child. I know as well as she does that that place isn't one we visit often; it's too horrifying.

"Do you think I can have more?" She whispers; light sniffles following afterwards. "Would I be able to give you a..." She pauses, her arms wrapping tightly around my neck.

My heart is sinking.

She's been strong for so long, I knew (and undoubtedly dreaded) that one day she would break. She's finally breaking. The most heart wrenching part of it id the fact that I can't do anything about it.

I can't whisper affirmations of faith when I know it will only temporarily ease the pain. She doesn't blame God and neither do I, but she has definitely lost a bit of her grip of her spirituality; this was just a low blow for both of us. But I know we have to be strong.

"Yes. You'll pop about fifteen of them suckers, and I'll be a proud papa." I whisper lightly, trying to arouse an amusing reaction.

A light giggle glides around us, causing a smile to tug at the corners of my lips; mission accomplished. In response, I gently tug at her waist and peck her forehead; I love this woman.

"Fifteen? That's another Jackson army... I'm not ready for that. No thank you." She smiles up at me once her giggles come to a fine halt.

"Fine. How about ten?"

"Michael you do know who all of those babies are coming out of, right?" She refutes, slowly detaching herself.

I nod childishly, my hands now cupped behind my back for added illusion.

"Yes. And I'll catch every single one of-"

"I don't think so..."

"I do." I smirk, retrieving her waist again.

"I think this is my vagina Mister Jackson, not yours..." She playfully huffs, allowing me to sway her from behind.

"So blunt and lady like..." I chuckle, pecking her cheek. "Just know that we are having mini-me's... whether it's two or two-hundred; we're making babies..."

She molds further into my chest, clasping my hands only to gently drag my palms over her neutral torso. I smile against her hair, just imagining our future little one growing inside here.

"I can't wait to have them..." She sighs contently.

"Me either..." I peck her hair. "Me either."

As many other children gather around the stage, swaying alongside their respective chaperon, I glance to the left of the stage; signaling silently for Bill's next assignment. Upon receiving a thumbs up from him, I turn my attention to the semi-circle behind me, my eyes fixed on a beaming Nutty.

Dressed in a simple get-up consisting of overalls, navy and white-striped sweater; completed with the classic black and white, Chuck Taylors; he looks absolutely adoring. I don't think it will take long for the fans to put two and two together; he's a mirror image of me-besides the obvious contrast in complexion of course.

I slowly stroll over to him and Ricky, nodding for Ricky to release the tot to me once Noah begins to squirm. With a light chuckle, Ricky releases Noah, his laughter only fluking up an octave when Noah stumbles towards my calves; wrapping his little arms around me tightly.

With admirable eyes, I glance down at my son. It's not too often that I have s chance to take it all in. I don't always have a moment to relish in the fact that I co-created this little blessing.

It's an absolutely beautiful feeling.

"Heal the world we live in..." I finally re-join the background singers, bending down to scoop up Noah. "Save it for our children..." I smile, gently pecking his temple.

Awning cheers fill the stadium as the audience gawks over the gesture; eventually leading my cheeks to burn lightly. Meanwhile, Noah claps his hands in response, clearly oblivious to it all.

In a matter of what felt like seconds, the melodies of our dying serenade fill the stadium; time ticking by slowly. I'm sure my expression-to the naked eye-seems well contempt and gathered; that's only partial to what I am truly feeling inside.

I'm anxious, scared, and elated. Anxious because of my next reveal, scared by the thought of the probability of my family being harassed even more, and elated because I'm sharing this with my fans first.

I'm a mess.

With Noah happily perched on my hip, I ease off my melody to whisper a few encouraging words in his ear. He's smiling now, but I know that at any given moment he'll "space out", and that will stir up a pot of controversy. Nonetheless, I'm focusing on my positives and hoping for the best; it's all I can do at this point.

With that thought, I inhale deeply and tear my gaze away from my gleeful son and glance into the crowd; my heart beating erratically.

"Heal the world we live in..." I blush into the hovering camera.

"Save it for our children..." She intervenes, her falsetto untamed and surprisingly gentle.

I offer her a simple smile as she bashfully approaches. The once adoring tenants' calm cheers quickly fuse into restless screams and chants. I can't even make the chants out at the moment; my focus is solely on her.

Draped in a simple mauve cotton sweater dress, flesh-tone tights, and midnight knee-high paten leather boots; she's absolutely beautiful and although many wouldn't be able to tell now, she's a glowing four months pregnant; it suits her well.

Her trailing spotlight finally merges into mine as she joins my side; her pecans claiming all attention. Her eyes give away the understandable nervousness she feels. But even still she remains calm and poised; a smile only tugging at her lips when I whisper: "I love you." The atmosphere is definitely different. I don't know if anyone else feels it but I feel completely at ease and contempt; all because of her.

"Heal the world we live in..." I shift Noah onto my right hip, turning towards the audience.

"Save it for our children..." She mirrors, only this time using her free had to mold out her slowly growing bump.

And just like that, the stage lights vanish and a flabbergasted crowd causes the few seconds of silence to become a distant memory. I entered with one mission in mind; drop jaws and forget about offering a cause.

Mission complete.

"He looks weird mama. Why he shaped like that?" I whisper, examining the little one in her arms.

She flashes me a simple smile, silently cooing at the little thing. When she does finally acknowledge me, her eyes are bright and warm; that's something I haven't seen in awhile. Therefore a smile spreads my lips in return as I patiently await her response.

"He's a baby Michael." She finally sighs contently, her eyes never leaving mine as her index finger caresses his cheek."But if you want to talk about weird lookin' babies, you should see your little photos..." Her voice trails, her eyes now admiring the newborn.

I scrunch up my nose in disbelief. She has always told me that I looked like an angel. I have never heard her say otherwise. This is definitely news to me.

"Uh-uh... I was cute. I am cute." I retort, folding my arms over my chest.

She giggles once again, disregarding my tone before her eyes flash up only to return to the no longer cooing newborn.

"Yes. But you had these long little hands and big brown eyes. Oh! And your head... all my boys got that big head, but you had a funny-looking one." Her giggles continue. "But I thought it was adorable. So yes, you are cute and so is your little brother here."

"I ain't say he wasn't mama. I'm just saying he weird looking..." I trail. "Wait! I ain't got no big head! Ma-"

"Hush Michael... you're going to wake him." She gently scolds her voice merely a whisper as she tries to follow her own request.

"Sorry..." I mutter.

A soft sigh escapes her lips before her words reenter the atmosphere.

"Don't be sorry Michael. If it means anything to you, I always thought you were the cutest thing since stuffed bunnies."

"Really?" I perk up, most certainly smiling foolishly.

"Mhm. And when you have kids one day... you'll think the same thing."

"I sure will! My kids will be the prettiest and handsomest kids in the entire world! I can't wai-"

"Whoa.... Slow down. You're only four talking like that. You got some years for that." She chuckles, yawning lightly. "In the mean time, be a good-cute little boy and give your mama and your brother some sugar before Joe comes back."

Happily obliging, I lean against the railing of her bed and place a gentle peck on her forehead before doing the same to my new little brother. Before I can return to my upright position, he coos something I couldn't comprehend and even-if my eyes weren't playing a trick on me-smiles at me. I don't have time to return with a smile of my own before his eyes are closed again.

That little gesture definitely warmed my heart, and it finally hits me; I'm a big brother now. I may be too young for children, but I still have a baby to help take care of until that time comes. I will do all I can for that little boy, and hopefully-maybe one day I'll do the same when I become a daddy.

One day.

"Mommy is fine and I do clear her for travel." Doctor Melrose smiles as she closes the bedroom door behind her.

After a more than eventful concert and even more strenuous return to California, we (Jesse, Noah, and I) are finally preparing for our big day ahead of us. Instead of staying in Tenerife (Canary Islands) for a few weeks-as originally planned-we were forced into taking the quickest flight back home; for obvious reasons.

Even with returning to our safest haven, we were (and still are) met with shuttering camera's and urgent questions. We all expected the response, but what we didn't expect was for one of the many microphones being shoved through the wall of bodyguards, to raise a question about our secret wedding.

That had us all shocked.

So I made a few calls and spoke a few words to certain people. I wanted to know why this reporter asked that question. After listening to a few excuses from hotel managers and even a bitch-fit from John; I got the answer I wanted.

Apparently, since leaving the great city of Moscow, there has been a wide spread of "leaked tapes" which include a few private conversations between either Bill and I or Jesse and I; one of those conversations being that of my plans for our wedding.

I haven't found the time to find a culprit or even decipher a name that could have been the harbinger of my private life. With time winding down and wedding bells being just an arm reach away, playing detective has been pushed to the back of my mind.

As much as I hate that my private life is being splurged amongst the greedy ears of journalist and probably media, I have to give it to John and hope that he clears it all up; my fingers are crossed that he does.

Sighing out in relief, I flash Doctor Melrose a grateful smile. Jesse has been worrying a lot about her pregnancy and enduring it full-term. I've consoled her about her negativity, but every time she would disregard it with this same sentence:

"Nothing is promised Michael."

That one sentence always thrashes thorns into my heart. I hate that she thinks this way-that's her mentality. Instead of revving in the idea of having another child, she's worrying herself about the "High possibility of losing this child" (her very words); it drives me crazy. I don't want her worrying because that just causes problems-we don't need any more of those.

"But I do have one concern regarding the little one." She continues, glancing back at the door before returning her gaze on mine with a halfhearted smile.

"What's that?"

Here we go again; another problem that will more than likely shake things up. I don't know if I can handle another situation where my second-born child is physically or mentally impaired; beyond autism. I already have a hard enough time dealing with Noah's mild autism; I can't handle anymore negativity.

Doctor Melrose inhales deeply and sucks in her lips, her eyes gliding to the ceiling before settling on me. I'm mentally preparing myself for the worst. I know this look; good news never comes out of it.

"The positioning of the little one is... off. Now this doesn't mean that there's anything majorly wrong. Bu-"

"What in the hell do you mean, nothing majorly wrong? A baby being upside down inside of their mother is a big ass problem! He could choke. He could get stuck there. She might have to have a C-Section. Things could go wrong! So don't you stand here and tell me my child being upside down isn't majorly fucking wrong!"

My nostrils are flaring, my temper is rising and I want to snap someone's neck. We take ten steps forward only to be pushed one-hundred steps back; I'm sick of it.

Clearly taken aback by my sudden rage, Doctor Melrose clears her throat and mumbles the inaudible beneath her breath before sighing heavily.

"Mister Jackson... There are natural remedies to encourage baby to shift into his rightful position. There's no need to worry. And, should the circumstance call for it, mommy will have to endure a Cesarean-that's not all that bad."

"You try telling her that." I mutter, more so to myself.

"I think its best that you do. Look, a little yoga and light cardio may do the trick; unless baby is of the stubborn variety, then mommy can try a few extreme remedies like acupuncture. But again, having a Cesarean isn't that bad. It's quite frankly the safest way." She stresses, retrieving her medical bag from the tile. "I'll let mommy-to-be decide on that one."

Nodding my head in unmoved persuasion, I force a smile her way and allow her words to settle. I know it seems like the worst case scenario, but maybe a Cesarean should be an option; a number one option. I would hate for Jesse to go through those tawdry remedies that gift false promise, especially when we have a one assured option.

This is a tough one.

"Sorry about snapping Doctor Melrose. I've been stressed out a lot and well-"

"That's fine Mister Jackson. I'd much rather you be so passionate and concerned about mom and baby, opposed to being completely nonchalant." She pauses, chuckling at my widened eyes.

"Seriously? How could someone not be happy about an angel they helped created?"

I'm honestly confused. As if my statement was nothing short of expected, Doctor Melrose acknowledges my raw perplexity for only a few seconds before continuing.

"Yes I've met fathers-to-be who should have been curved a long time ago, if I do say so myself." She sighs heavily, but a smile arouses seconds later. "But anyways, I can dock today's encounter in my diary. How many well educated doctors can say that they were giving a handful of curses by the one and only Michael Jackson, eh?" She playfully teases.

"Sorry about that..." I chuckle, my cheeks earning a bit of heat from embarrassment.

Without another word, Doctor Melrose shrugs lightly and turns to be greeted by Rafael. Once the two exchange a few words, Doctor Melrose waves me off, but not without reassuring me of the choice for a Cesarean.

I didn't mumble a word. My only means of communication offered being a small smile until she finally disappeared. I can't deny that this is another moldy stone, but I can't nullify the fact that out of all the news and recent chaos I'm still one step closer to having a Misses Jackson.

And I can't wait.