Wincing, I bring a hand up to attempt to shield my eyes from the blinding lights and camera flashes. Unfortunately, it doesn't help at all.

After we stepped off the Jackson's private jet from Manhattan to Gary Indiana, we were bombarded by the brigade of waiting reporters and camera crews, who all seemed to be aware of Michael's arrival long before it was scheduled.

My insides quiver as we make our way down the windy landing pad toward a limo waiting at the end. The reporters and cameras wait on either side of our path behind some ropes, calling out Michael's name energetically, their voices running over each other. I notice right away Michael seems to change for the cameras, right before my eyes, becoming... pleasant, and gentle. Words I wouldn't ever think to use when describing the Michael I know.

I notice a few cameras focusing on me, and look away. Michael's mother, who's informed me that her name's Kate, tells me to ignore it. Michael seems right as home, smiling a white-toothed smile and waving.

I roll my eyes to myself, climbing after him into the limo. His eyes drift to me, and I give him a look. He ignores it, focusing out the window. "I had the chef prepare us dinner, it's ready when we get there." Kate informs us as the limo pulls down the drive.

It's surprisingly quiet until we emerge on the house. Mansion would be a better description, the mere sight of the house makes my jaw drop. It rival's Michael's place back in New York, with sprawling windows, beautiful landscaping and many rooms. The backyard must be a pasture or something. There's a circle drive, which the limo parks in, overlooking the stone fountain in the middle. I knew they were rich, but this is something else.

I climb out of the limo, my eyes still wide in surprise. "Wow," I breathe, smiling big. Michael frowns, of course. "Try not to implode with excitement." He mutters flatly, walking quickly towards the front doors of the palace.

Everyone disperses, one of Michael's brothers Jermaine is sweet enough to carry my stuff for me. His smile is sweet, but earns a matching scowl from Michael as we ascend the gigantic wooden staircase to the second floor. "Here, have the room across from Michael's." He smiles, pushing open the door for me. My jaw drops yet again at the room before me.

It's huge, almost 3 times the size of my dorm back at St. Mary's, with a massive bed and sliding glass windows looking out on the backyard. I wander to the windows, pressing my hands to the glass. The backyard is beautiful and green, with flowers and trees. "This place is amazing," I whisper, looking back at Jermaine.

"I have a question." "Yeah?" "What's that little shed in the corner there?" I wouldn't ask, but the shed in the corner of the yard is strange, it almost looks like a real house. Jermaine chuckles. "That's the old house. Old dad had every house in the area purchased, and then leveled so he could build this place. It's amazing, isn't it?" "Yeah." I nod, looking at the house. It's so tiny. Michael grew up there?

"Sorry to interrupt your heart-to-heart, but dinner's ready." Michael's extremely irritated voice sounds from the doorway, where he stands with his arms crossed. His eyes, skeptical and sharp, dart back and forth between Jermaine and I, and I suddenly feel ashamed, like I've done something wrong. "Alright," I tell him quietly, following quickly down the stairs.

The table is set with a huge meal, all different types of foods and lots of dishes. Everyone's already seated, so I have no choice but to take the seat across from Michael. He seems extremely displeased, crossing his arms still and looking off into the distance (again) silently. Everyone piles their plates high with food, and I just smile politely, watching them.

"What would you like, dear?" Kate asks sweetly, and I return the gesture. "Well, um... I'm not hungry, thanks." I clear my throat, sipping from the water glass set in front of me. "Oh, nonsense. Have some chicken." She puts a chicken leg on my plate, and I give her a grateful smile, looking down at it. "So tell us Skipper, where do you come from?" I look up at a table of a dozen sets of eyes focused on me. Except for Michael's.

"Minneapolis. Lived there all my life." "Amazing, a beautiful city." "Very nice. You seem like a smart girl." "I uh, skipped two grades." "I was right!" "How'd you do that?" Marlon asks, furrowing his eyebrows. I shrug. "I always liked to learn, I guess... It was second nature." Kate touches my hair. "She's so gorgeous, isn't she?" Michael's brothers all agree. "Isn't she amazing Michael?" Michael grunts to acknowledge what she said, and stares at his plate.

What follows is a series of polite questions, a lot of nodding, laughing, smiling... and scowls from Michael. "Darling, why haven't you tried the chicken?" I chuckle, rubbing my neck. "Well... I'm a vegan."

"A vegan?" Jackie asks, looking over at me. "What's that supposed to mean?" "I just.. can't eat anything that comes from animals." "How do you live without butter?" I chuckle softly. "Well... I can rest assured knowing that cholesterol buildup in my blood vessels won't be a problem." "What?"

Michael rolls his eyes. "Don't get started with the medical talk, they don't understand that stuff." "Neither do you." I tease out of nowhere, and I expect a frown. Instead he smirks, almost playfully, looking across the table at me.

"Oh yeah?" "Yup." "Neurosurgery's not even my specialty and I could out-doctor you any time." "Really? Cardiothoracic surgery's not my specialty, but I could out doctor you any time." I lean forward slightly, and he matches my movement. Everyone goes quiet, Kate watching with a smile.

"Then I guess you would know that if a cardiac tumor vibrates when you apply pressure, that means in infiltrated the pericardium." He shrugs. "You should know what dyskinesia disorder can be cured with a simple brain probe." "Then you would know that cardiac tamponade is caused by accumulation of fluid in the pericardial sac." "And encephalitis can cause brain death."

As we banter back and forth, trying to out doctor each other, I find I'm... enjoying it. He almost smiles at me, his demeanor witty and playful. Michael's being... pleasant? I'm naive for liking this, but why not revel in his good mood while it lasts? "What does progressive paralysis imply?" He freezes, his eyes fluttering close and his lips moving slightly as he searches for an answer.

"It implies... it implies a... hematoma?" "Nope, wrong, it implies a pressure lesion." I cross my arms, proud and smug. Michael rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He sits back, still smirking at me. I chuckle. There's a long pause as everyone stares at us. "What the hell did you guys just talk about?"

We both laugh, warming my heart at his genuine happiness as the sound booms and fills the room.

****

I know this is wrong, but as I push open the door of Michael's old house, I know no matter how wrong this is, I won't be able to go back into the main house for a while.

It's obviously been abandoned, the house is tiny on the inside. The walls have holes where the drywall shows, the carpet is bare, as are the rooms. The appliances in the kitchen were ripped from the wall, and it smells like dust and mothballs. But as I wander from room to room of the tiny place, I can feel the sentimental value, feel the memories.

I spend a while exploring until I find the bedrooms. I pause, looking back and forth, before I know which room was Michael's. I don't know how, I just know.

There's a small bed here, just a mattress on a bed frame. I sit, and fold my hands, looking around the tiny room. I can imagine a little Michael, buzzing around, singing, dancing, and making his bed. I smile, gazing out the broken window. No wonder they kept this old house.

"You found my hiding place." I jump, holding my pounding heart in surprise. I look to the doorway, to see Michael standing here. I flush, looking away. I've invaded his privacy, and now he's gonna reprimand me.

Silence follows, and I dare to look back up at him. "Your... hiding place?" "The house was built when I was 11. I... had a lot of struggles when I was a kid. Whenever I'd get upset, I'd come back here. It's the only place where I could be alone." He explains, drifting over to the window. He stands with his back to me. I smile at him slightly. "Mine was the greenhouse." I offer. He turns his head slightly, not quite looking at me.

"Greenhouse?" "Yeah. I loved my dad, I did, and I still do, but... when he and Moonsie would get in fights, I would hide in the old greenhouse behind my place. It was rotting, and old... but it was my place."

He gives me a smile. A genuine smile, his eyes lightening. I return it, and he nods toward the house. "Let's go. Back to the house."

We're silent on the walk back, my courage growing with each calm step he takes. "What's your reason?" He asks, and I jump, looking over at him. "My reason?" "To cut. Nobody in their right mind has the desire to cut people open with no purpose, Skip. Everyone has a reason. What's yours?" He opens his room door, moving aside for me to walk in.

I don't hesitate, my heart fluttering when he closes the door behind us. I take a seat at the foot of his bed, and he sits beside me, looking over curiously. I meet his eyes, sighing. "Moonsie has... spells." He cocks his head. "Spells?" "She's always had them. They've gotten worse over the years. She.. forgets things, accidentally puts things in weird places. She refuses to acknowledge it, but there's something wrong with her brain. It's why I want to be a neurosurgeon."

He nods understandingly. Wow.

I find that once I start telling Michael things, and he nods, asking for more and more information about me, I can't stop. My mouth is a faucet, and every time he smiles at something I say, or nods like he's concerned, he turns up the water pressure.

An hour later, I take a deep breath, and blow it out. He watches me carefully, his eyes exploring my face. It's late at night now, the sun's long disappeared behind the horizon line, and the stars cast their cold light through the window.

"I'm sorry, I've been... talking too much." He shakes his head, his leg brushing mine. It seems little by little, he's moved closer to me on the bed. "I like to listen to you talk. It's therapeutic." I give him a small smile, wondering what he means. "You remind me of myself."

I chuckle, looking down. If he would just behave this way... all the time. "Skip?" My heart skips a beat. I love it when he calls me that. I raise my head to look at him, and almost run into his face. He hovers inches from me, chewing his lip. "Yeah?" "Shh." He says softly, and leans in, his mouth molding to mine.

I lean into him immediately, the familiar burn of his touch travelling up and down my body, a raging inferno of feeling. It could never die, no matter how hard he tries to smother the flames with his asshole nature. He messes with my mind, doing things like this to me, only to return to his usual cold behavior later. But right now? I'm gonna focus on the heat.

As out mouths move in sync, slowly, his fingers bury themselves in my hair, his other hand pulling me closer to him. Slowly, he leans back against the pillows and bed, pulling me with him, until he's lying flat, and I'm resting on top of him. Surprisingly, his arms stay locked around my waist appropriately. I can't seem to think straight when he's doing this to me, I can't decipher anything but the taste of sweetness on his tongue, the warmth of the kiss, and the stirring feeling in my chest. The feeling that makes me never want to come up for air ever again.

Eventually he pulls away gently, and I whine involuntarily. He smiles against my skin, chuckling softly, and planting several soft kisses along my jaw and up to my temple. This isn't Michael, Michael isn't sweet, or kind, and certainly isn't capable of such a loving gesture. Tucking a curl behind my ear, and takes a deep breath.

"It's late." He breathes, his skin hot to the touch and his breath quick. "Oh... I guess I should go back to my room..." I attempt to slide off of his chest, but he holds me in place. "No! I mean... just stay here. We're already comfortable anyways." I want to protest, I want to say something, but his eyes are so magnetic... "Ok." I agree, and he smiles, reaching over me momentarily to turn off the lamp.

Darkness greets me, and I lay my head on his chest. The steady beating of his heart comforts me, the rhythm of his breathing is assuring. "Goodnight." He whispers, his fingers trailing up and down my spine. I hum in pleasure, wishing the moment would last forever.

I guess I have to hope he'll be in this good of a mood for the rest of the trip.

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