I'm just like anyone. I cut and I bleed. And I embarrass easily. -Michael Jackson

I couldn't believe that my first medical job would be as a personal physician. There I was: twenty-six years old with a PhD in one fist and a crap-load of possibilities in the other. My boss, who happened to be one of the most respected doctors in New Orleans- Maybe even all of Louisiana- was handing me off to a man in need of a live-in physician. My new boss lived in California. I wouldn't know his name, age or condition until I was off of the plane and in my rental, on my way to his home.

I followed the map my new boss had sent me and got lost several times. He lived out in the middle of nowhere. He wrote in the margin, however, that it was very large and impossible to miss. I was quickly proving him wrong. Frustrated as I was, I kept driving until I nearly drove into a the gate of a mansion. I hadn't missed it, it was just in the middle of nowhere of the middle of nowhere. Pushing my thick blond curls away from my face, I squinted my eyes against the glaring sun and tried to make out the words on the gate.

Neverland Ranch

No way. This had to be a mistake. I picked up my phone to call my old boss and right on Que, it rang. I fumbled with it until I had it on and held correctly to my ear.

"Frank," I said breathlessly. "You've got to be shitting me." He chuckled on the other end.

"I take it you made it alright, hmm?" He said.

"You assigned me to-are you kidding? Michael Jackson?"

"I thought you'd like it." I could hear Frank's big grin as he spoke. My mouth opened and closed several times and the only sounds I could manage were weak squeaks of protest. Frank cleared his throat, a motion he always took when throwing forth his authority.

"Listen, Christine. He called everywhere and when he finally got to me, he asked for my best doctor. That's why you're there. You're the best he could have asked for. You know what you're doing, you're the smartest person I've seen in a long time. And trust me, I've been at this hospital longer than you've been alive. Trust me, you'll do great."

"Frank, I don't know anything about the guy. The only song I know is 'Thriller.' What's his condition, anyway? Shouldn't I know that, at least?" He sighed, clearly irritated.

"He's a fifty-year-old pop star, Christine. He's going to be touring and he just wants to be safe. Jesus Christ, Chris. He's paying you a shit-load of money. Can't you just thank me, hang up the phone and go meet the man?" I sighed in turn and it slowly turned into a frustrated groan but I nodded, said my thanks and hung up the phone. After I stuffed my phone into my blue and green Tootsie Roll-shaped purse and tied up my mass of blond curls, I climbed out of my rental and shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand while I examined the gate and driveway that inevitably led up to a very large house. As I looked around, I saw a golf cart slowly making its way down the drive. Driving it was a man in a white long-sleeved shirt tucked into black jeans, sunglasses and holding an umbrella.

I briefly considered climbing back into my rental and high-tailing it out of there until the King of Pop himself opened the gate for me and offered a warm smile and his hand.

"You must be Doctor Christine Rowan." He said in a soft voice. I nodded, with my mouth slightly agape and shook his hand. "I'm sorry it worked out like this. My request, you see...to protect my privacy. You understand, right?" I nodded again, still gaping, and belatedly realized how rude I was being.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude, aren't I? Hello, Mr. Jackson. I'm Christine Rowan, of course you know that now. It is very nice to meet you." He grinned at me and then watched me curiously.

"Is-is there something on my face?" The classic question when stuck in an awkward stare-down. His grin widened and he shook his head.

"No. Nope, I was just admiring your accent. Call me Michael." I blushed the color of a ripe tomato. "Shall we? I'd like to give you a tour of the house and grounds. Don't worry," He added when he saw that I was about to interrupt. "I'll give you a full work up of my medical history after you've been settled...Doctor."

"Mr. Jackson, do you live here alone?" I asked.

"No, of course not. My children live here with me. Please. Call me Michael." I'd forgotten he had children. This ought to be interesting. I nodded and he turned with a smile to get back into the golf cart. "Aren't you coming?"

"What about my car?"

"Leave the key in the ignition. It'll be taken care of." I nodded, yet again, and joined him in the cart.

"So, about how fast does this baby go?" I asked. "20? 25 miles an hour?"

"50." He replied, still grinning. He had a lovely smile.

"I've never heard of a golf cart that could go 50. It doesn't sound safe."

"Oh, don't be a Nervous Nellie." He teased. "Wanna see how fast it feels? I promise I won't be reckless, Doctor." Throwing a wink in my direction to lighten the mood, he revved what little engine the cart had. Despite myself, I smiled and nodded.

"Alright. Go on, then."

I gripped the sides of my seat and clenched my eyes shut while the tiny vehicle took off at full speed. Despite how hard I tried to stop it, a small squeak mixed with an excited grin escaped through my clenched teeth. Thirty seconds and a couple of turns later, I opened my eyes. Michael's hand was on my shoulder and when I turned to look at him, he had one elegant eyebrow arched and small smirk on his mouth.

"Is it over?" I squeaked. He laughed and nodded, hopping out of the cart and then coming over to my side, umbrella in hand, to offer me the other like a gentleman. He helped me out and showed me inside.

"Now, your bags and belongings arrived two days ago. You knew that, right?" He asked, I thought I might learn to love his smile.

No. Stop it, Christine. You've just met the man. What happened to me over the last ten minutes? I'd hardly said two words to him and already I felt like the back-woods sort of girl who wanted nothing more than to be the groupie to celebrity. I looked up at his overly massive home.

"Uhm, yeah. Frank...er, Dr. Bradly sent them out for me. But, of course, I didn't know where they were going." Michael held the door open for me and, as I swung my cheap Marc by Marc knock off bag over my shoulder, I entered the home of my first celebrity.

"Sorry about that again. I know you should have had at least a scrap of information about your new job."

"No, no. Please, I completely understand."

"Oh, good. Oh, and you have an office." I had to stop staring at his mouth. And his eyes. And him.

Damnit! Now he was watching me. I quickly looked away and examined the entrance of his house.

"A-an office. Really? Wow, usually I just bring my work to bed with me. That was very thoughtful." We both laughed as he led me through the house. It was honestly amazing to see. After he showed me the movie theatre, completely with candy bar stand and hospital beds, he took me to meet his children.

Paris, Michael Jr. and Prince II filed out of their rooms and I shook each of their hands.

"This is Dr. Rowan. She'll be staying with us while I'm touring." Michael Sr. told them.

"Oh, please. call me Christine. Really, there's no need for formalities."

"It's very nice to meet you." Paris said. She sounded sincere but she eyed me with scrutiny.

"And you, as well." I replied politely. Michael Jr. held up a video game controller he'd brought out with him.

"You like Mario Cart?" He asked. I nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I used to play with my dad and brother all the time. You know, way back when it first came out...I'm old." The crew laughed, save for Paris who continued to eye me suspiciously.

"Wanna play?" Little Michael asked. Michael Sr. answered before I had the chance.

"I think we should let Christine get settled, don't you? She's had a long trip and I'm sure she must be tired."

"I am pretty knackered." I nodded. Michael, ever the gentleman as I was quickly learning, offered his arm to me and I took it with another deep blush. I left who two looks of wonder from the boys and one very cynical one from Paris.

Michael's Point of View

I knew that I would be having a female physician come to stay with me, but what I hadn't counted on was the pure and utter beauty of this girl. She took my arm in her tiny hand and I tried to block out the looks of anger and betrayal on my daughter's face. Christine acted like she was trying not to let it bother her; Paris was only a little girl, after all. I would have to have a talk with her later on. Belatedly, I realized that Christine was speaking to me and I should probably be listening.

"Your home is...there aren't words. Gorgeous. Breathtaking...that doesn't even cover it." I tried to hide my embarrassment and more than likely failed at it.

"Well, thank yo. When you're all rested up I can show you the grounds and rides." I watched her delicate eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Rides?"

"Carnival rides."

"You have carnival rides in your yard? Aren't there zoning issues?" She seemed amused and caught completely off guard. I think I giggled. Was that the sound I made? Goodness.

"No zoning problems. Not here." I told her .

She wasn't like other girls I'd been around. There was no screaming or jumping, stomping of feet or crying in delight. She did, however, seem nervous, which I understood. She was far from home, staying in a stranger's house. Not only a stranger, a famous strange who locked himself away 97% of his life. Poor child...

I did appreciate the lack of screaming, though. It was a plus.

"This is you." I opened the door to her room for her and she let go of my arm to step inside and let out a tiny gasp. She was just short of spinning around the room like a delighted little girl. Because it wasn't directed toward me for once, I smiled at her and leaned against the door jam. She turned to me, her eyes wider than they were naturally, and said in her thick southern accent:

"Michael, this is far too much."

"Oh, don't be silly." I said, smiling softly.

Narrator's POV

Christine wanted to hug him, but refrained herself. Instead, she tossed herself back onto the bed and sighed deeply. She looked around the room, decorated in soft natural colors. It was nice to see trim that wasn't white for a change, but a soft off-gold. A delicate, silver chandelier hung above the bed. The bed was dressed in a deep burgundy sheets and a very warm, comfortable duvet in a deeper red. The throw-pillows were lined in gold and thread.

Belatedly, she remembered that Michael was standing in the doorway. And he was watching her very closely. She sat up and ran a hand through her chaotic blond curls with a small, embarrassed smile. Michael smirked back at her.

"I'll just let you get settled, shall I? Oh, and I hope you're hungry. I have dinner planned for seven o'clock."

"I am hungry. Thank you."

"I'll come get you, then. So you don't get lost." She smiled and nodded.

"Lovely."

Christine worked diligently to unpack and organize her belongings in her new room. She still couldn't get her head around how completely generous Michael was with said room. It was possibly the most beautiful she'd ever seen. Well, close up, anyway. She was careful not to anything from its place while she fitted her things in.

It certainly had been a long trip. When she finally had the chance to check her watch, it was fifteen to seven and Christine was still in the grimy t-shirt and jeans she'd come off of the plane in. After quickly rummaging through the clothes she'd just hung up, she pulled out a pair of pressed khaki pants and a short-sleeved pinstripe blouse to match. She pulled the pony tail holder out of her hair and sprayed some water through it to reactivate the curls. She didn't wear much makeup, so there wasn't anything to fix there. As she ran her fingers through her hair one last time, she heard a knock on the door and was quick to answer it.

Michael had changed, as well. Instead of his white T, he sported a black long sleeved, V-neck sweater and a very expensive-looking pair of jeans. He also wore a smile. Christine smiled back shyly.

"I hope you're hungry." He said, offering his arm to her again.

"Incredibly so." Together they walked down three halls and turned two corners and they were in the dining room. Paris, Prince and Michael Jr. were all seated at the table. Michael pulled out the chair at the head for her and she sat. He took the one next to her and Paris was on her other side.

As they ate (all organic turkey and vegetables), Michael asked her about her profession and what she enjoyed most about it. Christine thought for a moment.

"I think I really just like the opportunity to help people."

"Have you ever saved anyone's life?" Prince asked. He was too cute and looked so much like his father.

"I, uhm, restarted someone's heart once. My first day as an intern. It was exciting."

"You didn't get the credit for it, though." Paris said, looking up at her. "I've read that interns don't really get the credit because they're still learning." She smiled at Paris and nodded.

"You're right. I didn't get credit for it, but I knew what I did and I was proud of my accomplishment."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Paris!" Michael hissed across the table at her. Christine answered the question anyway.

"No. With my schooling and working 24 hours a day, it's difficult to keep up with a relationship. I'm a bit married to my work right now."

"She sounds like you, dad." Michael Jr. said with a grin, then put on a rather good impression of his father. "'Well, I'd like to be in a relationship, but my job is my true love.'" The lot laughed, Christine tried to retain herself.

"Oh, very funny, Michael." The older said, trying to conceal a smile.

Almost as quickly as the dishes were done, had Michael and Christine headed to bed. He walked her to her room and they exchanged friendly kisses on the cheek. They said their goodnights and Christine closed the door behind her. She changed into her faded and holy T-shirt to sleep in, took a mild sleep aid and fell into bed. It was incredibly comfortable. While she waited for the sleep aid to kick in, she contemplated her day and in the middle of her thoughts on dinner, she fell asleep. It was not, however, a dreamless sleep as she'd rather hoped it would be. She did dream, but when she woke up, she wouldn't remember a single one.

Michael went without a sleep aid and wound up unable to find relief from his thoughts. It had been many years since he'd had anyone other than his children and male physicians stayed in his home and so his thoughts frequently wandered to the beautiful curls down the hall. It wasn't uncommon for him to have thoughts about a beautiful woman who was close to him, particularly one that seemed strangely unaware of him, but he did try to limit those thoughts.

After a night of tossing and turning and restless sleep, Christine woke with some extreme difficulty. It was early, though. She could tell by the low sun through the window. Slowly and very reluctantly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. She certainly wasn't ready to be awake, but it would be rude to sleep in so late on her first morning. She stood up, pulled her disarray or curls into a messy pony tail and pulled on a pair of shorts under her over sized T-shirt. As soon as she'd rubbed the grit from her eyes, she heard a soft knock on the door and hurried to answer it. Michael, in full dress, stood in her doorway and looked suddenly embarrassed. He struggled to keep his eyes from her legs. It was surprisingly difficult.

"Oh. You are awake." He said and suddenly couldn't think of what else he wanted to say to her. Christine waited for what seemed like five minutes, but was probably less, he smiled widely. "Breakfast is in the kitchen if you're hungry." She was quite.

"Let me just...uhm...get dressed." She said and jabbed a thumb behind her in a weak gesture at the closet. Michael nodded and shut the door to allow her to do just that.

Christine dressed in a pair of jeans and white graphic T, tied her hair back into a loose pony tail and met the family in the same place they'd been for dinner not twelve hours prior. The children, still clad in their pajamas, sat at the table and passed milk around to pour over their cereal. Christine sat in the chair she'd occupied the night before and watched as half of Michael's body fit itself into the refrigerator.

"For breakfast we have cereal, yogurt and...hmm...it seems that's all...Need to go grocery shopping." His head emerged and he held a yogurt in his hand. "Paris, will you please make me agrocery list when you're done eating?" She nodded as though she'd only been half listening. "Thank you..."

"Yogurt sounds good." Christine said and caught the little cup he tossed to her. She tore open the aluminum lid and sucked the yogurt that got on her thumb. Michael handed her a spoon.

"Oh! I have something for you." He said and reached across her-he was quite close, Christine froze-to grab a file and put it in front of her. It was his medical history. Christine grinned and finished off her yogurt so that she could flip through. He'd certainly had an extensive history from things like several dehydration visits and an incredibly dangerous spider bite. Her eyebrows raised several times while Michael watched her read.

"So, you basically lived in the hospital." Christine muttered. Michael couldn't help but to smirk as her rather surprised tone.

"For a little while, yes. You could say that. I had some hard times." She nodded in agreement.

"So it would seem. Nothing as of late, though. That's good. Ah, what's this? We'll have to watch out for this, won't we?" She was talking more to herself than to him, but she glanced at the children several times as she read.

Christine offered to go grocery shopping, so Michael gave her the funds (even though she offered to do it herself,) and she went to the nearest market to buy about two hundred dollars worth of food that had seemingly been eaten. So, in her cute little rented Prius, Christine went over the two page list that Paris had handed to her. The handwriting was neat and precise, which she was thankful for. On the bottom of the second page was a map to a Whole Foods market. Michael and the kids only ate organic. Well, it wouldn't hurt to make a healthy change in diet.

The market was only ten minutes or so from the Ranch, so any frozen foods or perishables would be safe in the car ride back...home. It was home now. She'd have to get used to that.

It took her a good hour and a half in the market alone to find everything on the list, but she was able to find everything. But while she was in the checkout line, she glanced over at another woman holding a People magazine. On the cover was her picture. Christine's eyes widened and she tried to look away, but found it incredibly difficult. The caption under it said: 'Michael Jackson's new house-mate' and under that it said: 'Has he hired her just as a physician, or could it be something more?' The woman with the magazine looked Christine in the eye, turned the magazine over, and then let out a small squeak of surprise. Christine turned away quickly, grabbed a fist full of hair to pull in front of her face, and began unloading her groceries onto the belt. The woman turned to another and whispered furiously into her ear. They looked rather angry and Christine didn't load her groceries fast enough to get out of their line of fire. They bombarded her, ripped the the bag of leaf lettuce from her hands and shoved her hard. She stumbled.

"Hey wha-?"

"Who do you think you are? Moving in with him like that? He is a fragile person!" Christine stared at them, her mouth agape.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." Christine said aghast. For some reason she couldn't put her finger on, this enraged the woman with the magazine. She drew her fist back and popped her in the eye. In a cloud of blond curls, she fell back into a stack of shopping baskets, obtaining not only a black eye, but a bruised skull as well. When she looked up, there was a rather large man behind the two woman. He hoisted them both up at the same time and albeit threw them bodily from the store. He was the man who'd been ringing Christine's grocery up and he instantly helped her up off of the ground. Christine touched her eye hesitantly and cringed at the throbbing pain the bruise produced.

"Are you alright? She gotcha pretty good, 'in't she?" The burly man asked.

"Uh, yeah. I suppose she did..." He grinned.

"Ah, yer not from 'ere, are ya?" She shook her head and pointed to the magazine that had been flung unceremoniously on the ground.

"No...the cause of the brawl. I'm so sorry, I'll just pay for this and leave. I apologize." He shook his head, looking a bit flabbergasted.

"Naw, naw, I couldn't letcha pay for this after what jus' happened."

"No, please. Let me pay. I want to. I-I couldn't live with myself if I left with a hundred and fifty dollars worth of food."

"Listen here, miss. I own the place. I promise you, it won't be any big deal." It seemed that Christine wasn't going to win any battle today. She smiled, said her thanks and left with too much money in her purse.

The drive home took too long, but when Christine got back to Neverland Ranch, she'd wished she'd had the sense to put up one arm before the woman had raised her fist. Too bad she wasn't psychic, it would have done her a whole lot of good. At least it hadn't been her nose.

She climbed out of the car and pulled as many bags as she could carry out of the car. Michael was at her side before she'd had the chance to look up. He was snatching the bags out of her hands by the time she'd looked up and gasped softly when he saw her eye.

"How'd you-?" She began to ask, but he cut her off.

"The store owner is a close friend. He called and told me what happened. I should have thought ahead...someone's always watching this place." She nodded and reached back into the car, but he pulled her back. "Leave them. I'll get them."

"Don't be silly, I'm perfectly capable of-"

"No, you don't be silly. Someone should look at that."

"In case you've forgotten why you hired me, I'm a doctor and fully able to take care of it myself. It just needs some ice and salve to take the swelling down. One of which happens to be in your kitchen. Where the groceries are going. So, you see, it's right in the path. So there's no reason why I can't help carry in the groceries." He thought a moment and, seemingly finding no flaws in her logic, handed her a couple of bags.

"Oh, and by the way," Christine said slowly. "you've got some extra cash. Like, two hundred dollars extra... He wouldn't let me pay."

"I know. He told me on the phone."

Christine sat down in the kitchen and caught the thin wash cloth and handful of ice he tossed to her. She pressed the makeshift icepack to her eye and winced when pressure was applied to the bruise. Michael wouldn't let her help put the groceries away and she didn't want to start off their relationship with arguments, so she settled for watching him. And listening to him hum softly to a song she didn't recognize. Christine was mesmorized at just how beautiful his singing voice actually was. Having only known 'Thriller', she hadn't had the chance to experience the full capacity of it. He made even the flattest and sharpest of notes sound magnificent. Before she realized what she was doing, Christine was humming along with him, following his notes to the swooping song. Michael stopped what he was doing and Christine froze. She could feel her entire face turn red when he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"Do that again." He said in a soft, but orderly tone.

"Do what again?" She asked slowly.

"Sing that again. Just like you were."

"I don't remember how it goes..." He pursed his lips, shrugged and then turned back to the cupboard, resuming his song. This time Christine didn't hum along.

With Michael's file tucked under her arm, Christine explored her new office. She opened the door and stifled a small gasp. The office looked like it had an entire library forced into one room and her fingers itched to open each and every one of the books. Frank must have told Michael that she was an avid reader. As a matter of fact, 'avid' wasn't even the right word to use to describe her intense love for reading. She was an American Hermione Granger, per se, with a PhD. Almost everything she knew, she learned from books. She had the sudden urge to hug her new boss but stopped herself at the door, turned back around and sat down in the wing backed chair behind the oak desk. Christine grinned to herself when she found that the chair swivvled. There couldn't be anything more fun than a swivvle chair. After a few turns, she cleared her throat and decided that it would be a good idea to get some work done.

She pulled out a pen and some paper from one the drawers of the desk. They were fully stocked, she could have squealed with joy. In the late 1980's, Michael had been diagnosed with Vitiligo. That actually explained a lot. Christine pushed her surprise aside and kept reading. Not long after that, he'd been diagnosed with lupus. She spent a moment wondering if there were any other autoimmune conditions hiding out in his body, then moved on. Just last year, he'd had a lung transplant. She made a small note to watch out for Vitiligo, Lupus and alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency in the children, as they were all genetic disorders that may inevitably effect them.

The last time Christine looked at the clock, it was midnight. The last time Christine opened her eyes, she was being shook awake by Michael and sat up with a jerk.

"I wa'n't sleeping..." She said groggily and heard him laugh next to her.

"It's two in the morning, you should probably get to bed." It took her a moment or two to register this, but nodded regardless and stood up. He took her by the elbow and she allowed him to lead her to her room. At the doorway, he stopped and turned to face her, then carefully placed a finger under the tender bruised tissue under her black eye. At her short intake of breath, he removed it and shook his head.

"This shouldn't have happened." He said. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing for something that isn't your fault?" Christine asked with a small, sleepy smile. Michael, unable to say that he felt completely responsible, simply shrugged and left her to sleep.

The phone was ringing next to his head and he sat up as though a gun had had been fired. Only the slightest bit annoyed, he pressed the talk button and said a rather frantic 'Hello?' The woman on the other end sounded as though she'd been crying and all he could make out from her sobs of despair were the words 'talk to Christine.' Because the woman sounded so depressing and worried, he got up as quickly as possible and nearly ran to Christine's bedroom door. He knocked three times and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door and tossed the phone to her. She'd barely opened her eyes and had to lunge to catch the phone whilst giving Michael strange looks as he caught his breath. Slowly, fearing the worst, she placed the receiver to her ear and whispered her greeting. Her mother let out one quick sob and Christine caught her breath.

"Chris...I know it's early-but your father-" No. "he couldn't breath and-" No. God No. Please... "It's spreading too quickly-He doesn't have much time-" By this time Christine was close to hyperventilation. She couldn't feel her body, the room had gone hazy. She wasn't aware of her boss sitting next to her, stroking her hair, wiping away the traitor tears that had escaped from their ducts. She wasn't aware of how badly she was shaking and she'd unconsciously tuned out what her mother was saying. She had to listen again.

"-wants to see you. Christine, he doesn't have a lot of time...I think you need to be here. No. Christine, you have to be here."

"Okay," Because she didn't trust her voice enough to speak out loud, she only whispered and hung up the phone too late after the line went dead.

With her face buried in her hands, Christine pressed the her palms into her eyes in a weak attempt to keep from crying. She knew that it would happen eventually, that her father would hit rock bottom with his M.S. and be unable to recover from it. She didn't, however, know that it would be so soon.

She could feel Michael's hand smoothing her hair back away from her cheeks. She had half a mind to ask him to leave and the other half told her to let him stay. She listened to the latter half and finally looked up. Christine would not cry, she wouldn't allow herself to. Not with him sitting right there next to her. With a great sniff, she looked up and he smiled down at her.

"It's still early. Why don't you try to get some more sleep?" He suggested. Reluctant, but still very tired, she nodded and he left to her fall back into a very restless sleep depleted of delta waves.

When Christine woke up, the sun wasn't in view from her window and she knew that it was no longer morning. Because she hadn't gotten to the delta stage in sleep, she felt as though she hadn't rested at all and when she sat up, she was immediately assaulted by a headache. But she moved passed it and stood up, grabbing some clothes and sprinting to the bathroom down the hall so that she could grab a shower.

With freshly scrubbed hair and teeth and clean skin, Christine was surprised to find that she felt a little better. After slapping on some makeup and throwing her hair into a pony tail, she dropped her dirty clothes back at her room and then met Michael in the kitchen where he was reading a book. She sat next to him and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry about this morning." Christine mumbled a bit pathetically. Michael spared her a withered, quizzical look and shook his head.

"Don't be silly. I would have done the same thing were I in your place." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. Christine took them when he handed to her and her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Plane tickets. I'm going with you. ...If that's okay, I mean."

"Of course you can, but I was going to pay for it..." She said, suddenly feeling rather guilty. Michael scoffed and folded the page he was on in his book.

"Again, don't be silly."

It had only been two days since Christine had been on a plane, but it felt like it had been several weeks. Michael sat next to her playing a Gameboy and she wouldn't admit that it was one of her favorite pass times, as well. When she wasn't reading. She had to stop herself from laughing every time his little Mario character lost a life and he got more and more frustrated. Having assumed that she'd fallen asleep at some point during the plane ride because it seemed much shorter than the last one did, Christine jerked awake when the plane halted. She looked up and saw Michael stuffing the Gameboy back into his carry on. She stood and swung her own over her shoulder.

Fourty-five minutes later, Christine was staring her older brother in the face. The two wore solemn expressions, which quickly disappeared when she flung herself into his arms and shook with repressed sobs. Michael watched awkwardly until they finally pulled apart and whispered their greetings. She turned to Michael and nodded that he should follow. Introductions would be saved for the car ride.

"Momma said you would be bringing a guest." Her brother, whom Michael learned was called Liam, said with a sly smile at his sister. "But she didn't say who you'd be bringing." Michael could feel himself blushing and it was a little hard to hide it in the front seat. Christine laughed and leaned forward in the back so that her head was between the two of them and she could be heard more easily.

"I'm just glad there weren't any theatrics and drama getting off of the plane." She said with a wide grin. It was only a little strained. "Liam...Daddy..." The smile slipped from her face and she gripped his shoulder, biting her lip. He put his hand over hers whilst stearing the car with the other.

"We'll see him in the morning. He's not doing well, Chris... I'm not sure how much longer he has. Listen to me, though. No, listen." He added urgently when his little sister showed every sign of interrupting. "This is hard for all of us. I know it's harder for you because you're a doctor. You feel obligated to cure him. You can't."

"I think that if I do just a little more research-"

"You can not read his way out of this, Christine. No books are going to save his life." Liam's tone was final and Christine let go of his shoulder, looking slightly put out but still determined. Michael thought that this was a bit harsh as he watched the tears gathering in his young employee's eyes, but kept his thoughts to himself.

It had been many years since Michael had been to New Orleans. But they were only passing through. They lived outside of the city, Christine said, on an old plantation that had been in their family for too many years to count. He was eager to see it. Neither Liam nor Christine spoke to one another again during the car ride but when they were parked in the drive, he opened her door and she graced him with a smile. They had forgiven eachother. Michael suddenly missed his own siblings very much.

Cecil Rowan, a short woman with Christine's structure and hair, was waiting on the porch for them and stood when all car doors had been closed. She hugged her to children and then hugged Michael as though he had been part of the family. Nothing was said about his fame or his money or his music. He was simply a normal person visiting a friend. No words were spoken until everyone was inside the house. It looked like the house from the movie The Skeleton Key and Michael couldn't keep his eyes from wandering most avidly across every possible item and surface. Smells wafted through the house, as well. Cecil had made dinner, a hearty meal of gumbo, corn bread, sweet tea and coffee. Very southern, Michael noted. He sat between Christine and Cecil at the table, with Liam across from them. Cecil served them whilst shooting questions at Michael about very normal things. How did he like California? What were his favorite southern foods? What did he like to do in his free time?

"Well, California is beautiful. I really enjoy living there. I'm not buttering up, but gumbo is my favorite. In my free time, I like to play video games with my kids. I also really enjoy water gun fights."

"We had our fair share of water fights when the kids were younger." Cecil smiled and offered him more gumbo, which he happily dug into.

"Christine always cheated, though. She got out the big buckets of water."

"Oh, says the boy who only used the hose. That's not cheating?" Liam and Christine had rather large grins on their faces as they light-heartedly argued. Michael laughed with them.

After the lot of them, Michael included, cleaned up after dinner, Christine showed him to her room. She slowly opened the door, expecting to find the mess she'd left, but found that it was clean and organized. Her mother must have gotten her hands on it. A small smile of relief graced her features as she showed him in. It wasn't decorated in a girly fashion as he'd expected. The walls were different shades of blue and teal that accented the room and made it feel bigger than what it actually as. The full sized bed had plain white sheets and a beige duvet atop of it. His heels clicked on the hardwood floor as he turned and assessed. It was very tasteful, but not something he'd have expected from a barely-adult female. He turned to her with one eyebrow arched.

"No pink?" He asked in a borderline mocking voice.

"I'm actually not that fond of pink. I prefer cooler colors, it helps to keep me from getting scatter-brained." Realizing just how much of a nerd she sounded, Christine grinned and turned back to the door. "Uhm, everything's clean, so feel free to fall right in. I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Christine, are you sure? I can take the couch." She shook her head quickly and waved him off.

"No, that's silly. You get the bed. I'm happy to take the couch." She walked back toward him quickly and swiftly kissed him on the cheek, then left the room with a soft 'Good night'. She left him to stand there staring at the closed door for far too long before he finally got into bed.

Christine's hand shook while she applied her makeup and attempted to tame the wild mane of curls attached to her head. She was looking forward to seeing her father, but what she was nervous about was seeing him in his condition. Michael leaned in the doorjam and watched her with some interest as she applied her mascara with one hand while the other held her hair out of her face.

"Why is it that women put their mascara on with their mouths open?" He asked a little absently, but continued to watch her intently. Her mouth snapped shut immediately, but she seemed to struggle with the wand after that and let it fall open again.

"I really couldn't tell you. Must be one of those imponderables." He laughed and watched as she struggled with her hair.

"Here," He said and moved to stand behind her. He took her thick curls in his hands, twisted it, and secured the knott with a tie she handed him. She looked up at his face in the mirror and cleared her throat. He smiled and his hand trailed from her hair down the back of her neck to rest on her shoulder. Chills ran down her spine when his other hand rested on her waist and turned her to face him. Christine was late in realizing how quickly she was breathing and how close he was. She flinched involuntarily when she heard her mother's voice calling them down to go.

"I'm staying here," Michael said when she looked at him curiously. He hadn't moved from his spot when she had turned to leave. "It's not a good idea for me to...you know..." She nodded her understanding with a small smile and hurried downstairs to her mother and her brother.

Jason Rowan looked like death. Christine had a hard time looking away from him. She could tell that he wasn't entirely coherent. He looked as though he didn't recognize any of them at first, but when she sat on the edge of his bed and held his hand, realization struck his face and he reached up with twitching fingers to touch her face. Her mother and brother stood back away from them while Chrisitine tried to hold her tears back and Jason smiled up at her. She expected that he would have a lung machine, but he didn't. He as breathing just fine on his own. He had the occasional twitch, but other than that he was moving just fine. It was his occasional vacant expression and pale complexion that gave him away.

It was strange being back in the hospital she'd left only two days ago. It was as if she'd never left, but like she'd been away for a very long time. Strange. She stood up, sniffling back her tears, and looked through his chart. With MS advanced this far, he'd had the expected hallucinations, but no siezures yet. She breathed a sigh of relief. Frank was also his attending, another relief. At least it was someone close to the family that they were all comfortable with. Frank, as though he'd sensed their presense, entered the room and smiled mockingly.

"You're violating HIPPA laws, Christine. Although, it doesn't surprise me." He took the chart from her and flipped through it himself.

"He's my father." She countered. "I'm at liberty to know what's going on with my father." Frank nodded in agreement.

"Fair enough," He said. "How's your new job going? Still mad at me?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll think about it. How's my father? Has he been eating? How have the nights been? Has he-?"

"Relax, Christine. While he's been here, he's been perfectly fine." It seemed that everything in her world had been put on a timer. As Christine glanced over her shoulder, Jason went into convulsions and his monitors beeped frantically. Christine shoved past Frank and pressed her father's head to the mattress to tame some of the twitching and shaking.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" She shouted over the monitors. "Ativan! Stat!"

She doubted she'd get much sleep after that. Liam drove home while Cecil sobbed relentlessly in the back seat. Christine sat in the front and stared out the window. Liam rubbed her shoulders to comfort her but she knew that he was just as troubled as she was. He pulled into the drive and the two of them helped Cecil out of the car, into the house and into bed. They'd spent most of the day at the hospital after Jason's seizure and the sun was setting behind the house. Christine went immediately to the liquor cupboard. She wasn't usually a drinker, but she also hadn't brought any sleep aids and alcohol was the closest thing to it. And the closest thing to her. Liam kissed the top of her head, denied her offer for a drink and retired to bed.

"You shouldn't drink alone." A soft voice said from behind her. Christine jumped and spun around. Michael was watching her, as he often did. She sighed and turned back around to the table and poured herself a drink. Straight vodka. He sat down next to her and shook his head.

"You gonna drink with me?" She asked, tilting the bottle toward him. Michael wasn't usually a drinker, either, but he didn't want her to do it alone. He took the bottle from her, picked up a second tumbler and poured himself a drink.

"Cheers," Christine raised her glass to him and tossed back the vodka. It felt funny going down and she winced.

"I don't drink often." Michael said, wincing as well.

"Oh, neither do I. But I think I'm at liberty right now. You don't even want to know about my day."

"Tell me," Michael said and nudged her playfully in the arm with his shoulder. She slid him a skeptical look, raised eyebrow and all, and shrugged. Christine launched into her story, recieving full participation from Michael in the form of facial expressions and even hugs. They'd finished almost the entire bottle of Grey Goose vodka and stumbled up to Christine's room. It seemed like a very quick night. It was almost midnight. They stopped at the door and Christine looked up at him to say goodnight. She moved forward to kiss his cheek like the night before and the next thing she knew, her mouth was pressed to his. Quickly realizing what she was doing, she stepped backward and waited for him to shout that she was fired, gather up his things and leave.

He wasn't shouting. He wasn't leaving. He was pulling her closer. He was kissing her back. His arms locked around her waist like a vice and she fumbled with the door knob. They didn't bother with the lights, they didn't bother with anything but closing the door behind them.

Christine woke early. She felt more comfortable than she had the night before on the couch and somehow more free. Free as in naked. She sat up quickly and looked next to her then groaned. Maybe she could just slip out of bed before he woke up and then avoid him for the rest of the day. No such luck. Michael was awake. Her brilliant plan of escape wouldn't work. Clutching theduvet to her chest, she ran a hand through her tangled curls and groaned again. Humiliation also came with an alcohol induced headache. Christine rubbed her forehead and wrestled with her hair, all the while trying to ignore the superstar in bed next to her. But when he sat up next to her and moved her hair behind her shoulders, she looked up at him. His expression was thoughtful, not angry or ashamed. She could have cried.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked, stroaking her hair down to the middle of her back.

"Alright? Michael, I...I...date raped you!" To her great surprise, he laughed and pressed gentle kisses to her shoulder and cheek. Satisfied when her eyes slid closed and she sighed, he took his chances and pulled her back down next to him in bed. Her hands covered her face and he took both of her small wrists in one of his hands to pull them away. He saw her blue eyes glistening and sighed to himself before pulling her tight against his chest. She allowed him to do this, feeling not entirely comfortable with herself. They were both still very naked and very close to one another. She also wasn't entirely sure that all of the alcohol had worn off.

"You're not angry with me?" She asked softly. He chuckled and pushed her hair out of both of their faces.

"Why on earth would I be angry with you?" He asked. "If anything, you should be angry with me. You were the vulnurable one last night, remember?"

"I kissed you first,"

"I kissed you back." She groaned again while he chuckled and squeazed her tightly around the shoulders. "How about this? It's no one's fault. It just happened." Michael was actually surprised at himself. He normally would have been very embarrassed at this, but he was a little offended and amused at how embarrassed she was.

"Would you rather pretend like it never happened?" He asked. "We could go back to the awkward small talk, the shyness."

"Let me know how that works for you." She grumbled and sat up again, clutching the sheet about her chest. He sat up with her and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

"Do you really want to leave it like this? Do you think that's best?" With her face squished between his big hands, she wasn't able to make much expression. She couldn't even shake her head, but she tried. "Christine. What do you want?" She opened and closed her mouth several times before...not answering. Christine didn't know what she wanted. But he was leaning toward her again and she still couldn't move. He was going to kiss her after she'd date raped him. She didn't deserve this.

"Are you really that ashamed?" She could feel his breath on her face, feel his hands trembling, and she nodded as best she could.

"I'm ashamed of myself, Michael. I'm ashamed of what I've done."

"And what have you done?"

"In case it's escaped your notice, we're naked in bed together." His hand traveled across her stomach. She shivered but she couldn't decide if it was from delight or something else. "I seduced you...while we were both incredibly intoxicated. You can't tell me you don't resent me a little bit for that."

"I can and I am." He said. His tone was final, leaving Christine without an argument. None that she would voice, anyway. While her shoulders slumped, Michael dragged her back down again and she allowed it.

"What happens now?" she murmured, holding more tightly to the arm he'd wrapped around her waist than what was entirely necessary. She thought she felt his lips against her hair but kept still. "I mean...I'm your employee. It's not entirely appropriate to form a relationship. But then, what other choice do we have? It's not like this is something silly that we can just shrug off and forget about. I've read about employers that-"

"We're not them." He whispered. "Let's try this out. Are you attracted to me?" A small blush rose in his own cheeks as he asked her this and she fidgeted next to him.

"I-well-Yes..." He wouldn't let her know that his own heart actually lept a little at this.

"Give me one good reason why this wouldn't work, then."

"You're paying me. I'm not paying rent to live with you. I'm eating your food without paying for it. ...You're paying me."

"It doesn't bother me." Christine scoffed and rolled her eyes up to meet his. She was surprised to see that he was smiling.

"If this blows up in our asses-Oh, shit!" Cecil was calling their names. Christine wasn't sure how her old-fashioned mother was going to take this strange discovery.

"Don't curse, Christine." Michael practically groaned. She pushed herself away from him, taking the sheet with her to stay concealed and dashed out of the room. She'd hoped to avoid her family, but ran head-on into her brother. Liam righted the both of them and then snatched his hands back when he saw his half-naked sister. His eyes darted from the bedroom door and back to her several times before it clicked in his brain.

"You did not just come out of there like that! Christine, are you out of your ever-loving mind? He's your boss-!"

"Liam, keep your voice down! I don't want Momma knowing about this! Now get out of the way so that I can get into the bathroom."

"You're in trouble, little girl. I promise you..."

"I am very disappointed in the both of you." Christine should have seen this coming. She should have known Liam couldn't be trusted. She and Michael sat in the living room on the couch next to each other. Michael was very uncomfortable, Christine could feel the waves of energy coming off from him. Cecil paced back and forth between then. If she thought that her mother would believe her, she'd tell her how she really felt: sshamed of herself, betrayed by her own mind and body, like a rapist. "Especially in you, Christine. You ought to know better."

"Thanks, Momma. I've been beating myself up since I woke up this morning." Cecil shushed her forcefully and Christine bit her lip.

"What if you end up pregnant? You couldn't possibly work for the father of your child. How do you expect to work for him now? I never thought that you would be so irresponsible as to go this far. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. No, I'm serious. Alcohol impares judgement, so we literally weren't thinking straight." Liam took that moment to join them, roll his eyes and sit on the arm of the chair next to his standing mother.

"You're a know-it-all, you know that? 50 points from Gryffindor." Christine shot him a look and Cecil slapped him on the back of the head. He scowled at her and left the room again, mumbling about video games and nothing to do, afterall, to which Christine promptly shouted, "Go back to school, you git!" and then recieved a very deflating look from her mother. She shrank back into the couch and tried very hard to remain silent.

"What do you plan to do about this, then?" Cecil asked the two of them. "Have you given it any thought?"

"Well, I've been a little busy at the hospital lately..."

"Christine! I am being serious!"

"So am I! I don't see how this is any of your business. What I do in my free time has nothing to do with you." Christine stood and stalked angrily from the room.

"Where are you going, young lady?" Her mother shouted after her.

"To see daddy!" The younger screached back. Michael remained seeted, casting his eyes awkwardly around the room. After a moment of feeling Cecil's eyes on him and feeling very uncomfortable about that, he stood and rubbed his hands together.

"Well, I think I'll just go talk to her, shall I?" And he walked as quickly as he could after Christine without being rude.

Christine swiped on some concealer under her still purpling eye to cover the bruise. As much as she loved her mother and respected her concern, she hated that she could have a personal life without her butting in. She did that with all of her boyfriends. Christine was twenty-six years old. She deserved to have a personal life of her own without comment or ridicule. Ironically, however, she figured that she'd chosen the wrong person to sleep with if she wanted a [i]personal[/i]. The bruise under her eye reminded her of that. She often forgot that Michael was constently under watch. And he was watching her now. Christine turned to look at him and crossed her arms against her stomach.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be so childish..." He smiled and shook his head.

"Women," He said with mock disgust. A small laugh escaped her lips and he took her hand to pull her against him.

"Well, Daddy. You'd be very disappointed in me right now if you were aware and, you know, conscious." Christine spoke to her comatose father. He didn't respond, of course, but Christine wasn't looking for a response. She just wanted someone to listen without criticizing. She hadn't bothered with doing anything to her hair or changing out of her sweats before leaving the house and she was sure she must have looked like hell. With the door to the private room shut and the lights dimmed to match the evening light outside, she didn't really care. She was alone with her Daddy again, even if it wouldn't ever be like old times again. Frank checked in once or twice but she promptly sent him away again, promising that she could handle anything by herself. She had the medication and all the supplies she would need, should something go wrong. The two of them would be just fine alone.

But Christine couldn't help but wish that someone else was there with her. He was back at her home, undoubtedly receiving glares and unneeded advice from her darling mother. The image of Michael gaping at her while she brought up different scenarios almost made Christine laugh. Almost. She told her father about Michael, about what had happened, about how she'd felt about it, about how she felt now.

"I'm not so sure that I'd be entirely opposed to a relationship with him, to be honest." She mumbled after looking around to make sure that no one had come in. "I mean, he'd have to ask, of course. I'm not going to be that forward. And I don't want him to think that I'm a crazed fan or anything." Leaning forward to rest her arms on the edge of the bed and her chin on her arms, she kept her eyes on Jason's lids and checked the monitors several times. Between checking his vitals and talking to him, Christine fell asleep. It had been a long day, her head hurt and she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. She didn't get the chance to nod off for long, though, because soon she felt a sharp pressure on her shoulder as though someone had been poking her urgently with one finger. Her eyes flew open and she looked up to see her father's eyes open. He was jabbing her repeatedly in the arm with his index finger and pointing to the tube in his throat with the other. She stood up quickly and, looking around again, took out the tube while her father coughed routinely.

Christine had never seen her father cry. She had never seen a tear gather in his eye, she had never seen him sniffle emotionally. In fact, he was so emotionally closed down sometimes that it was hard to tell if he was even happy about something. Christine inherited that from him, she had a hard time showing her emotions at the most important times. This was the first time a tear had ever traveled down the both of their faces at the same time. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder and cried. He shuttered with sobs, as well as he did his very best to hold her close to him. It was as though they hadn't seen each other in a long time. Eventually, they separated and dried their eyes. He gave her a strange look and held her at arms length.

"Chris...I had a strange dream that you told me you slept with Michael Jackson." Laughter bubbled from her and so did tears. Immediately, she was laughing and crying at the same time, blubbering that it hadn't been a dream at all. Then she took a deep break and explained what was going on and then insisted that he could not tell anyone. He continued to give her that strange, disbelieving expression.

"Does your mother know about this?" He asked slowly, as though she were the one who could hallucinate at any time rather than him. "Christine, are you feelin' okay? Maybe you ought to sit back down."

"No, Daddy. I'm fine. I'm workin' for him, have been for the past couple of days. Look, d'you want me to go get Frank so that he can tell you? He set it up."

"No, no, that's alright. I believe you. But, Christine. You slept with the man? Chris, that's just...stupid."

"Yeah, you know, I think I liked it better when you were in a coma." She grumbled and stood up straighter. He glared at her and she glared back until there was a small knock on the door. They broke their eye contact so that Christine could go answer it. And she threw herself into the guest's arms immediately, burying her face into his neck and bursting into tears all over again.

"Good heavens." Michael said, taking her against him and raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Should someone call your family?"

"Oh, no. No, he's fine. He's awake! And now he'll believe me. Please come in." With a hand-holding initiated by Michael, she brought him into the hospital room and introduced him to her father. Then, realizing that he was actually there, Christine turned back to face him. "How'd you get in here without a mob?"

"Told 'em I was E Casanova, not me." He said with a simple shrug.

"Alright...I don't know who that is, but cool." She turned back to her father, patted Michael's chest and grinned. "Toldja I wasn't liein'." She said. He was staring at them blankly.

"Am I hallucinating right now?" He asked, but a grin spread across his face. The three laughed and they spent the rest of the afternoon in deep conversation about nothing in particular.

Christine's spirits were up when she and Michael left the hospital together with his arm wrapped about her shoulders and hers around his waist. He had to remind a couple more people that he was E Casanova and not Michael Jackson on their way out, but there wasn't much drama.

"I forgot to ask how you got here," Christine mumbled off-handedly, angling her face up to look at him. He was about ten inches taller than her small five-foot height. He grinned as though he was very pleased with himself.

"I got a cab." He said matter-of-factly. She smirked.

"Really?" He nodded and allowed her to lead him to her car. She cleared off the messy front seat of the car she was borrowing from her mother and he got in next to her while she started the car. And promptly slammed down the 'off' button on the radio when Beat It emerged very loudly from ever speaker. She could feel herself blushing to her roots and chewed her bottom lip.

"I was just…catching up," She grumbled and put the car in gear before, avoiding his eyes, pulling out of the hospital parking lot. She could feel his gaze on her and finally turned to look at him, blushing deeply again. He looked amused and, dare she recognize it, a little embarrassed himself. "Alright, alright." She said, throwing one hand into the air while the other held onto the wheel. "I was listening to your CD. Don't judge me." As her hand traveled back to the steering wheel, he snatched it from mid air and held it between them.

"Who am I to judge anything?" Michael asked with a small smile. She really did love his smile. Christine forced herself to look back at the road.

He couldn't believe that this girl was accepting him as simply as she was. And there wasn't anything fake about her, not that he could detect anyway. In his experience, women would have been more than happy to sleep with him and she'd reacted strangely, so strangely. He was still slightly shaken by it, still shaken by his own reaction, shaken that neither of them felt awkward. But he felt something, he knew he did. He hadn't known this girl—woman—long, but he certainly did feel something. He wondered, achingly curious to know, if she felt something as well. There was no telling on her face. No, her features were perfectly schooled into an expressionless mask. God, what he'd give to know what she was thinking.

Finally, she turned to look at him. The car was stopped, not even running anymore. How long had they been sitting there? Less than a minute? More than five? He felt her thumb tracing small circles on his hand and looked up into those deep blue eyes. Goodness, her eyes. He could fall into them. And her mouth. He wanted to kiss her mouth. He'd never been so tempted to kiss someone in his entire life and God, did he want nothing more than to kiss her. If he didn't know better, he'd be sure she had cast a spell on him. Her spell. It terrified him.

"Michael, I don't want things between us to be awkward because of one silly mistake." She said with that gorgeous, tantalizing mouth.

"Neither do I, Christine." He said and looked back up to her eyes. "Listen. I know that you're my doctor, I know you're my employee, but after last night I can't help but want more." Christine stared at him for a long moment before opening her mouth and…saying nothing. Once again, he'd managed to render her speechless. He let go of her hand. "And it is killing me right now to not know what you're thinking or what you're feeling." She still didn't know what to say. Christine had never been good at expressing her emotions. She was rather a hermit in that sense. "Please say something."

"I share your feelings," She said slowly. Her eyes were fixed on her hands, wound tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. Michael let out a slow breath he didn't noticed he'd been holding and opened his car door. That would be enough for him. For now. Christine opened her own door and stepped out on wobbly legs, to meet him in front of the car where he caught her by surprise and took her tight against him, tilted his head down to hers and kissed her like she'd never been kissed before.

They were being watched. The two were aware of it at the exact same time and broke apart to see who their admirer may be. No admirer, her mother, and she looked thoroughly irritated with the both of them. Michael knew that look, having received it frequently from his own mother and Christine shrank back a little like a child waiting for an inevitable scolding. But Cecil simply jabbed her thumb behind her and walked passed them to the garden.

"The laundry's done, Christine. You have bedding to be put back onto the bed." And then she continued on her way, muttering about impurities and '…should have made you wash them yourself. …disgusting.' Christine cringed and ducked by Michael to take care of the 'impurities' and restore them to their places. Michael followed closely but they parted when he went to use the restroom.

Strange. Michael didn't recall ever being nervous around an older woman other than his mother. But Cecil made him very nervous and he was surprised to find that he wanted desperately for her to like him and approve of him. Never before had he found himself so wrapped up with a girl, or her family, this quickly. Four days. For heaven's sake, it had only been four days. It felt like so much longer. And he really did like her very much.

Michael left the bathroom and returned to her room, only to walk in on her flipping sheets and comforters over her head, onto the bed and shouting 'Hiya!' at the top of her voice. She heard him and turned quickly, halting in a crouched ninja-like stance with her hands in front of her. And he instantly thought that he could very easily fall in love with this girl. She stood up straighter, shrugged to herself and smoothed the sheets on the bed.

"I think being around my family is causing me to regress a little." Michael chuckled at this and helped her to make the bed.

"I'm not complaining." He said. She grinned at him and offered a tiny shrug. He returned the smile with a little less enthusiasm.

"We have to go back to Neverland soon, Christine. I don't mean to sound selfish because I know your father is very very important to you, but I've canceled my rehearsals." Her eyes widened and she suddenly looked very guilty, but he stilled her stammering with one raised hand and a smile. "I'm not blaming you. I didn't have to come with you, now did I?" If she was trying to smile, she achieved more of a cringe, but nodded anyway.

"By tomorrow afternoon, I have to go. You can stay and I'll pay for your ticket back when you're ready, but I–" A tiny tinkling melody interrupted him and she really cringe this time, apologizing. When she saw that it was the hospital calling, he encouraged her to answer it and tried not to eavesdrop. He was interested in her father's wellbeing.

When she turned back to face him, her face was brighter, but she didn't smile. In fact, she looked worried and distressed. What an odd combination of expressions.

"Daddy's being released tonight." Michael smiled and hugged her fiercely. She returned it half-heartedly.

"That's great!" He exclaimed. She shrugged.

"It'll be nice to have him home, but…" She bit her lip and didn't meet his eyes. He saw that hers were gathering moisture and he had the sudden urge to kiss her again and make everything better. He didn't. He waited for her to speak again. "It means that there's no more that they can do for him. They're sending him home to die."

It hadn't quite registered with Michael what she'd just said to him. Her father would be coming home, but only so that he could die. There was nothing more they could do for him. His disease had progressed to the point of no return and far passed. Michael's heart, like the color in her face and eyes, sank and fell, settling somewhere in his kneecaps.

Die.

Dead.

Death.

Michael cringed and, without thinking, closed the distance between them and pulled her tight against him where he could feel her heart beating against both of their chests, he had her hair in his eyes, in his mouth, in his nose. He held her tightly and ran his hands up and down her back and across her shoulders. He pressed his lips to her forehead and temples and then pulled her even closer. Because he not only wanted to comfort her, but he needed to comfort himself, as well. Because death scared him more than anything else in the world. And he reveled in the moment that she came to him willingly and for a split second forgot his fear and focused on her.

And they were forced apart when a piercing sob penetrated the thick flooring from the story above them. Apparently, Cecil had received the same phone call from the hospital. Christine stepped away from Michael a little hesitantly and wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. She straightened her T-shirt and, biting her lip, attempted to put on the cool mask that hid her emotions from view. After a couple tries, she succeeded and took a deep breath.

"You know, I think your mother might like for you to connect with her." Michael said, crossing his arms and giving her a very critical look. She frowned at him.

"One of us has to be functioning."

"Christine, it's okay to feel sometimes." She shot him a glare, at which he shrank back a little, and shook her head.

"I should go check on her, make sure she hasn't hung herself from the shower rod or something." And she made a joke, a sick joke that worried him and made him want the Ninja Christine back badly. She pushed passed him and out of the room and he didn't follow.

There wasn't much left of Cecil mentally. Not while she was a sobbing heap, anyway. It was hard to communicate with someone whose sobs were only halves and quarters of words. But Christine tried anyway. She lifted her mother, who seemed to be losing more weight than what was healthy due to stress, and sat her down on the couch. She wrapped a thick Afghan about her shoulders and went to the kitchen where she put on the kettle for tea. Tea helped everything. Once there was a hot cup in Cecil's hands and a helpful hand on her shoulder with a loving family member attached to it, she seemed to sober up a bit.

"Nothing more they can do…?" She whispered, more to herself than to Christine, but the younger girl nodded anyway. "There must be something…" Christine didn't dare mention her research again. She didn't want to give her fragile mother false hope. It would do no good to anyone.

"I'm so sorry, Momma."

"It's not your fault, honey."

"I know, I just…feel responsible. I'm a doctor. I should have been able to do something. Anything. But I couldn't. I feel like I've failed Daddy"

"Christine, this is not your fault." Cecil said sternly. And then Christine was feeling. The ice in her chest was melting, slowly, painfully, with sharp pieces wrenching their way through her heart and lungs. She couldn't breath. She couldn't stem the tears that fell relentlessly from her eyes. And she blamed Michael because he told her to feel. If he only knew how much it would hurt, he wouldn't have suggested something so stupid, so hazardous. And she cried. She cried and so did Cecil and then Liam joined them and he cried, too. And it was the closest to a family as they'd felt in a very long time. United with each other, sharing the same feelings, the same thoughts, the same anger, the same compassion, the same everything. The same love, the same fear, the same hate.

Christine offered to pick Jason up from the hospital and bring him home. Cecil told her that she would do no such thing. She'd already done enough and felt that it was her turn to stay home and wait. Cecil would go and get him. Christine never was patient. Odd, that, since she was a doctor and a lot of things relied on waiting. She didn't want to wait. She didn't want to sit by and watch as the man she grew up with, called father, die a slow and painful death.

So she would be leaving with Michael the following afternoon. Her decision was made. She couldn't stay there any longer and take the stress that would ultimately do away with her. She would leave with Michael and return to her new life with him.

She has seen her fair share of deaths. She had been around dying patients, attached to beeping heart monitors and stat machines. She'd watched children give in to fatal diseases and saw as they passed on to…where? Somewhere. When Jason came home, there would be no monitors so there would be no way of telling how long he'd hang on or when he'd pass. Being outside of the hospital environment and watching someone die was…scary.

"I'm coming with you." Michael jumped up from the bed the moment her heard her shaking voice in the doorway and then saw her standing in front of him. "Tomorrow. I'm coming with you back home." He stared at her blankly for a second, as though she'd forgotten some very important detail.

"And…what about your dad?" He asked.

"I can't…" She began and paused, taking a deep breath before trying again. "I can not sit here and watch him die, knowing that there's nothing I can do, nothing. It'll just make me hate myself even more than I already do. Besides, I have a job to do and you can't postpone your rehearsals any more than you already have." He stared at her again, lips pursed, eyebrows worried and the nodded.

"Alright. We'll leave tomorrow."

The two slept together that night and neither of them got much sleep. They were eager to get back 'home' and stayed up later than what was appropriate just to talk. Christine found herself enjoying his company more than she thought she would and their short four days felt like a longer four weeks or more. She knew her mother disagreed with their new found relationship, but Christine wasn't quite so old fashioned. She couldn't deny that, despite the short amount of time, she liked Michael very much.

She found out that he'd been married twice before and that he enjoyed her limited knowledge of his life. She also enjoyed her limited knowledge because she liked to listen to him tell her about it. He'd lived in Neverland since he was about thirty years old and wouldn't dream of leaving. His children made him happier than anyone or anything in the world. They made him happier than music.

"You'll meet my family soon enough." He told her. "They're wonderful, but I should warn you about Joseph. He can be cold." She chewed her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. He teased her lipfree with his thumb and smiled. "They're going to love you."

"You can't know that."

"Yes I can. You're nothing like Debbie or Lisa. They'll love you." A deep blush crept into her cheeks. Michael smiled. He'd seen women blush around him before and couldn't say that he was particularly fond of it. He wanted to make her do it again. She reached to the wall behind them and flipped the light switch so that they were enveloped in darkness. They lie down beside each other and when she opened her mouth to speak, he pressed his lips against hers and then kissed her cheek.

"Good night, Christine." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. It felt so normal, so right, as though they'd been doing this routinely. That was where they both drifted off to sleep.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" Jason asked, frowning up at his daughter. She kissed his forehead and nodded.

"I have to get back to work, so does Michael. I'll call you every day, I promise!" Jason pulled her into a quick, tight hug from where he sat in his wheel chair. She smiled down at him, kissed his cheek, hugged her mother and they were off. Liam drove them back to the airport and Christine could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes when he hugged her. He shook Michael's hand and waved as they got onto the plane. And by the time they made it back to California and to Neverland Ranch, the two were so jet-lagged that they said hello to the children and fell back into bed to sleep for another two hours.

Michael rolled over in his bed, expecting to find Christine there. It was then that he remembered that she'd gone to her own room. Strange after one night what one grows accustomed to. One night. Odd, that. It hadn't even been a week and he was already used to having her with him, around him, near him. And he was shocked at his shock that she wasn't there in bed with him. He got up, fighting a headache, and decided that after the long plane ride a shower was in order before he sought out Christine.

With freshly scrubbed hair and skin, Christine felt worlds better. But not completely. Guilt gnawed at her for leaving. She had never run away from a bigger problem and now pride prevented her from going back. Not to mention her job and commitments in California. That wasn't a good enough excuse to leave her father and she knew it.

As Christine massaged in her facial lotion, she saw Michael skip–yes, skip–passed the bathroom door and leaned out to watch him make it a little more than halfway down the hall before her turned around and caught site of her with her hand poised on her cheek. He skipped back toward her and, while she continued to apply the lotion, planted a kiss on her mouth.

"I was looking for you," He said with a smile. "But I got distracted and forgot what I was doing until I saw you in here." She laughed and finished with her small jar of lotion, returning the lid and turning to face him.

"What's up?" She asked.

"I need for you to come to rehearsals with me tomorrow." He saw her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline and kissed her again. She seemed to instantly relax.

"What time are we leaving?"

"What time will you be ready?"

"What time do you want me to be ready?"

"Oh, touche!" He grinned at her and then pursed his lips in thought. "Ten AM." She nodded.

"Can do. I'm hungry." He stopped his laughter at the turn in subject and took her by the hand to lead her to the kitchen. The children were at the table, Paris reading a newspaper (this struck Christine as rather odd, but she shrugged it off), Prince was reading a book and Blanket ran a toy car up and down his own arm while imitating the sound of the engine. Paris put her newspaper down, leveled them with a stare and hopped down from the chair she sat in. With one last scoff over her shoulder, she stalked from the room, almost daring her father to follow her. He did.

"Paris, stop right there!" Michael called after her. She spun around, too much anger kept up in such a small body.

"What?" The younger girl snapped. He shot her a look that was not to be messed with and saw her visibly shrink only a tiny bit.

"What exactly is the origin of your behavior lately?" He asked her, kneeling down to her level. She simply glared at something over his shoulder, jaw set, unwilling to speak again. "Paris. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"She doesn't deserve you!" Paris shrieked. Michael drew back slightly, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden outburst. She looked instantly ashamed of herself and took a step back. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, he reached out for her when he saw tears spring to her eyes and he pulled her against him, resting the girl on his knee.

"Paris, I know you're not used to this. But she's staying." He heard her huff and felt her push away from him. She turned and walked as quickly as she could without running back to her room. Michael closed his eyes for a moment after watching her go.

She'd heard it all. She'd heard the entire ordeal between father and daughter and was surprised at herself when tears sprang to her eyes. When Christine saw both boys watching her with wide eyes, she reached up and yanked the secure from her hair so that blond curls tumbled down around her face and shoulders. How humiliating. For some strange reason Christine couldn't put her finger on, she wanted almost desperately for Paris to approve of her whether she was with her father or not.

She'd not noticed Michael move back into the kitchen next to her and when he cleared her throat, she turned her face as far away from him as she could without being rude about it. She was humiliated and mortified and she was sure there wasn't anything he could say at the moment to make it right. However, she would not put it passed him to try. He sat down next to her, rested his hand on hers. She drew back and stood up, still hiding behind her wild mane of hair.

"I need a walk." Christine mumbled, hardly audible and Michael nodded with a small sigh. She left the kitchen, the house all together and made her way, slowly, down to Michael's rather large amusement park. Nothing was running and Christine didn't want to bother anyone to start it up so she settled for the simple swing set. It was secluded, (well, more so than the rest of the park) and swings always seemed to be a good spot to just think.

Why did she want so badly for Paris to approve of her? She was only a little girl, after all. And she wasn't used to having a lot of women a lot, particularly one who was living with them and seemed to have a keen interest in her father. Christine toed the ground so that she moved back and fourth in the swing.

She jumped when she felt hands on her waist and turned to see Michael just as he pushed her in the swing and she took off from the ground. Her heart raced, still taken by surprise by Michael's sudden appearance. She hadn't even heard him come up to her nor did she see him walking toward her. She was quickly headed back toward the ground where he stopped her with his hands on the swing chains. Christine didn't look back at him, she didn't say a word. She could tell that Michael was getting more uncomfortable as each awkward, silent moment passed. Finally he took a deep breath and, without letting go of the swing so she couldn't run, he moved to kneel in front of her. She looked away again and he grew frustrated. Gently, but with authority, he took hold of her chin and drew her face to his so that he could place a still gentle but firm kiss on her mouth.

"I'm sorry." He said. Christine bit her lip, but with her chin still between his fingers, she couldn't look away properly and simply averting her eyes gave her a headache.

"I'm…not mad at you." She said softly. He looked taken aback, but quickly composed himself. "I'm mad at myself for allowing myself to be affected. I don't know why I give her so much credit." Michael let out a short breath of frustration and shook his head.

"She's used to having me all to herself." He explained. "And now I'm going to be gone a lot of with the tours and rehearsals and she doesn't want to share me at all." Christine simply nodded. She wouldn't voice what she really thought: that Paris was being very selfish but she didn't want to hurt Michael's feelings. He stood, sighing one more time, and offered his hand to her. She chewed her lower lip and reluctantly took his hand.

Back inside, everyone had evacuated the kitchen and inhabited other parts of the house. Christine was glad for this; she really didn't want them staring at her. She sat down in the spot she'd previously occupied and examined her hands while Michael worked in the refrigerator behind her.

Christine woke up with a headache and didn't sit up for several minutes until her door opened and she heard footsteps headed toward her bed. Please no… She thought to herself. Just let me sleep a little longer. But she knew she had to get up. The previous morning, she'd agreed to accompany her boss to his rehearsals. The bed sank next to her and she reluctantly opened her eyes, one at a time. And she was immediately assaulted by bright sunlight. Christine clapped her hands to her eyes in an attempt to block it out and still the pain throbbing in her temples. She felt one large hand, Michael's, rub soft circles on her stomach and she tried to open her eyes again, slowly.

He smiled down at her and she remembered again just how much she liked his smile. Christine couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from tugging up into an expression that mirrored his. Michael leaned down (she forgot to warn him about her morning breath) and pressed his mouth to hers. She reacted immediately, reaching up to tie her arms around his neck and was just about to pull him next to her when she felt him smile against her lips. He reached behind his neck and disentangled her arms from him, then stood with a wide grin.

"Time to get up, sleeping beauty. We've got a long, busy day ahead of us and I need my doctor to be focused." She saluted him and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She still only slept in her over sized T-shirt, leaving her legs very bare and exposed. Michael's eyes lingered on them and this time, he didn't bother with being modest. A deep blush suffused Christine's whole body (or so that's how It felt) and she had to stop herself from covering back up. He's seen me naked. She reminded herself. When she looked up, she saw something unfamiliar in his eyes. A hunger.

A hunger for her.

For what they'd done the other night while drunk.

For unadulterated satisfaction.

Oh, yes. Christine saw this and immediately stood up, placing both hands on his chest and forced him to walk backwards out of the room. He protested adamantly and pouted-Pouted!-when she turned from him and closed the door halfway.

"If you want to leave on time, you can't start this now." She scolded him, a smirk playing on her lips. He forced her door open just a little more and pressed himself close to her, just enough to steel a kiss before she shut him out of the room and, laughing to herself, got dressed.

Michael turned and came face-to-face with his daughter. She looked disgruntled, her hands on her hips, her hair in a messy pony tail, her eyes heavily lidded. She looked as though she hadn't slept a wink and Michael's eyebrows knitted together in concern. Behind the fatigue, the obvious lack of sleep and the even more obvious need of a good wash, she looked absolutely and completely pissed off. At him.

"So, that's what this is about? You brought her here for that?" He simply stared blankly at her, arms at his side, mouth slightly agape while she scoffed and sassed her way back down the hall toward the kitchen. He wasn't sure what that was about, but he would be damned if the girl wasn't going to have a good talking to when he got home that night.

Christine insisted on driving. She assured him that she hated being driven around and that if he had a chauffer shuttle them everywhere, she'd lose her mind with lack of control. At this, he got into the car without an argument and remained quiet while she turned the radio up. And had to turn it back down when her phone rang. She shot him an apologetic look, to which he shrugged and she answered her phone with a song-songy "Hello?" It put a smile on Christine's lips.

"Daddy! It's still early, what are you doing up?" A short pause and a grin stretched across her face while she spoke with the phone in one hand whilst the other controlled the car. He felt oddly at ease with this, but oddly uneasy with his ease.

"I miss you, too." Christine said and her face melted into a pout that made Michael's hands itch with need.

Need for her.

He had to stop. She was turning him into a love-sick teenaged boy and he had to get proper control of himself. He had work to do, after all. After five minutes of blocking out the conversation she had with her father, Christine finally hung up the phone and turned to look at him briefly.

"Are you alright?" She asked him. "You look like you're in pain." The playful expression she'd had whilst on the phone was gone and she looked worried, ready to pull the car over and dig into her medical supplies. He noted the immediate change from personal to professional and whatever pain had been showing on his face from an ailment that couldn't be publicly treated vanished. She breathed a soft sigh and turned back to the road.

Watching Michael work was possibly one of the most amazing experiences Christine had ever had. She'd never seen a body move the way his did and had to admit that it was a sort of odd turn on to watch him dance. But she tried to keep her thoughts focused.

She had work to do, after all.

Christine watched him closely, watched every move and cringed at a couple that looked as though they would hurt very badly. She also listened. Now, as mentioned before, she hadn't heard the full capacity of Michael's voice and several songs made her tear up. Though, she'd never admit that. He had the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard, there was no doubt of that in her mind and when he performed Thriller, she couldn't stop herself from grinning and singing along.

She met with his manager, whom she decided she wasn't entirely fond of, and the director of his show, who seemed decent enough at first but had a very arrogant tone to his voice. She didn'tspeak with them long, making an excuse to go speak with other members of the show. She was careful, however, to make sure she could see her performer at all times.

"So, you're his girlfriend?" Asked the drummer, bobbing his head in time to Smooth Criminal. Christine raised her eyebrows and she flustered.

"What? I-Er…His-you mean to say-?" He laughed at her blushing face and shrugged.

"Hey, either you're sleeping with the man or not. I really didn't think he had it in him, but judging by the way he looks at you…" The man's eyes traveled slowly over her body, assessing, admiring. It took a lot of control for Christine to keep from shielding her body from his eyes.

"I really don't think that's any of your business." Christine told him, her crisp tones smacking him about the head. He shrugged and laughed again to himself.

"I'm just paying you a compliment, baby girl. Whether you take it that way or not. Either way, Mike's a lucky guy to have you around. I wouldn't mind it myself. You're hot…for a white girl." She huffed in protest and spun away in a cloud of horrid, yellow hair. The nerve of him! She could hardly believe how he'd spoken to her. But his words stuck in her mind, regardless.

Was it really that obvious that they'd slept together? It was only once, it couldn't make that big of a difference.

Could it?

Christine ventured a look up toward the stage. Blue eyes met deep brown ones and she looked away quickly, flipping open the notebook she'd brought along and began taking notes on whatever she could. Just so long as she didn't look at him too often.

Could it really be that obvious?

"And that's a rap for today!" Christine stood up from where she'd been seated for the past three hours and stretched her arms, feeling it all the way down to her hips. Although she did very little, she was exhausted. She expected it was from all of the energy everyone put out. As she stretched, she had the strangest feeling that someone was very close to her and snatched her arms back down just as Michael made to jab her in the ribs. She shot a glare at him and he firmly grasped her hand.

"That was incredible." She confided and grinned up at him. He blushed and shook his head. "And you really look like you're having fun up there."

"I do have fun up there." He agreed and then yawned. "I'm knackered, though. What time is it?" Christine yawned with him, damn contagious things, and checked her watch.

"It's a little after 9:30." Damn. Michael had planned to talk to Paris when they got home but he'd worked too late. She'd already be asleep by now. It would have to wait until the morning before they left for rehearsals again. Only two more days and they'd have another three off. He couldn't believe he'd only been there for a day.

Time flies when you're having fun. Bull… Michael thought with a small shake of his head as he laced an arm around Christine's waist. The drummer in his band, a very attractive black man with a dazzling smile walked by and winked at her. He looked down and saw her roll her eyes and set her jaw in irritation and he made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Christine pressed a hand to her abdomen while the other controlled her Prius. A sudden wave of nausea and a slight cramp settled itself there. She thought nothing of it and when it passed, she acted as though nothing had happened. Michael, however, fixed her with a worried gaze and reached over to touch her shoulder.

"Christine? What is it? What's wrong?" She turned confused eyes to his for only a moment before shaking her head and shrugging. He didn't believe her for an instant. "Pull over." He said firmly and received the same confused expression. But she kept driving.

"What are you-?"

"Christine, pull the car over." She did as she was told, mouth agape and still protesting under her breath. Once the car was stopped, her cupped her face in one hand and let the other drift to her belly.

"What did you feel?" She rolled her eyes and he huffed in frustration.

"Don't you think you're being just a little bit dramatic? I haven't eaten today, that's all." He glared her down. She never thought she would actually see him glare at her, but there he was setting his irritation and worry and frustration in one expression. Something clicked and she shook her head vigorously, waving her hands in front of her.

"I know what you're thinking, Michael, and that's not the case." He continued to stare her down and she leveled him with her own black glare. She was very good at glaring.

"How do you know, Christine?" He asked her. She rolled her eyes and started the car back up. He stopped her with a cool hand against her fingers and she turned warily back to face him.

"I know what it feels like to be pregnant." She stated baldly. "This is not it."

Jason Rowan couldn't think of a better fraise than 'stir crazy' to describe the way he was feeling in his own home. He couldn't go anywhere; Jason had lost almost complete use of his legs and was wheelchair-ridden until…well, until he died. Miserable didn't quite cover it. His wife paid too much attention; he could hardly blink an eye without her constant worry. It wasn't that he blamed her, she had every reason to be concerned and scared. But Jason wished just once he could use the bathroom on his own again.

He was grateful for his family, especially his wife. But his bitterness was starting to get difficult to hide. This was a rare time that Jason found alone. His wife and son were sleeping but he sat awake. He couldn't stop thinking. His life had changed quickly, far too quickly. His illness had taken over his life and if Jason Rowan hated anything, it was losing control.

And he simply couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't understand." After just staring at her until she shook his arm, Michael found the strength to actually speak. She chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes wide on her face. This must have been a vital secret she hadn't meant to share. "Christine!" She flinched. Why, he wasn't sure. It wasn't like he'd hurt her.

"It was a long time ago." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. Michael had to strain to hear her. She was taking deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves so that she didn't fall apart in the middle of her story. He deserves to know.

"I was nineteen. Don't look at me like that, I know I was stupid. I was with someone I thought I loved. I didn't know what love felt like. To be honest, I still don't… I thought he loved me, but…when we found out that I was pregnant, he bailed…the bastard." She scoffed and made a face out the window, crossing her arms tightly against her stomach. "I was going to keep it, but I miscarried. I was into my second trimester and I don't think I've ever felt something as horrible as that. It was like my insides were ripping themselves out." Michael cringed and took her hand. She didn't seem to notice.

"Anyway," She continued, seeming to snap back to reality. "That's how I know. So, rest assured, I'm not pregnant." A sort of sick smile spread across her face and Michael found himself shuttering. She patted his knee and started the car back up and remained perfectly silent until they got back to the Ranch.

There really wasn't any particular reason why Paris despised Christine. She was a nice person. She's too pretty… But Paris knew that wasn't it, either. She sat alone in her room, a book in her lap but she didn't read it. She'd only had to share her father with her brothers and on occasion, his crazy fans. God, were they crazy… But she'd never had to share him with another woman. It was obvious what was going on between them, they weren't very good at hiding it. And Paris knew she was wrong when she said that Christine didn't deserve him. It was very likely that she did, but Paris was in no hurry to find out.

"Stay with me tonight." It wasn't a question and Christine noted the tone immediately. Looking up at him, she nodded curtly and accepted his hand. He led her down the hall and two more and unlocked double doors. She didn't speak and neither did he. But the silence was oddly comforting.

She borrowed a T-shirt to sleep in and they both climbed into bed. It wasn't until her head hit the pillow that she actually realized how exhausted she was. Michael's arm wound around her waist and she held onto it like a lifeline, surprised at how much she actually needed to be held just then. I'm only human, after all…

It had taken a fair amount of time and strength to block out that particular memory, but she'd managed it with some difficulty. She never did see Gerry again after that; she figured he'd moved out of state and hoped he'd moved out of the country. Although Christine had hated him for leaving, his absence made the situation much easier to deal with. One person's emotions were enough. She'd been stupid and dealt with the consequences. And she thought she'd dealt with the consequences of her consequences admirably. Christine made it through Pre Med and Medical school with flying colors.

The arm around her waist tightened and she felt him burry his face in her hair. Her horrid, unruly hair. And he sighed. Her fingers wound into his. He leaned over, pressed his lips to her cheek and along her jaw, up to her ear where he stopped and whispered so softly she could hardly here him:

"I wouldn't leave you."

And she let herself cry over her lost child. She let herself dissolve quietly over her body's failure and the father of her lost, unborn child. Christine allowed herself to mourn them and by doing that, she allowed herself to accept what was to come.

The next day proved to be just as mesmerizing as the day before while Christine watched the man she was quickly becoming quite attached to perform. She conversed, again, with his arrogant director and by the middle of the day decided to write him off. She had better things to do with her time than to listen to someone tell her about how amazing they are. By that time, she'd resigned herself to (not regrettably) listening to Michael sing and reading a book.

The time seemed to fly by. Christine made it through most of her book on Autoimmune Disorders and Michael was singing a song that sounded more like half a rap. It was very angry, she could tell by the attitude of the music and the lyrics. There was still so much she didn't know about him…

Christine folded her page and looked up. The room had gone silent and everyone looked toward the stage. She saw it, too. Michael dropped the microphone, one hand clutching at his chest. He looked surprised and Christine saw him trying to catch his breath. The doctor sprang in front of the girl friend and she threw herself onto the stage with him. Ortega had joined them, trying to pull her out of the way. Her strength over powered him (in her panic, she thought nothing of this) and she shoved him out of her path so she could get the Michael, who was lying on the floor. Ortega hovered over her shoulder and she snapped at him to grab her bag. Being the sensible type of male to be afraid of an upset woman, he did as he was told.

Michael had fallen unconscious. Christine examined him as quickly as she could. Trachea's deviating to the right.

"Quick," She shouted to Ortega, who was still holding her bag. "Pull a syringe out of there. I don't care what size! Pull the plunger out." He did so and handed it to her. She aimed, and forcefully inserted the needle under his left collar bone. The trachea righted itself and Michael began to cough. Christine, still straddling him, released a deep breath and felt herself relax.

"Call 911." Christine said to anyone who would listen. She heard footsteps running off behind her, but didn't look to see who'd done as she'd told. Michael sat up and enveloped her in his arms. The syringe hung limply in her hand.

Michael was free to go home once he'd been thoroughly examined. He had over done himself and his previous lung condition had contributed, as well. But it was nothing serious. A collapsed lung was something he'd experienced before and, no matter how scary it might be, it was something he'd have to anticipate in the future.

Christine was angry with herself. She hadn't been paying as close attention as she ought to have been and if she had told him to be more careful, this might not have happened. She should have told him to stop or slow down, but she hadn't. She felt a right idiot. But Michael should have known as well. He should have known he shouldn't over work his body as he did. So she blamed them both.

No one said a word even when they got inside and Christine yanked open the refrigerator door, stuck her head inside, and then shut it with a huff. Michael sat down and watched her lean against the appliance, cross her arms and glare nothing.

"You can't possibly be blaming yourself for this." He said in disbelief and earned the glare directed at him. "Christine, this wasn't your fault. My body isn't as…fit…as it used to be."

"I should have paid more attention." She grumbled. "If I had said something to you about your activities-"

"I wouldn't have listened." Her glare intensified.

"If something would have happened to you…" She cut herself off, chewing her lip. She'd almost said something she would have regretted.

"What, Christine?" He asked. She shook her head and pushed away from the refrigerator.

"Never mind. It's not important." He stood and cornered her against the counter.

"Tell me." She couldn't deny him. Christine didn't know what was happening. Was she beginning to learn what love felt like? "Tell me."

"I think…I'm starting to feel…"

"Was that difficult?" He asked with a small smile. She nodded. Michael sighed and pulled her against him.

"It's alright. We can't always help what we feel." Christine stiffened and felt her heart ache a little. Was he rejecting what she thought she might be feeling for him? Men! She couldn't believe it! She pulled away from him and glared at him again. He took a step back.

"Then tell me, Michael. Tell me that you don't love me." But all he wanted to do, all he could do at that moment was to kiss her. She saw it coming and prepared herself to push him away, to scream and shout, to make him hurt like she did. But while her lips bruised with the fury of his kiss, all of her walls fell down.

One of his hands gripped the base of her skull, raked through her hair, while the other arm wrapped around her waist to pull her flush against him. For a moment she could only go limp and allow him to kiss her as he did. Then her arms wound around his neck and shoulders and she threw herself into the kiss with as much enthusiasm as her body would allow. Michael left her mouth, but he didn't stop. He pressed his lips to her nose, then each eyelid and her forehead. He moved to her cheeks and along her jaw. Christine sighed and he stifled it with his mouth against hers in one more brief, albeit passionate kiss. While her kept her smaller body cradled against his own, they pulled their faces apart to look each other in eye.

"I can't tell you I don't love you, Christine." He murmured. Her eyes fell closed and a small smile graced her kiss-swollen lips. He traced her mouth with one finger.

Christine fell asleep far faster than he did. He was too tense. The bruise beneath her eyes hadn't complete heeled and although no one else blamed him for the mishap that took place just a week ago, Michael felt as though he was solely responsible. Not even she could dissuade him from this notion.

Michael fidgeted and when she stirred and sighed next to him, he settled for simply wrapping an arm tightly about her waist and using the other hand to run through her hair. It was knotted and tangled and while he couldn't sleep, with every knot he released from her hair, the tension eased from his spine and neck. Sometime after two in the morning, he drifted off to sleep. For just a couple of hours he was able to forget that this innocent young woman would be meeting his family and, worst of all, his father in the morning.

And he still had yet to tell her.

It couldn't be morning already. It couldn't be. Just couldn't be. A body moved next to him, stirred, groaned and curled on itself away from him. Christine. He'd forgotten that they'd shared a bed last night, as well and immediately felt guilty. Had he taken up the bed as he usually did? Had she been warm enough? He rolled onto his side, wrapped an arm about her waist, and pulled her tightly against him. She stirred again and rolled toward him, snuggling closer. She was awake, Michael realized, even though her eyes weren't open and her breathing stayed even. But she was awake and pressing closer, much closer. His breath caught.

Then her lips were pressed to his throat, along his jaw. He tilted his head back, stifling a groan as she rolled and straddled him. His hands gripped her hips as her lips worked their way up to his mouth. He stopped her there. She fixed her sleepy eyes on him and tilted her head to one side in question.

"Christine," He murmured and relished in the small smile that spread across her face. "We have to get up. We've got a busy day." Her questioning expression intensified, her head tilted to the other side.

"I thought you had the day off?" She asked and he spotted a pout forming on her lovely mouth. Damnit. He wasn't ready to introduce her to his parents, to Joseph. He considered her for a moment, considered changing his mind and canceling their visit. But that would be rude. And damn his parents if he'd taught them to be anything but rude.

"I do, baby," Her eyes opened wider and he wondered if the pet name wasn't okay and blushed. "But…well, I hadn't told you because—You see, my fam—erm…" He cleared his throat and tried again, taking a deep breath.

"My family is coming over today. All of them." If it were possible, her eyes widened and her face paled. Was she really that terrified? He took her face between his large hands and finally gave into her kisses. "Please don't be nervous." He murmured against her mouth and when she relaxed and he felt heat returning to her cheeks, it was his turn to roll and help her forget her fears.

After a well needed shower—alone—Christine, wrapped in a towel, dug through her closet for something appropriate to wear to meet Michael's family. She decided that a pale yellow sundress would suffice for the weather. A pair of bronze sandals and all that was left was…her hair. What was there to do with a mop of unruly curls, way past due for a cut? She left it alone and allowed it to do what it would, which was curl and fly every which way around her face, back and shoulders. She hummed a soft tune as she applied a little makeup.

"What is that?" Christine jumped, smearing foundation across her face. Flustered, she snatched up a wash cloth and began dabbing at the mess.

"What was what?" She asked.

"You were singing something. What was it?" She shook her head, finally managing to apply the foundation correctly and reached for her mascara. "Sing it again, please." Shooting him a look that dared him to ask again, she turned back to the mirror.

"I said please…"

"I don't care if you say it in Farsi. I'm not singing." He looked stung.

"Why not?"

"Michael…You sing professionally. I don't want my lack of decent vocal chords on display." Michael cringed and nodded, deciding not to press the issue. The doorbell rang and Christine was actually thankful for it.

"Mother," Michael greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek and nodded to his father who didn't return the gesture. Christine stood behind him, hands folded in front of her, feeling more awkward than she ever had. Finally, he gestured them inside, followed by eight—eight!—siblings. He ushered them into the sitting room, Christine was oddly aware of the curious looks aimed at her.

"Everyone," Michael opened his arms, motioning for them all to sit. She took the loveseat next to him and accepted the arm he rested across her shoulders. "This is…" Oh, God. He was going to introduce her—finally—to his family and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.

"I'd like to introduce you to Christine Rowan. She's my personal physician and…well, she's my girlfriend."Silence. No one said anything. Christine held her breath. Joseph cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat.

"You're girl—Michael. Are you stupid?" He asked angrily.

"Well, Joseph, I thought we'd established years ago that yes, I am stupid around you."