My beautiful readers,

I'm truly so sorry for the long wait. This is just how it is for me this time of the year with school and such. I'm very swamped so this chapter was just waiting to be edited, as goes for the next chapters.

I hope you enjoy this one, and don't worry, another chapter will come as soon as I can!

Love,
~ShoamEmily

~

19th of June, 2002
Michael is 43, Beyoncé is 20

London, England, United Kingdom

Michael had seen hundreds of headlines about himself, most worse than this one, but this was different. This time, it wasn't just his career on the line.

Beyoncé's eyes were locked on the blurry photo, her lips parted but no sound came out. She looked so young to him in that moment, younger than she ever let herself appear. He wished he could snatch the paper back before the words could sink in.

Her hand trembled as she reached for it anyway. The grainy image was nothing but shadows, and Wayne was right, you couldn't even prove it was him.

But Michael knew. He remembered the exact second the camera must've clicked, her tearful face in his hands, light coming through and outlining enough of his profile for anyone close to them to recognize.

Suddenly her features went pale, her hand flew to her mouth, before she sprinted to the ensuite bathroom. He heard her hurling right away.

Michael followed, not rushing but calm, the way he always did with his children when fevers or nightmares creeped in.

He crouched behind her, one hand pulling her hair back, the other rubbing slow circles against her spine. She was hungover, no doubt about that.

"Breathe through it," he whispered. "Just let it all out, baby. You'll feel better..."

Another wave came, one that was worse than the last. Michael flinched, just a little; he hated seeing her that way.

After finally coughing up the last of it, Beyoncé leaned against the wall, her curls clinging to her now sweaty skin.

"I'll get you some water, Bey. Don't move." he kissed her forehead.

When he came back with a cold water bottle in hand, he noticed the tears in her eyes.

"I'm in so much trouble..." she mumbled. He helped her drink a few slow sips, before tying her hair up so it would be out of her face.

"How about we take a shower to get this sweat off you, huh?" he offered. "It would fix you right up. Then we'll have some breakfast."

"But my daddy, he's gonna be lookin' for me-"

"You've already been here all night, no harm in staying longer. We'll deal with it together after you feel better. Okay?"

She nodded, sighing in defeat.

With that, he helped her to her feet, gently undoing the buttons on his shirt she wore.

He could see the goosebumps on her skin as he pulled it off, leaving her only in her panties.

His fingers caressed her cheek before he leaned down to kiss her; only to be stopped by her hand on his lips.

"I just threw up, Mike... I need to brush my teeth first."

He frowned slightly, because he truly didn't mind. All he wanted was to help her feel better.

Michael watched while she brushed her teeth with a spare hotel toothbrush, a bit off balance but still looking just as fierce as she always was.

When she was done, he took off both their clothes - helping her into the hot stream he turned on.

Beyoncé washed herself off, avoiding her hair as she did.

He let his hands travel to her waist, where they steadied her, though she didn't need it.

He wanted to apologize; this was all his fault. If he hadn't told her to give Jay-Z attention, they wouldn't be in this mess.

Yet he believed they could somehow escape it. No one knew it was actually him, just those mutual connections.

She was right about one thing - her father. Only from his brief interactions with him, Michael didn't like Mathew Knowles.

Maybe one day, if he let go of the hold he had on his daughter, both the professional and personal kind. It drove him insane, how scared she was of him.

He reminded Michael too much of Joseph, just not as violent.

"I'm so sorry, baby." he leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her neck.

"What for?" she pressed herself against him.

"Telling you to give Jay attention. I just- I hate that he kissed you, that you ran off, and that picture..."

She turned to face him, still pressing their bodies together. "Hey, I chose to go with you last night. This could've happened anywhere. It's no one's fault, Mike."

They stayed like that for a long time. Looking into each other's eyes, not sure of where this might take them next. If there even was a 'next' for them.

Another phone ring from the bedroom was heard, making them both snap out of the moment.

"That's probably Wayne," Michael sighed. "He wanted to drive you back."

But Beyoncé didn't let him go, only pulled him closer, if that was even possible.

"Can we at least... One more time? Before, you know..." she looked up at him with pleading eyes, her nails already digging into his back, hoping to ignite something.

"Beyoncé, honey..."

"Please, Michael. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think this would be the last time for a while."

She kissed him, deep, so much so it made him lose his balance.

Before he knew it, they fell into each other all over again. And again, and again, until Wayne knocked at the bathroom door.

~

The flight back to LA that night was quiet. Too quiet for Michael's liking.

It seemed like he had nothing to say. Not to Wayne, not even to Grace who called before take off to update that his kids will be staying awake a little longer to welcome him home.

All he could think about was Beyoncé. All he wanted to do was talk to her, like they did endlessly before she left.

They had thought up a plan. A simple one, really, which would quiet down the voices around them.

She would try to convince Mathew that it was an innocent meeting, that she relied on Michael as a friend, needing to escape the murmurs of the after party; promising Kelly and Michelle would back her up, and that her mother would soften the blow, too.

It took her a while to leave his hotel room, always finding a way to stall, to stay a little longer.

He'd flown this route more times than he could count, but tonight, it felt different.

Each time he blinked, he saw her, sitting at the edge of the hotel bed, hair damp, eyes still glossy from the tears she shed.

The way she hesitated before leaving, running her fingers along the sleeve of his jacket like she was trying to memorize it.

She said she would call. He didn't know when, or if she even could, but he kept hearing her voice in his head anyway.

He should've told her it wasn't just her reputation he was worried about anymore. That somewhere between their long nights on the phone and the quiet moments in the studio, she'd become something he couldn't separate himself from.

And it terrified him.

Michael rested his head against the head rest, his chin falling slightly.

The collar of his jacket smelled like her. Or like both of their scents mixed together.

When he reached for the inside pocket to adjust his phone, his fingers brushed against something small. He took it out - a simple black hair scrunchie.

Smiling to himself, he shook his head. He didn't even know it was there, he must have stuffed it inside his pocket that morning after they got dressed.

Now it felt as if she was with him, in some weird way. His fingers played with it, noticing the bit of hair caught in it.

It was odd, how such an insignificant thing became something he suddenly cherished.

He slipped it onto his wrist, where it sat loosely against his skin.

Wayne stirred across from him, lowering the lights above him. "You should try to get some sleep, sir. We'll be landing right before sunset."

Michael only nodded. Sleep was the last thing on his mind.

He leaned back into the seat, eyes tracing the darkness outside.

His eyes grew heavy slowly, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

~

Neverland Valley Ranch, California

When Michael finally stepped into the main house at Neverland that evening around 9, his children waited up, as promised.

As he crouched down to hug them, he finally let go of the breath he seemed to hold the entire way back to California.

"How was Miss Beyoncé's show, daddy?" Paris asked excitedly.

"It was... Beautiful, Parry. I took some pictures," he smiled, taking out his camera. "And I brought you two shirts. Miss Beyoncé said she can't wait to see you guys."

"Is she coming soon?" Prince looked up at him.

"Hopefully."

A little pull at his wrist caught his attention. His son was playing with the scrunchie.

"What's this, Daddy?"

Michael smiled, sliding it off before his son could stretch it. He hesitated for a moment, whether to tell them. Maybe his kids were the only ones he could really confess to.

"Just something Miss Beyoncé left behind."

Paris's eyes lit up. "Like a pwesent?"

He laughed softly. "Something like that."

She grinned, satisfied, and leaned her head against his arm. "You should tell her thank you."

Michael nodded, his smile staying even as his gaze drifted towards the window. The sky outside was dark now, the ranch lights flickering in the distance.

He'd tell her thank you. He just didn't know if he could stop there.

~

20th of June, 2002
Michael is 43, Beyoncé is 20

London, England, United Kingdom

Beyoncé officially hated this day. If the beginning of it wasn't enough, the middle and the end were definitely the most straining part.

When she met everyone at rehearsal today, she could feel their prying eyes on her. And before she could even put her things down, her daddy yanked her by the arm, only to be yelled at.

She explained to him that she just needed a friend, someone who understood, to get away from Jay after he so boldly kissed her last night.

Her mama stood there, ever-so understanding, and attempted to calm her husband.

It worked, but only for the time being. The girls also stepped in, like she thought they would. 

Kelly even convinced Mathew to think about Michael's invitation again, telling him they'd need that kind of rest after this tour.

Her best friend always had her back; that's the way she was. And she was so grateful, because this was something she truly couldn't face alone.

By the time they got back to the hotel, her legs ached from the show and her throat burned from holding back everything she wanted to say. She spent the whole day performing, onstage and off, and she was tired of pretending she wasn't falling apart.

Finally back in their hotel room, she was getting ready for bed, hoping Michael would call her, though he probably only landed in LA.

Beyoncé sat on the edge of hers, robe tied loosely around her waist, her stage makeup wiped away except for the faint shimmer that never fully came off. 

The three of them should've been asleep by now. Instead, Kelly and Michelle both sat up in theirs, waiting an explanation.

It was one thing to protect her, to warn her, but they quietly waited for her to tell them the full truth.

She suddenly felt small - not the superstar, not the daughter, just a girl who couldn't stop thinking about someone she wasn't supposed to love.

Love. She loved him.

Her hands covered her face, hoping to hide away from her friends, and from herself, while groaning loudly.

Kelly was the first to break the silence. "You know you can tell us, right?"

Beyoncé glanced up, startled, though she shouldn't have been.

"Bey," Michelle said carefully. "You don't owe us any details, okay? We just need you to tell us the truth."

"Even though we know it already..." Kelly mumbled.

"Hey," Michelle smiled. "We ain't judgin'. We just... Care about you. We've seen how you light up around him. It's different. It's not just admiration. It's like..."

She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Peace." Kelly finished for her.

Beyoncé didn't answer right away. She sat back, on the verge of tears when thinking about Michael again. 

"When I'm with him, it's like I can breathe," she confessed. "Like I don't have to prove anything. He doesn't see me as... Destiny's Child, or Mathew's daughter. I'm just me."

She continued, "We didn't mean for any of this to happen... It just did. The long phone calls, his kids, everything he is just- It's so... Consuming. He didn't want to at first, said it'll ruin me, when we were in Japan together, but I told him I know what I wanted. And it was him. It still is."

Her lip quivered just slightly, a tear running down her cheek. It felt liberating, at last being able to tell someone. With a deep breath, her heart slowed down.

Beyoncé chuckled to herself and wiped her tears.

"Daddy said I'm losing myself in him, but he doesn't know, not really. Said people are talkin'. But I feel more like myself when I'm with him than I ever have." 

"Your daddy says a lot of things." Kelly rolled her eyes.

"Amen to that." Michelle added.

"Michael said he didn't wanna hurt me. That if I walked away now, he'd understand."

"You obviously didn't."

"Obviously."

Once again, she looked up at them, both smirking. Kelly nudged her shoulder, attempting to make her laugh. It worked.

When their laughter died down, her hair was in the way. So she reached for her nightstand, hoping to find the one scrunchie she usually likes to sleep with, rummaging through her things.

Nothing. She checked her purse. The bathroom counter. Still nothing.

"Everything okay?" Kelly asked.

"Yeah," Beyoncé murmured. "Just... Can't find my scrunchie. The black one."

Michelle chuckled. "Lord, we can get you another one."

Beyoncé smiled. "It's not that."

Kelly caught the look in her eye; the faraway one. "You left it with him, didn't you?"

Beyoncé didn't answer, but the way her lips curved gave it away.

Kelly threw a pillow at her. "You are gone, girl."

That made her laugh - a real one this time. 

"Maybe just a little." she said, still searching the floor like maybe she'd missed it.

"Well, looks like he's got a souvenir." Michelle added.

Beyoncé sank back into the pillows, sighing. "Guess so."

Kelly poked her knee this time. "For what it's worth, Mathew might calm down soon. He was talkin' to Mama T about that Neverland invite. Didn't sound too opposed this time."

Beyoncé turned her head. "He said that?"

Michelle nodded. "Mama T's workin' on him. She thinks bein' around the kids and letting loose a bit might be good for us."

The thought made warmth spread through her. 

"I can't wait for you to meet them," she grinned. "You're gonna love Neverland."

Kelly returned the gesture, "Then we'll make it happen. You just focus on keepin' your cool until then."

They dimmed the lights, letting the sounds of the city fill the silence.

Kelly drifted off first, then Michelle, their breathing evening out as Beyoncé lay awake a little longer, watching the light move across the ceiling.

Her phone sat by her pillow. She didn't reach for it, not yet. She didn't need to. For the first time all night, she felt sure of something.

Somewhere across the ocean, Michael had her scrunchie. And that was enough to make her feel safe.