Hey y'all!

So sorry for the late update. I'm suffering from a bit of chronic arthritis right now so my wrists and fingers are killing me. Typing/being on my laptop is the worst right now. It comes and goes every few weeks so I'm basically helpless for a few days during this type of thing.

I really want to start updating every weekend, kind of what I did for my other fanfics. I promise to try my best, hopefully this flare up goes away quickly.

Don't worry- I won't leave you hanging. There will be a dinner chapter coming up.

Also I'm still very much suffering from post-Beyoncé depression, it hit me too hard this time compared to Renaissance. Probably because Cowboy Carter has such a special place in my heart. *sigh*.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, don't forget to comment & vote.

Love,
~ShoamEmily

~

19th of March, 2002
Michael is 43, and Beyoncé is 20

Neverland Valley Ranch, California

Michael looked at himself in the mirror. There was nothing special about what he wore; it was what he always wore when he didn't want to be recognized out in the world.

A pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, with a cap to hide his hair.

He glanced around his master closet room, the one that never seemed tidy enough. But the last few weeks really made it harder for him to keep anything clean.

His baby boy, Blanket, was everything he ever wanted again. Every moment with him was like a dream.

And he was so quiet compared to his older siblings. He rarely cried, only when he was very uncomfortable or hungry. He brought Michael a peace he didn't know he needed.

Except for sleep, they weren't quite there yet.

Sighing, Michael exited his bedroom and headed towards the dining room, where his children were eating an early dinner with the nanny.

"Daddy, whewe awe you goin'?" Paris asked, reaching her hand out to him.

He took it, smiling at her, "Just to Los Angeles, princess. Daddy's gotta work. I'll be back before you wake up tomorrow morning, I promise."

"When will you really be back, Mr. Jackson?" Grace, his nanny, looked up from feeding Blanket who was falling asleep.

Michael reached down to caress the baby's head, "Late. I'll call when I head back."

She nodded, and he kissed each of his kids 'goodnight' before leaving with Wayne Nagin, his head of security.

As they drove past the Neverland gates, his mind wandered to her once again.

Beyoncé had invited him to see her rehearse for Destiny's Child tour. They were about to wrap up, and over the phone the other night she asked him if he would like to come.

Of course, she added in: "Only if you can, Michael. I know how hectic it all is right now."

He smiled to himself. She always put his needs first lately. They haven't seen each other since Blanket was born, but she never stopped checking in on how he was doing.

She didn't just call once. She checked in every couple of days, her voice soft yet sincere. Somehow, she always knew when he needed to hear it.

Whenever he tried to change the subject to her and see how she was dealing with it all, she only said something simple and moved on.

Michael told himself it was just her being polite, that she wasn't really interested in his well-being.

It scared him, how much space she was starting to take up in his quiet moments. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Again, it was mostly him trying to deny what was happening.

And still, he would never let those kinds of feelings to surface. He couldn't; shouldn't.

Feelings like that had no place in his life anymore. Especially not with someone like her - young, gifted, still chasing the world. She deserved someone who wasn't half gone already.

As the car drove onto the highway, Los Angeles still three hours away, Michael leaned back against the seat, eyes drifting towards the window.

The sun was setting behind the hills, throwing a warm glow across the sky. He used to love this part of the day: the in-between.

A moment where things weren't quite light or dark.

Maybe that's what this was, a moment in between.

Michael closed his eyes and let the silence envelope him, the rhythm of the road humming beneath him.

He didn't know what he was walking into tonight. He just knew he wanted to see her again.

~

Los Angeles, California

Wayne led Michael quickly through the halls of the Wiltern Theater. The music got louder, he could hear Beyoncé's voice as they got closer to the stage.

She was rehearsing 'Work It Out'; which instantly made him smile. He knew how hard she'd worked on it, he was there through the whole process.

He could finally see the setup clearly. Kelly and Michelle were sitting on some stools by the side of the stage, while Beyoncé was center with their dancers.

His eyes immediately fell on her. All she wore was a simple Juicy Couture tracksuit, and some heels. Small, sparkly boots. Definitely the type of shoes she would wear on stage.

She looked relaxed, but focused - giving the dancers her full attention as the track played over the arena speakers.

Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, bouncing with every step. No makeup. Just Beyoncé, in her element.

Michael didn't step into the light. He stayed tucked in the shadows of the hall, watching her from a distance. It wasn't out of shyness. He just didn't want to interrupt, or the attention to go to him.

There was a confidence in the way she moved that wasn't completely there a few months ago. Her timing was sharper, her voice steadier... She was more than ready. And it hit him then, unexpectedly:

Beyoncé didn't need him.

Not really.

She would've gotten here on her own. The talent, the drive, the discipline, it was all hers. All he did was offer his take, point things out when she asked.

Still... She kept calling. Kept showing up.

Maybe that's what he didn't understand.

A beat switch in the track pulled him out of his thoughts.

Beyoncé turned to the dancers, clapped her hands once, and gave a quick direction before demonstrating a move herself.

He couldn't hear what she said, but she laughed at something Michelle called out from the side. The sound bounced through the venue.

It made a sort of tightness build up in his chest.

Wayne nudged him gently. "You want me to let her know you're here?"

Michael shook his head. "Not yet."

He just needed a few more minutes.

So they stayed put. Michael took a seat at the end of the row closest to him, his eyes never leaving her.

The song ended, and she went to grab a towel from the edge of the stage when her eyes landed on him.

Even with his face covered, he could tell she recognized him. A grin formed on her lips before she waved, almost shyly.

Beyoncé hopped down from the stage, towel still draped over her shoulder, and made her way to him.

Michael stood up when she got close.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said softly, breath still catching from the number. "I'm really glad you did."

He smiled under the cap. "You sounded amazing. I knew that song had potential."

"Of course, because you're always right," she rolled her eyes. "Thank you. It's not perfect yet, but... We're getting there."

Michael looked past her towards the stage, then back again. "It's more than ready. You're ready."

She let out a laugh, wiping the side of her face with the towel. "Say that again after the first show."

Michael paused a bit too long on her lips as they hit the fabric. He noticed and quickly shook himself out of it.

Then she asked, "How's the baby?"

Michael could feel his face soften. "He's... He's everything."

Beyoncé smiled again, eyes bright. "I've been thinking about him. Did he get your hair?"

"It's too early to tell," he chuckled. "But I don't think so. He takes after his mother a lot. But he is getting bigger every day."

She looked genuinely invested. Maybe he wasn't imagining things.

"You gettin' any sleep yet?"

Michael let out a sigh, "Some. Not much."

He could feel the moment slipping. Her energy was shifting; back to work, back to focus. She had a show to give, after all.

So he said it, before the opportunity would be gone:

"Would you... Want to come to Neverland for dinner? Before you head out on tour?"

She raised her eyebrows, a little surprised. But not in a bad way, it seemed.

He cleared his throat. "Doesn't have to be anything big. I just thought... I'd like to see you. Before you go. And I'm sure the kids would love to meet you."

She took a very quick second, then nodded.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

~

22nd of March, 2002
Michael is 43, and Beyoncé is 20

Hancock Park, Los Angeles, California

The smell of the hot curling iron and cocoa butter drifted through the air, mixing with the girls' perfume.

Beyoncé was in the upstairs bedroom that was assigned to her, with Kelly and Michelle both sprawled out on the bed behind her.

The rental they were staying in came furnished, which meant there were old floral drapes, slightly creaky floors, and a mirrored vanity in every room. Still, it felt familiar at this point.

Their stuff was everywhere. Luggage open on the floor, speakers plugged in beside mismatched nightstands, stage heels lined up along the big windows.

She stood near the long mirror by the closet, fixing one of her earrings as Kelly shifted, tossing a throw pillow in the air and catching it again.

"You look expensive," Kelly teased. "Who you tryna impress?"

"No one." Beyoncé murmured, smoothing down the front of her dress.

Michelle peeked in from the bathroom, toothbrush still in hand. "Okay, but be real with us for a sec - that was Michael, right? At rehearsal?"

Beyoncé blinked, caught off guard. "Y'all saw him?"

"Girl, you were runnin' to him like your life depended on it," Kelly said, propping herself up on one elbow. "You were smiling weird when you noticed him."

"I always smile weird."

Michelle laughed and disappeared back into the bathroom.

Kelly leaned forward. "Is it a date?"

"It's dinner."

"At his house."

"Y'all sound like my parents."

Kelly grinned. "I mean, they're not wrong for asking."

Beyoncé just shook her head, still smiling to herself as she adjusted the strap on her shoulder.

Footsteps were heard, and a second later Tina Knowles appeared in the doorway, eyes already scanning the room. Kelly and Michelle exchanged a glance and gathered their things without needing to be asked.

"We'll be in the kitchen." Kelly threw her way as they slipped out.

"You sure about this, baby?" Tina came to her daughter, straightening the fabric in the back. Like mother, like daughter.

"I'm just goin' to dinner, mama." Beyoncé said.

Tina raised a brow, hands stopping at Beyoncé's waist. "At Neverland."

She didn't answer that. She looked down at her hands.

She'd already run through this conversation in her head a dozen times, and now it was actually happening, it felt... Messier somehow.

Tina let go slowly, taking a step back but still looking at her through the mirror.

"You like him?"

"Mama."

"Not like that," she clarified. "Just... You trust him?"

"I do."

"And your daddy?" Tina added.

"I already talked to him. Twice." Beyoncé lied. Though she tried to talk to him, she really did.

Yet Mathew never really wanted to just 'talk'; he wanted to warn, to question, to make sure she still had her head straight.

He wouldn't raise his voice, but his tone had that sharpness she hated so much, the one that came out when he felt like she was stepping too far outside his idea of the plan.

"He's still a man, Beyoncé," is what he said the last time they spoke. "And you're still a young woman. Don't confuse creative chemistry with somethin' it's not."

But that wasn't fair. Michael was never inappropriate. Never once crossed a line. Never even made her feel small or doubt herself.

If anything, he'd been the one person who made her feel like she could trust her own instincts. He saw parts of her no one else seemed to notice.

Tina moved around to face her, "You look beautiful."

Beyoncé smiled. "Thanks, Mama."

There was a knock at her bedroom door, and then her father stepped in.

"You leavin'?" he questioned.

"In a minute." she told him. He glanced at the dress, the heels by the mirror, then back at her.

"This doesn't feel a little... Off to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been talking to him for months. Now he wants you to come to his house for dinner?"

"It's not like that, daddy."

"You're 20 years old, Beyoncé."

"And? What does that have to do with anything? I've been working with him since September. Almost six months. You know that."

He took a few steps into the room. "Working is one thing. But I see how often y'all talk. I hear you laughing on the phone. That man is grown. With children. With... A situation."

"I'm aware," she said, a little too sharp. "Daddy, I know what it might seem like. But I promise you, it's not what you think. Michael's never made me feel uncomfortable. Not even once."

Mathew looked at her for a long moment.

"And you're not gettin' too close?"

Beyoncé didn't answer right away. She stood, grabbing her purse.

"I believe in him," she simply stated. "I really do. As an artist, as a person. He's... Not like what people think. And I don't know if anyone else sees that right now."

Mathew's expression didn't change, but Tina placed a hand gently on his arm.

"She'll be just fine, Mathew." her mother reassured.

He only gave a short nod, then turned back towards the door. "Home by midnight."

Beyoncé raised her eyebrows. "I'm not fifteen."

"You're still my daughter." when he was gone, Tina leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"You can be back by 1, I'll talk to him. Call me if anything feels off, okay, baby?"

"It won't."

"You still call. I'll be awake."

"Thanks, mama."

With that, Beyoncé took one final look in the mirror before heading out the door herself.

~

Neverland Valley Ranch, California

Beyoncé felt as if she couldn't close her mouth the entire ride through the Neverland grounds. She gaped at everything like the fangirl she was.

The gates, the gardens, the thousands of acres that seemed to spread out forever.

She knew it was big, but she never imagined it like this. So magical.

The car finally stopped at the entrance to the main house. Sparkling lights adorned the trees above her as she was welcomed by a staff member.

When she entered through the front door, she touched the frame, just to make sure this was real.

"Mr. Jackson is in the family room with the children, would you like to join them, Miss Knowles?" the housemaid asked, taking her jacket.

Beyoncé shook her head politely, "I shouldn't interrupt-"

"He insisted. He said he might take a while."

With that, the housemaid walked, gesturing to follow. Beyoncé did, still eyeing every detail she passed by.

She saw Neverland in interviews, specials, anything one could think of. But it looked... Like a home now.

Maybe because she finally knew the man who lived in it.

They reached the family room, where she spotted Michael crouched down in front of his two older children, Prince and Paris.

The housemaid bowed before leaving quietly. And Beyoncé? She just stood there and watched.

Paris was struggling to balance a toy tea cup on its plate, while Prince attempted to pour 'tea' into another.

Michael reached in then, centering the cup for Paris, while his other lifted Prince's elbow just slightly.

She didn't even notice the smile appearing on her face. He was such a natural.

Paris then looked up from what she was doing, a small gasp leaving her lips. "Daddy, she's hewe! It's the lady fwom youw show!"

Michael followed his daughter's gaze, only to meet Beyoncé's.

"Hi, Miss Knowles."

She raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk, "Really? You're startin' that again?"

"Sorry, Beyoncé," he stood. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be here, Michael. Hi." she waved.

She could see he was about to make his way over, but Paris beat him to her.

"You and youw fwends sang and danced fow daddy, wight? We saw you on TV!" Paris grabbed Beyoncé's arm.

"We did, baby. How'd you know?" Beyoncé went down to her level.

"I wemember evewything!"

She chuckled at the girl's response, definitely fit for a four-year-old. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Paris. I'm Beyoncé."

"I know. That's my oldew bwother, Pwince." Paris pointed at Prince, who was now hiding behind Michael's leg.

He seemed more reserved than his sister, which she remembered Michael telling her.

"It's all good, Prince," Beyoncé said. "I get shy too. Is it okay if I just stay right here?"

The boy nodded, still clutching his daddy's leg.

Michael stepped forward then, his voice warm.

"Blanket just went down for a nap. And dinner's not quite ready yet..." he glanced out one of the big windows, where the last of the daylight was spreading across the lawn. "Would you want to walk around for a bit? I could show you the grounds, if you're not too tired."

She hesitated, looking down at her shoes - slim, white heels with a point at the toe. Her cheeks flushed, she could feel it. "In these...?"

"Right. Should've thought about that. Well, I can't offer much, unfortunately. Except for my arm," Michael bit his lip. "And maybe the golf cart if you get too tired... What do you say?"

More heat in her face; this time probably too prominent. "Uh, sure. Sounds like a plan."

He was now next to her, offering his arm. Her breath stopped for a second, but she linked hers in his.

"Just... No speed walkin', please." she whispered in his ear.

Chuckling, he began walking with her next to him. "I see what you can do on stage. This is nothin'."

She rolled her eyes, her nerves calming a bit. That joke reminded her who he was to her now.

Something... Comforting. Warm, familiar.

And as they walked out through the living room, with Prince and Paris running ahead, she realized just how much she was going to miss him.