~Interview Five~

"So, tell me Miss Skipper, what does it feel like to win two Nobel Prizes at such a young age?" Oprah seemed truly interested in the sixteen year old girl, who fidgeted nervously under her gaze. This was the second time she'd appeared on Oprah's show, and this time her father accompanied her.

"I can't describe it, really," Skipper started, forcing herself to look up at Oprah. Her father, Prince, watched patiently. "It's similar to defying the laws of gravity. You're doing something the people you trust the most said could not be done. And that is definitely the most powerful feeling in the world." Oprah nodded, pleased with Skipper's humble response. The crowd applauded.

"And who would you thank for your success?" Skipper smiled down at her red finger nails. "I'd have to thank a special Chief Surgeon I used to know. He taught me everything, and believed in me when everyone else thought I was a quack." Oprah laughed, "That seems to be how it works in the world of medicine, huh? Ladies and gentlemen, Skipper and Prince Nelson."

The crowd clapped enthusiastically, cheering for the young girl, while her father frowned at her disapprovingly.

****

Skipper's POV

"I said I'm sorry," I clear my throat, crossing my feet at the ankles as they rest on the surface of my desk.

"I haven't seen you in a week, and you dismissed dinner the other night as if spending time with me means nothing to you!" I pull the phone away from my ear quickly, cringing at the sound of Daddy snapping at me.

"It is, I'm sorry. I had... personal convictions that night, I'll... make it to dinner next time." I stare pitifully at the garbage can in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with tear-soaked tissues. For the last three days, my eyes were like Niagra Falls, spurting bucketfuls of bitter tears and anguish. It's as if nothing could distract me from reality, not even operating. I was haunted by unrelenting images of my old life, memories of Michael and I or Rosie.

Reminding myself of my shameful and recent behavior brings more tears to my eyes, and I have to clear my throat again to stop my voice from cracking. "Are you alright, darling?" Daddy's voice significantly softens with concern. "You sound upset."

This genuine question only makes me feel worse. "Yeah, I'm okay," I try not to sniffle, reaching for the tissue box on the desk. "Why don't you take a break from work, and come over tonight? I really think you moved out too soon." He's just upset that I moved into Rosie's old place.

"Well, um-" A swift knock against the door almost knocks me onto the floor. "Junior? I know you're in there, and you've been ignoring my calls!" A deep scowl plants itself on my face. I've been receiving calls from the Hotel, but I knew who it was.

Then, a different voice permeates through the wood. "Skip? Hey, it's uh... it's Michael. I wanna talk to you." My sour expression deepens, and my mood officially moves south. The two men who threw me away, back for more already. I am speechless for a few moments, before I recollect the fact that I'm still on the line with Daddy.

"Sweetheart? What do you say to dinner?" "Oh, um... I dunno, I'll call you back." I angrily plant the phone back onto the receiver, and cross my arms tightly over my chest. "Go away! I don't want anything to do with either of you!" I close my eyes, and wait patiently for the knocking to recede.

"Junior, let me in, before I end your... friend here." Rosie sounds genuinely irritated, but knowing Michael I don't think he's intimidated. I let out a long and frustrated groan, and push myself up onto my feet. Stalking over to the door, I will the grenade of rage buried deep inside of me to abstain from detonating- the results would definitely be explosive.

I suck in a breath, release it, and then throw open the wooden barrier. Michael appears to be his old, fiery self, glaring daggers at Rosie. Rosie's irritated expression soon melts into one of remorse and concern, as he examines my puffy and red face. "Hey," His eyes are jaded, and his tone is the definition of pity. That irritates me.

"Skip, we have to talk," Michael steps forward once, pleading with me silently. "I want you both to leave me alone. I thought I was clear about that before." My voice is so uneven and shaky, practically broadcasting the fact that I've been crying for three days straight. "I was going to tell you." Rosie proclaims quietly, studying his dirty black boots.

"And I don't want to be completely erased from your life," Michael almost whines, brushing a black curl away from his face. They exchange another glare, and then focus on me again. "Can we talk?" Both men blurt simultaneously, and then glare at each other once more.

"No." I attempt to slam the door, but Rosie's boot creates a diversion before it can close completely. It creates a loud and painful sounding noise, but Rosie doesn't flinch. "We can talk to you with your consent, or by force. Your choice." I avoid meeting Rosie's piercing eyes through the sliver between the door and the frame, instead I release my grip on the door and turn my back. "Michael first." I mutter.

Rosie grumbles angrily, but allows Michael to slip past him and into my office. He closes the door softly, and sighs. "You really hate me, don't you?" He says softly after a few moments, after I still haven't turned to face him.

"I don't hate you, Michael. As much as I would love to, and know how much easier it would be, I don't hate you." I cringe with irritation at his sigh of relief, and cross my arms tightly.

"I love you." He says softly. "Michael-" "I love you, I'll always love you, but we've both moved on. It happens. That doesn't mean I never want to see you." If I look at him I know I'll cry, and that is the last thing I want to do. Why did he move on in the first place? He said he would wait for me, and deep down I know that if he really loved me, he would never show his face again around New York, let alone return married to another woman.

"I don't know if I can handle that, Michael. I just..." I let my eyes fall closed, and drift toward the glass window. "We can't be friends? Hang out some time? Slash said you might want to." My head snaps to the side, my eyes flying open. "Slash? You know him?"

"Yeah, we hung out the other night, I met him with the intention of doing some music, but he's cool. We could all hang out, you know?"

Every moment we've shared, every touch of his hand against my skin... should I throw it all away? Every secret, every hardship... Every gunshot...

"I guess we could hang out some time." What the hell is wrong with me.

"You mean that?" Michael sounds hopeful, excited, even. "Yeah..." I almost choke.

"Well, I'll... call you later." He smiles, and pauses before leaving me to my thoughts.

I don't have much time to think before my privacy is bombarded again, by a significantly more despicable being. The door shuts again, and it seems that someone is desperately pulling on the tag of my grenade of rage. "Junior." Rosie whispers. I can feel the desperation radiating off of him, it sickens me.

I don't move, or even acknowledge the fact that he spoke. "Won't you talk to me? Please, baby?" I want to snap at him, tell him to never call me that again- but instead I remain taciturn. "Sweetheart." It takes everything in me to remain near the window, gripping my lab coat with white knuckles. His footsteps are heavy as he makes his way over to me.

His hands grip my waist, "Junior-" "Don't you dare touch me!" I spin around at the speed of light, and push him away from me roughly by the shoulders. Rosie stumbles backward with surprise, his mouth falling open with surprise. "Hey, what the hell!" He slightly raises his voice, but he is not seething with anger the way I am.

"Calm down!" Rosie is at a loss for words, while I have so much to say that I don't know where to start. "You are a married man! The fact that you waited to tell me until after I slept with you is one of the most shameful things you've ever done! I used to respect you, more than anyone I ever knew but I don't even... know you anymore! You make me look like a whore, and yourself look like a fool! Just... keep away from me!"

"The entire hospital can hear you." He simply responds, and the grenade explodes. It leaves me surprisingly speechless, but he finally has something to say. "I'm not married, Junior, I'm engaged, and if you'd let me talk to you the way I wanted the other day, you would've known that she's just a publicity stunt!"

Well... that hadn't occurred to me. I force my mouth closed, and stare up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "What?" "Management sent her to me, as a way to drum up publicity! She doesn't mean anything to me, and we're not going through with the marriage! Won't you just trust me, baby?"

"You're unbelievable." I growl disgustedly, turning up my nose at him. "I don't believe you. You really think that's gonna get me to have sex with you again? I don't care why you're engaged, you're still engaged." I maintain.

"Listen to me, don't you understand?" Rosie massages his temples, frustrated. "Sure, Rosie. I can't believe you'd think I'm so gullible." "I don't even wear a wedding band! Michael's done the same thing, and you still agreed to be friends with him!" How does he know already? I yank at the roots of my hair, turning away and pacing impatiently.

"I don't love Erin. I don't even know her." He pleads with me again, following my movements with his irresistible eyes. "Just... stop!" "You know who I love, and who I've always loved. Do you need me to say it?" I pivot and stare at him, balling my fists. "Don't do this. Don't say it." I'm far too weak.

He slides over to me, and I reach up to slap him for unknown reasons, but he stops me in my tracks, gripping both my wrists. "Junior." His eyes force me to stare up into them, his broad chest just inches from mine. I notice that he's begun to grow facial hair again, just to attract me. His features are relaxed, calm... perfect. He screams 'perfect guy for me' but I can't stand the fact that he's engaged.

"Please don't say it." I whisper, tears brimming in my eyes, threatening to spill the moment he exposes his feelings. "I love you, Skipper Nelson. I've loved you for three years, and I have always loved you. I will always love you, and only you." Damn it.

My heart melts, the wall of ice I built around it disappears. Twin tears stream down my cheeks as I look up at him, but he seems solemn. "Why did you say that? Why did you do this to me?" He smiles, as if he knows I am under his spell, and lifts my chin with his finger.

"You're my girl." With this, his mouth comes crashing down onto mine, and I allow it. I involuntarily embrace it, wrapping my arms around his neck, just as I used to. He chuckles against me, while his fingers dig into my waist gently. "But... Erin..." My last wisp of dignity forces me to say, as he walks us over to my desk.

"Erin who?" He lifts me by the hips, setting me on top of my desk. "We can't.. have sex..." I halfheartedly protest, while his lips hungrily ravage my neck and collarbone. He is moving too fast, I cannot keep up with him. Instead I let the sensation take over, even as I feel his fingers tugging at the waistband of my scrubs.

"Black scrubs, huh? Just like me, baby girl. You've got me written all over you." I gently pet his hair, and he smiles recklessly. "I love you, and you love me, right?" He fiddles with his zipper. Seconds later, I yelp at the warmly unfamiliar feeling of him inside of me, and shakily grip his shoulders. He didn't bother removing my thong, pushing it to the side seemed satisfactory enough.

"This... is wrong." My head falls back, my hair cascading downward with it. "I love you, and who do you love?"

At first I don't respond, but once he has me under the waves of intense pleasure, I am calling for him and only him. "Who do you love?" He grunts through his movements, while I hang on to the desk like my life depends on it. "You..." I moan, and mutter his name. "Rosie."

I have a feeling that his moan of satisfaction is not from the sex.

Why... why... do I write these things.

I apologize to you all- An idea pops into my head, I try to disregard it but by then I've already rearranged the entire plot to fit in this event. Soo there you go... Office sex. But why couldn't it have been Michael, you ask? ... you'll see. ;)

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