Hey y'all!

Can't stop apologizing for this late update. I really tried, and I will warn in advance you probably won't hear much from me until the end of April as I'm finishing my degree this April!

This works really well for me because I got early access tix for 'Michael' and I couldn't be more excited. We've been waiting for this for too damn long.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a little slower but I love it nonetheless.

See you soon!

Love,
~ShoamEmily

~

30th of June, 2002
Michael is 43, Beyoncé is 20

Neverland Valley Ranch, California

The days at Neverland flew by too quickly for Beyoncé.

She found herself falling into a routine she never knew she needed - waking up next to Michael every morning, sneaking out through his porch before anyone noticed, then sitting beside him at breakfast in the grand dining room. She'd rub her leg against his under the table, subtle enough that no one caught it, except him. He usually did, and even returned the favor.

Studio time always followed breakfast.

Jay was staying in the guest house at the end of the row, close enough that she'd see him almost immediately after leaving the house.

He usually came after her and Michael, trailing behind them into recording sessions without much to say.

By the time they finished, it was already late afternoon, dinner following soon after.

Even then, she and Michael rarely stopped teasing each other; shared looks, quiet jokes, the kind of closeness that didn't need explaining.

Michael insisted they enjoy Neverland properly, too. Evenings were for rides, movies, wandering the grounds. For pretending the world beyond the gates didn't exist.

Beyoncé, however, was often claimed by Paris.

Sometimes they played. More often, they read together, Paris curled against her side with a book far too big for her hands.

Once, Paris invited Kelly and Michelle into her room for dress-up, proudly parading through outfits her friends brought. Beyoncé watched from the doorway, amused by how naturally it all unfolded.

It all felt easy. Comfortable. Right.

Almost too right.

Jay was the one thing that didn't quite fit.

He'd been hovering more lately. Nothing obvious, nothing she could call out. Just... Around. Listening a little too closely. Asking questions that didn't sound like questions.

There was also the change in the studio. A small one, technically.

She'd been asked, or told really, to call him her 'boyfriend' in Bonnie n' Clyde. The word felt so wrong in her mouth. She hated it. Hated how easily it slipped into the track once it was there.

Michael noticed, of course.

"It's just a song" he said gently, like he was asking her to trust him with it. She did.

Jay didn't protest this... Arrangement that Michael had in mind, not this time. If anything, he'd gone along with it too easily.

That was what unsettled her.

London wasn't that long ago. She remembered his irritation then - how much he hated playing a role in her games, how quick he was to call her out on it.

Now he seemed content to stand exactly where she and Michael placed him.

She didn't know what that meant yet. Only that it didn't feel right.

That morning, like every other morning at Neverland, she woke early in Michael's bed.

He lay beside her on his stomach, the sheets barely covering him, one arm tucked under the pillow. The quiet rise and fall of his breathing told her he was still deeply asleep - more deeply than she's ever seen him before.

It felt... Different.

Just one day left. One more night in his bed.

It was something she never realized she'd miss until now.

He was more comfortable with her, that much was clear. Even the way he slept changed. He rested easier when she was there, she noticed, like her presence anchored him.

She hoped he knew his presence did the same.

I should get up. Get ready for the day.

She didn't want to wake him. He looked too calm for her to interrupt it.

When she finally stood, the cool morning air brushed over her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs. Slowly, she gathered her clothes from the floor, moving quietly so he'd stay asleep.

The floor was cold beneath her feet.

She paused there for a second, half-dressed, one of Michael's shirts hanging loose in her hands. Maybe he wouldn't mind if she took it with her.

Behind her, the bed shifted.

She felt it before she heard it. That subtle pull in her chest, the awareness that she'd been noticed.

"Bey." he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

She closed her eyes briefly, then turned back toward him.

Michael was on his side now, propped slightly on one elbow, dark curls messy against the pillow. The blanket had slipped lower at some point, exposing his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He looked softer like this. Less guarded. Less Michael Jackson.

Just... Him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she breathed, stepping back toward the bed without thinking. "I wanted to let you sleep more."

His eyes followed her. "Where you goin'?"

She smiled. "It's almost 7:00..."

He looked behind him to the clock on his nightstand, "And? When did time ever stop us?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, the shirt still bunched in her hands. His fingers reached out, warm against her bare thigh, stopping her before she could overthink it.

It wasn't possessive. It never was with him, it was just to feel each other.

"You don't have to run yet," he said. "No one's awake..."

She let out a small breath, nodding, and leaned in closer.

Her knee brushed his hip. His hand slid higher, resting at her waist, thumb pressing lightly into her skin like he was reminding himself she was real.

She tilted her head, resting her forehead against his. He kissed her there first. Slow. Then lower, along her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Not rushing.

They never rushed in the mornings.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She ignored it.

A moan escaped her lips when he sucked on a particular spot, his fingers now finding their way into her sweatpants.

Michael's lips curved faintly against her skin, clearly satisfied.

The phone buzzed again.

Her stomach tightened before she even looked.

She pulled back just enough to see the screen on the other nightstand.

Daddy. Of course.

She exhaled through her nose, the moment fading away.

Michael didn't say anything. He just watched her, hand still steady at her waist, as she reached across the bed quietly.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hey," she said, her voice changing automatically; more polished. "Good morning."

She sat herself back down at the edge of the bed, now turned slightly away, instinctively putting space between herself and Michael, even though he was still right there behind her.

He sat up against the headboard, sheet pulled loosely around his waist, watching her reflection in the window. Watching the way her shoulders straightened.

"Why didn't you answer the first time I called?" her daddy asked.

She blinked, somewhat surprised at his harsh tone. "I was sleepin', daddy."

"Right," he grumbled. "You up now? I hope you get to the studio early today. No time to waste."

"No one's awake yet." she echoed Michael from a few moments ago, unbeknownst to her daddy.

A pause.

"You should get ready, then. Get the day started early. Everything okay in the studio?"

"It's... Goin'. We'll be done with the songs today. Jay's being Jay." she sighed.

He went on to tell her how important he was to this album, as if she didn't already know that. Even if he wasn't the one working with her the entire time, but Michael was.

"Okay. I love you."

"I'm serious, Beyoncé. Don't you dare drive him away, he's needed."

She almost rolled her eyes. Both her daddy and Michael have been telling her the same thing, only using different words.

As if Jay was something she really needed in her life. She didn't, she had herself, and now - Michael, too. His guidance, his songs.

Though he seemed too intent on having Jay around.

"I know." was all she said.

Behind her, the mattress shifted.

Michael leaned back against the headboard again, eyes half-closed but still watching her.

She hated that her voice sounded smaller on the phone than it did just moments ago in his arms.

"Good," her daddy replied firmly. "And Beyoncé?"

"Yes?"

"Don't get distracted."

Michael snickered a little too loudly behind her, probably listening in to what her daddy said.

For a second, she didn't move. Did he hear?

"Who was that?"

She turned over to Michael, putting her hand over the phone, and mouthing, "He can hear you."

Quickly, she went back to the phone.

"Sorry, daddy, 'Chelle just woke up. She's just bein' grumpy."

"That sounded like a man, Beyoncé." he pressed.

"You know how the girls get in the mornin'..." she tried again.

Her daddy sighed, knowing there was nothing there for him to really argue.

"Alright, then. I'll see you girls tomorrow." he almost huffed.

"Bye, daddy."

As she hung up, she felt defeated; why, she didn't know. She threw herself back and landed on the mattress, right next to Michael's knee.

A loud groan left her lips.

"You okay?" he asked, examining her from above.

She nodded too fast. "Yeah."

He didn't believe her.

She could tell by the way his eyes softened instead of sharpening. He shifted forward, the sheets falling slightly as he reached for her again.

"What'd he say?" he asked.

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Just... The usual. Was asking how much work we got done. Jay. Making sure I don't 'drive him away.' Why is it that we need him, again?"

Michael furrowed his brows. She knew his plans, why he didn't see Jay as a threat but rather a collaborator.

"You know why, baby..."

She huffed, nodding. "I think my daddy thinks I scare men off."

Michael's smirked at that. "I can't imagine why."

Beyoncé shoved his shoulder slightly, lifting herself to sit before pulling him into a kiss. A long one, that seemed to last forever.

She felt his fingers drift up her spine, slow and absentminded, like he was thinking while he touched her. He always did that when something was bothering him.

"I don't like that he talks to you like you... Owe him somethin'." he mumbled.

She looked at him.

"He doesn't." she replied automatically.

"Mm."

He didn't argue. That bothered her way more than it should have.

She stood again, slipping his shirt fully over her head now. It fell to her thigh.

"You takin' that?" he asked.

"Maybe." she teased.

He reached for her wrist gently, tugging her back between his knees before she could step away.

"Leave something here." he murmured.

She smiled, placing her arms around his neck lazily. "Like what?"

"Anything," he said. "So I know you're coming back."

"I am coming back." she promised, quieter now.

"Not tonight. After."

Without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his waist, sitting on his lap through the thin blanket.

Her hands slid into his hair, fingertips brushing his scalp. Usually, he'd flinch when she did it; years following an unfortunate accident left his scalp tender, she knew it.

This time, however, he closed his eyes at the contact, leaning into it without hesitation.

For a second, she let herself imagine what it would feel like not to sneak out of this room.

Not to lower her voice on phone calls.

Not to separate who she was here from who she was outside these gates.

"You're thinking too loud." Michael claimed gently, eyes opening again.

She looked into them. "Am I?"

"Mmhm," his hands slid up under the hem of the shirt she was wearing, palms warm against her ribs. "You get this look."

"What look?"

"Like you're about to fight something. Or someone."

Her chest welled up with an emotion she only felt once before; that night in Mayfair, when he picked her up. Saved her, really.

How he knew her, what she needed that night. It warmed her in ways she couldn't describe.

This was one of those moments. How was he always so observant?

She leaned down, kissing him before she could overthink it.

His grip tightened slightly in response, "Just stay a little longer."

"Okay," she sighed into his mouth as they kissed once again. "A little longer..."

~

Michael didn't mean to have Beyoncé in his bedroom until the kids came knocking on his door.

They were both still in bed, not doing much except calming down from their previous... Shenanigans, when the softest knock came.

It was usual for him to be awakened by his children, regardless of who - and this morning, it was Paris.

"Daddy, good mowning!" she chirped from the other side of the door. Luckily, they knew not to burst in and wait for his approval.

Beyoncé lifted her head, her hazel eyes widening as she looked at his alarm clock. "It's almost 8:30."

She quickly got off his lap, finding her clothes he'd just taken off, and glanced around for an escape. Outside was not an option, they both knew it, as his staff would already be tending to the grounds.

They both looked at the bathroom door at the same time, and Beyoncé nodded in response.

When the door closed behind her, he stood to find his own clothes from the previous night.

Except for his shirt, Beyoncé was wearing that. He hurried to find one in his closet room.

"You can come in, Parry." he announced as the shirt slid over his head.

The door creaked open almost immediately.

Paris slipped in first, pushing it with both hands like it was heavier than it really was.

Her curls were a little wild from sleep, the hem of her PJ's twisted around one leg as she padded barefoot down the few stairs.

Prince hovered behind her in the doorway, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.

"Good mowning, daddy." Paris grinned.

"Mornin', baby." Michael said, smoothing the front of his shirt as he stepped away from the closet room.

Paris didn't wait for permission as she climbed straight onto the bed, crawling across the mattress until she reached the middle, where the pillows were still rumpled from earlier.

Prince shut the door quietly behind him and followed more slowly.

Michael watched them both for a moment.

The room carried the memory of that morning; the sheets were tangled, the pillows dented where they'd been lying.

A faint trace of Beyoncé's perfume lingered in the air - something soft and warm with a mix of vanilla, that didn't belong to the room itself.

Paris seemed to notice it too.

She plopped onto her stomach, hugging one of the pillows under her chin. After a second, her nose wrinkled.

She sniffed once, then again.

Michael felt the moment coming before she even spoke.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

She sniffed the pillow again, blue eyes narrowed at him.

"It smells like Miss Beyoncé."

Michael stopped halfway to the bed.

Prince perked up immediately at that, curiosity waking him faster than his daddy ever could.

He leaned forward and pressed his own face into the pillow beside hers.

"I don't smell it." he shrugged.

"You're not smelling right."

"I am smelling right."

"No you're not. You gotta smell bettew." Paris insisted, completely serious.

Michael pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh.

From the bathroom, he could hear the faintest movement: something small, like someone shifting their weight against the tile.

He crossed the room and sat next to his children.

Paris lifted the pillow again, presenting it like evidence.

"It does!" she repeated.

Michael leaned closer to them, lowering his voice just slightly.

"Alright," he whispered. "But you have to promise me something first."

Prince's head lifted immediately.

"What?"

Michael raised his eyebrows.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Paris gasped.

The kind of a delighted little gasp only a four-year-old could make.

"Yes!" they said together.

Prince nodded excitedly, his sister joining.

"Okay."

Michael glanced toward the bathroom door before leaning in closer.

"Well," he leaned in. "It smells like Miss Beyoncé because Miss Beyoncé slept here last night."

Paris's eyes widened. "Really?"

Michael pressed a finger gently to his lips.

"Shhh." he whispered.

Paris mirrored the gesture, pressing her own finger to her mouth.

Prince, however, was still thinking.

His brows furrowed the way they always did when he was trying to solve something in his head.

"Where is she now?"

Michael felt a small, familiar feeling in his chest.

Again, his eyes flicked toward the bathroom door - just for a second.

He could practically picture her on the other side of it. Probably leaning against the sink, listening to every word.

"She's getting ready," he said calmly. "Brushing her teeth, like you two should be."

Paris rolled onto her stomach, still clutching the pillow.

"I like her, daddy." she declared.

Michael couldn't help but chuckle as he rested a hand gently on the back of her head.

"I know."

"She reads the funny voices," Paris continued, wiggling her feet in the air. "And she does the dragon voice better than you."

Michael pretended to look wounded.

"Better than me?"

Prince moved beside her now, legs folded under him. He nodded, "She does."

Michael shook his head, trying to suppress a another laugh.

"Well, I'll have to practice then."

Paris popped back up again suddenly.

"Can she read today?"

"If she wants to."

"She will want to." she said confidently.

Michael leaned back slightly on one hand, watching them settle into the blankets again.

Behind the bathroom door, he heard another sound.

Almost like someone trying very hard not to laugh.

He shook his head to himself.

Beyoncé was never particularly quiet when she thought something was funny.

And judging by the way Paris was still hugging that pillow like it belonged to her now, Michael had a feeling the morning was only going to get more complicated once the bathroom door finally opened.

But he didn't care; he just wanted her close for this final day.

And he felt as if Beyoncé didn't care, either.

~

They didn't stay in the bedroom much longer after that.

Paris insisted on walking between them, holding both their hands like she'd decided they belonged together for the morning and wasn't interested in letting go yet.

Michael allowed it. so now her small fingers were wrapped tightly around his while Beyoncé held the other.

Prince walked ahead of them down the hall, already more awake now and curious about whatever breakfast might be waiting.

Somewhere deeper in the house, staff were already moving about; dishes clinked faintly from the direction of the dining room, low voices carrying through the open space.

Michael felt Beyoncé's hand shift slightly in Paris's grip.

Not pulling away, just... Restless.

Her fingers tightened once around Paris's before loosening again. Then her thumb brushed lightly back and forth across his daughter's hand, the movement small but nervous.

He glanced at her.

She was looking straight ahead toward the dining room, shoulders just a little tighter than they were just moments before in his bedroom.

Of course she'd be nervous. And yet, if there was anywhere they could finally, finally allow themselves to be together, it would be here, at Neverland.

The voices drifting from the dining room grew clearer as they approached.

Kelly, Michelle, Tom. And Mr. Carter.

Of course they were already there.

Beyoncé slowed half a step beside Paris, not enough for her to notice, but enough that he felt the shift immediately.

Michael squeezed Paris's hand gently.

"It's breakfast," he murmured under his breath to Beyoncé. "Not a trial."

That earned the smallest smile from her. "Easy for you to say."

Paris tugged both their arms impatiently.

"I'm hungwy."

"That makes two of us." Michael said.

They stepped into the dining room together, and he could see Beyoncé brace herself for what was about to come.

The long table was already half-full, morning light pouring in through the wide windows that overlooked the grounds.

Kelly sat nearest to the sunlight, one leg tucked under her as she leaned over her plate. Michelle sat beside her with a coffee cup in hand, while Tom had a newspaper spread open in front of him at the far end.

Jay-Z sat across from them. He looked up first.

Then Kelly did, while Michelle followed. Tom didn't look surprised; Michael even caught a hint of a smirk.

For a brief moment the room fell quiet.

Kelly's eyes moved from Michael to Beyoncé - and then down.

Her eyebrows rose slowly.

Michelle followed her gaze a second later, her expression sharpening immediately as she noticed the oversized white shirt draped loosely over Beyoncé's frame.

"Look who finally decided to join us." Kelly remarked, leaning back in her chair with a grin that was just a little too knowing.

Paris immediately pulled Beyoncé toward the empty seat beside her.

"Sit here!"

Beyoncé allowed herself to be dragged down into the chair, giggling as she did.

"Good morning to you too, Kel."

Michael pulled out the chair beside her at the top of the table and sat, aware of the way Michelle was still studying Beyoncé.

"Girl," her friend said slowly, lowering her coffee cup. "You weren't there this morning."

Beyoncé reached for a glass of juice as if the question didn't mean anything.

"I woke up early." she attempted to shrug it off.

Kelly tilted her head, "Clearly."

Mr. Carter hadn't spoken yet.

But Michael saw his eyes drop once, just the once. To the shirt, his shirt.

The sleeves sat loosely on Beyoncé's arms, the v-shaped collar slipping off one shoulder. It hung long on her, unmistakably not hers.

Mr. Carter's gaze lifted again, meeting Michael's across the table.

The look wasn't surprised, and yet it wasn't angry either.

Just... Trying to understand what he was seeing.

Michael squinted at the man sitting there, not knowing what either of them were trying to achieve. Because they both knew what this meant to Mr. Carter.

Under the table, Paris swung her legs happily, completely unaware of the tension that could be cut with a knife.

"Miss Beyoncé pwomised she'd read to me latew." she announced proudly.

Michael sighed, "Parry-"

"I did," Beyoncé placed a hand on his knee under the table, letting him know it was okay. "After we finish in the studio."

"Yes, you pwomised when we were in daddy's room."

Michael tensed, and her hand squeezed tight.

"That's right, baby. I'll read for as long as you want me to."

Prince, already focused on his breakfast, nodded in approval without looking up. "She reads better than daddy, anyway."

Michelle laughed, joined by Tom's low chuckle.

Beyoncé leaned back slightly in her chair, her hand still on his knee, though slightly higher now.

"You see?" she teased him. "I have witnesses."

His hand moved along the edge of the table until it rested just close enough to hers that he could feel the warmth of her skin without actually touching it.

Kelly watched the two of them for a moment.

Then she smirked.

"So," she said casually as she cut into her food. "Studio again today?"

Michael nodded.

"Just finishing touches."

Jay-Z pushed his chair back slightly.

"Second track's basically done," he said calmly. "Should wrap today."

Beyoncé nodded in agreement, reaching for a piece of fruit.

"Good."

Michael glanced at her again. Her shoulders didn't slouch in uncertainty anymore, her tone wasn't apologetic.

She wasn't explaining anything. She simply sat there in his shirt, sipping her juice like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe that was the strangest part of all. How naturally she fit right there, in his home, sitting next to his children.

Conversation slowly picked back up around them, the moment dissolving into the comfortable rhythm of breakfast they'd gotten used to this past week.

But Michael could still feel the shift that passed through the room when they walked in.

Something changed. Not dramatically, or loudly.

Just enough that everyone at the table noticed it, even if no one chose to say it out loud. And he also knew it would never leave this room for the moment being, if it were up to him. It couldn't, for her sake.

Beside him, Beyoncé nudged his knee again.

When he glanced down, she still wasn't looking at him - just reaching for another piece of fruit, and the pancake Prince offered from his stack once he realized he couldn't finish it all.

Michael felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly.

Outside the tall windows, the morning sun climbed higher over the hills of Neverland.

It was their last full day there.

And for the first time since she'd arrived, it didn't feel like they were hiding anymore.