~Interview Three~

"So tell us, Michael, how has it been going these last few years? It seemed like all of a sudden you were out of the public eye, and you've just now emerged with this new album, coming out soon." The interviewer was eager, while Michael visibly paled at the question.

"Yeah, I... left New York a little while ago, for personal reasons. I moved back to Gary to refocus myself on music- I'd become extremely involved in... medicine."

"That's all that's happened? You wrote an album for three years?" "That, and... well... I reconnected with a girl I'd known all through childhood. We've been together ever since."

"And that would be... Miss... Diana, right?"

"Yeah." Michael was too ashamed to look him in the eye for much longer.

"And what about Prince's daughter? Skipper Nelson?"

Michael was silent for a few moments. Then he stood, and solemnly left the room.

****

Skipper's POV

"Skipper! Hold on, will you?"

Hell no, I refrain from saying out loud. Now that I see Michael, now that I hear the sound of his voice, the pain that plagues me is unbearable. It now feels as if I am trapped in a never-ending nightmare; the old times we shared play through my head like a cruel movie. The things he said, his touch on my skin... ghosts of what used to be. He chewed me up. He spit me out.

"I've got things to do, Michael. Things more important than you." I shrug nonchalantly, not even giving him the possible pleasure of knowing how much his departure siphoned my happiness. It took much too long to get to the state of content I hover in as of now- I'm not interested in dwelling in the past either.

The New York streets are bustling as usual, and Michael struggles to keep up with me while pushing through the thick throngs of people.

"Skipper! I wanna talk to you. Don't you wanna talk? After all this time?" I turn slowly, and face Michael. His cheeks are slightly flushed from exertion, and his eyes are desperate and pleading. I cannot deny the familiar magnetic pull between the two of us, or the way my heart bangs against my rib cage at the sight of him.

However, my head is much stronger than my heart now.

"Let's see... no, actually. I kinda want nothing to do with you. Like... ever." I grin sarcastically, folding my arms defiantly across my chest. He saddens a bit, and looks to the ground. "I don't blame you, Skip." His eyes find mine again, and he blinks innocently, attempting to woo me. It irks me.

"No thanks, I have a date tonight... with... Will. Remember him?" That old familiar flash of burning anger surges through his eyes. His demeanor turns hostile, like a dog with it's hackles raised. The exact response I was searching for. "Yeah, it's not much of a date, though. More like... we'll just have some dirty sex. And you know how... great... I am at that. It's been so terrible to see you!"

Happy with my comeback, I begin to skip away happily.

"After all we've been through? This is what you've got to say to me?" I stop, and frown with my back turned to him. I don't respond. "After everything you've done for me, and all that I've done for you... you can't even talk to me for a few minutes... over coffee?"

"Funny, I don't seem to recall you ever doing anything for me, it was always about you." Like a hole in a tire, the emotion has begun to leak from me. "I saved your life, didn't I?"

Suddenly I'm back at St. Mary's, the day Michael put everything on the line for me.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

"Just one cup, I guess," I am hurriedly saying, before I'm fully aware of my actions. Michael is like a light bulb now, glowing with excitement. "Really? Come on!" I'd almost forgotten about his manic-depressive mood swings.

My skin prickles with goosebumps as he wrenches my arm roughly, and pulls me back toward the coffee shop. Horrified, I examine the faces of the passersby, who only whisper and point animatedly to their companions. I imagine they must be surprised to see us.

I ignore the warm sensation spreading across me at his touch (much to my annoyance), and take a seat in my favorite booth in the coffee shop. "Be right back," Michael says, before zipping to the counter to buy the drinks.

I bury my head in my hands, cursing myself silently. This is exactly what I told myself I wouldn't do if I ever saw Michael again, not that I ever thought it would happen. I would spit in his face with words, grind his dignity under my heel, and walk away. I did that at first, until he used his charm and broke down my walls. He was always extremely good at that.

"I remember how you like it," Michael sits a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me. I sort of grunt, not offering any positive response. He's ordered himself an elaborate latte, which he sips. "So..." I blink at him indifferently.

"Congratulations." "On what?"

"Your Nobel Prizes. I heard, when you won. The youngest recipient in history." His perfect teeth show when he grins at me.

"Yeah, well. It isn't everyday that someone discovers AIDS." I stare at the liquid in my cup, and gulp it. I want to finish as soon as possible. The bitter taste fails to distract me.

"So... I guess you must be at St. Mary's still?" He attempts to start a conversation.

"No... I finished my last year of high school, and then I took the MCAT. Skipped college, and went straight to Med school. I finished in 18 months. Became an M.D in January."

"Wow... you're already an attending surgeon?" "No, I'm Chief." I won't even look at him. I shouldn't be telling him these things, I shouldn't even be talking to him.

"That's a lot of cash you're earning, huh?" I just shrug.

"Still living with Prince?"

"No... I moved out, and I live in an apartment now."

"Will's apartment?" I nod, with faux-enthusiasm.

"So... you're just here, in New York. The Chief of Surgery. A Doctorate of Medicine... famous... and... happy?" He stares at me with utter disbelief, clenching his latte.

"Yes, Michael. I moved on. What did you expect?" I don't hide the edge of venom in my voice, intensifying my gaze has he examines my face. "You're so successful," He twists the gold band around his ring finger. The... wedding band.

"I'm happy for you... and Will, huh? Do you call him 'Axl' now?" My voice isn't the only fake and plastic one in the room anymore.

"You and who?" I gesture to his ring, and his expression fades into shame. "Oh, uh... I'm getting married in a few weeks."

I cannot prevent my jaw from dropping. I cannot stop my vision from blurring. I cannot only stare at my first true love with awe, disappointment, with shock... with pain. He seems equally as hurt to tell me this. I stand up quickly, and give him a slow nod. "Well, Michael, it was good talking to you, and... I hope I never see you again."

The emotion rushing through my veins is something I don't want to sort out, something I know I'm going to push away, and bottle up for a long time.

Michael's head dips. His coffee spills. I walk slowly and stiffly to the old cracked glass door of the shop, push it open. I walk out, and I don't look back.

****

The bar game, my favorite pass time. I thought it only worked at my home base, the bar I usually visit five or six nights a week. I was wrong. As I watch Rosie perform with his band in the club within their hotel, a rather handsome stranger repeatedly catches my eye.

His blue eyes are magnetic, and his dirty blonde hair is quite a sight. I tear my gaze away from his seductive smile, and gaze at Rosie on the stage. Slash's guitar blares in my ears, Duff's bass is cool and underlying. Their entire persona, the aura they create is part of the reason I love them so much as a whole.

My seat from the bar has a perfect view. Slash plays perfectly, and I'm surprised when I notice the fact that his eyes are closed.

"Guns N Roses fan, huh?" The stool beside me slides out, and someone takes a seat. I can't help the grin that plants itself on my face, and shrug. "Yeah, I'm thinking maybe I'll go backstage after the show, meet him." I nod to Rosie.

"So, you're an Axl girl, yeah?" I look over at the dirty blonde man, who is eyeballing me. "Yeah, I think so," I giggle into my hand. He has no idea how much of an 'Axl girl' I am. "Well, darling, you're barking up the wrong tree." He signals to the bartender.

"Is that so?" "Jack Daniels, two glasses on the rocks." Finally, a challenge. I glance back up at Rosie, who is still completely in the zone. The bartender spins us the glasses of whiskey. "You look like you could handle this," Blonde man says, and I nod, sipping the strong drink. It heats my tongue.

"Why am I barking up the wrong tree?" "Well, him? He's got nothing on me. Once I get my band together, we'll blow Guns N Roses right out of the fucking water." I stifle a laugh for his sake, whoever this man is. "Really? You think so?"

"I know so." He leans forward, licking the whiskey from his lips. "I want you to be there when it happens, too." I scoff, and take another drink. "That's a little forward, don't you think? You don't even know my name yet." "Oh don't I, Dr. Princess 'Skipper' Nelson, discoverer of AIDS?" That's not creepy.

"Wow, you've done your homework. You've got some balls."

"Well, when I see a world-famous surgeon sitting in a bar... I can't let her sit around and fawn over the wrong man." I bite my lip, as I always do, and Blonde man smiles in return. "You'll see, babe. You'll see." He grins. I grin. This game is just... getting to be too much fun. So much fun, that I don't remove my hand when he places his on top of it.

I casually glance at the stage again, but this time Rosie isn't singing anymore. He is staring at me, with eyes similar to a burning inferno.

Damn.

"Looks like they're finishing up," Blonde man comments, caressing my hand with his thumb. "I guess... I should be heading backstage now, then," I respond smoothly. He shakes his head playfully, "Come on, your glass is empty. Have another glass of whiskey with me. You want me to say please, good looking?"

The bartender is refilling our glasses with the coppery liquid before I can protest. "I wanna try something." He puts his elbow up on the counter, weaving our arms together like a bride and groom eating wedding cake. We both sip from our own glasses, so I don't see the point in interlocking our arms.

"Cobain!" Rosie's voice is so sudden and frightening that I choke on my liquor when it's halfway down my throat. The result is burning, throbbing, and tear-inducing. I cough as minimally as possible, wiping my wet eyes. Blonde man looks irritated, while Rosie looks at me with slight amusement.

"You alright, Junior? You look a little red." He places his hand on my back, rubbing in gentle circles. I give him a guilty look once I've stopped hacking, and shrug. "I'm fine."

"So what're you doing? Meeting my... friend Kurt?" I look at Blonde man, who scowls up at Rosie. "You're being a complete cock block here, man, can't you back off?" I sense notes of old hostility- they've got history. Rosie steps in between our stools, leaning closer to me. "You shouldn't talk to random men in bars, baby, you should know that by now." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He has no idea that this is a common behavior for me.

"I'm not a little girl. I can handle myself." I whisper. He looks good tonight, dressed in a thin t-shirt and black pants. His bandanna matches as well, his reddish-blonde mess of hair all over the place. His lips brush my cheek, and I shiver. "Can you?" "I can. I'm heading up now." "To the room?" "To the room."

"Okay, baby." He turns on 'Kurt' with a smug expression. He is still clutching his glass of whiskey with white knuckles, gazing at me. "Hey, Skip!" I shake my head, laughing, and stop in my tracks. "Yeah?"

I feel two arms snake around my waist, "You'll still be there when I get the band, right, hon?" I can feel Rosie's mood plummet, like water down a drain. "Um..." "Because I'd love that." He plants a kiss on my ear, and in an instant Kurt is not longer touching me.

I stumble backward, and turn around in time to see Rosie lunging onto Kurt, fists first. "Oh god!"

"Keep... your fucking hands... off of her!" Rosie muffles in between blows, mashing his fists against Kurt's face. Soon, Kurt turns the tables, pushing Rosie's shoulders so that he's on the floor and Kurt is on top. "Well maybe... you just don't know how to keep women!"

I just stand there casually, while everyone in the bar groups up to watch. Duff, Izzy, Steven and Slash all come running up to the front of the bunch, laughing and pointing. "You go, Ax, fuck him up!" Steven laughs, joining in with the rest of the chaos.

People cheer, chant Rosie's name. Kurt has a bloody nose now, and I'm pretty sure they've kicked each other... where it hurts. "Slash," I whine involuntarily, tugging on his muscled arm.

"Just don't look." He doesn't seem amused by this fight, which is a relief.

"Stop them?"

He just places one of his hands over my eyes, and replaces the scene with blackness.

I rest against his shoulder. "Your hand smells good."

Slash chuckles sadly.

KURT COBAIN AGGGH (Pre-Nirvana, if you didn't notice).

I thought I'd give him a bit of a cameo. Don't worry, this isn't gonna be another love triangle... square... pentagon... hexagon... whatever.

Next chapter soon! I'd love it if you'd vote, or leave a brief comment! These things make my day :)