The Lady in My Life : MJ imagines

Through Sickness

1999.

Shivering as you made your way across the lawn, you pulled your arms across your coat in tight, feeling a bit annoyed that you even had to trudge out here in the middle of the night. But Michael had insisted that he must have a campfire tonight, of all nights, even though he caught the flu just a few days after his MTV interview and was beat to hell to exhaustion. So, he and his friends had tasked at building what you considered to be a stupid fire at the lookout point.

Perhaps you might be feeling more understanding if he hadn't just cut short your vacation at your parents', whom you hadn't seen in ages. Spending some time with them in Minnesota, you came down with the monster flu that had been going around, which had turned quickly into a bronchitis. Michael, along with the doctor, had brought you back home to Neverland despite your protests. You were furious because, per usual, he had decided to make decisions against your will to keep an eye on you as if he wasn't sick himself.

"I didn't want you to be a burden on your parents, it's my job to take care of you now," he'd said to you as you both coughed and raged with fever.

You were so mad at his control-freak attitude, but you were also finding yourself increasingly needy for him along with your moodiness. As you needed to rest according to him, the two of you hadn't been intimate in any way for three weeks. And although it may not seem like too long, it was especially since stubble covered his chin, making him even more desirable.

Which was why you found yourself out in the cold, sniffling, desperate for your husband to come inside and shower you with attention instead of living it up out in the cold with his friends.

Your grumpiness was fueled as you approached the roaring flames and spotted Michael in an outdoor sofa, laughing out loud with the guys. You didn't like the feeling of jealousy that creeped over you at his attention being pulled away from you by them, as silly as it may sound.

Part of you couldn't escape how handsome he looked in the firelight, his smile wide and crinkling his eyes. His damn laughter was so contagious that it almost—almost—pulled you out of your funk.

You stood over him sullenly for a moment, your eyes suddenly brimming with tears, until he raised those soulful orbs up to yours.

"Why aren't you in bed, mama? You shouldn't be out there. You'll catch another cold," he said in what to him was a caring way, yet to you felt almost dismissive. But he must see the look in your eyes because his voice softened and he added, "Come here," and lifted the heavy blanket over his legs. A sense of deep relief fell over you as you slid sideways into his lap before he pulled the blanket up over you and you snuggled into his chest.

You sighed into his neck, and he cranked his chin down to look at you. "What's wrong, baby?" he whispered in your ear—his voice still hoarse from the cold—his hand slipping under your coat to rub your waist in comforting circles.

"Missed you," it was all you could eek out in your sensitive, tearful state, your hand clutching at the front of his coat.

"Aw, I'm right there, okay?" he kissed the top of your head, then pressed his fire warmed cheek against your cool one, his stubble tickling you. You couldn't help but pout, your mood worn from weeks of being sick and without him to truly take care of you. "Mmh," he tutted in your ear. "You're still mad at me for making you come home, aren't you? I'm not gonna be sorry about that, mama. Staying in one of the coldest states in the country wouldn't have helped you getting better."

You huffed stubbornly and buried your head into Michael's neck. Of course, you knew they were right to send you back, but you were still upset and not just about that. You were annoyed, but mostly needy in a way you had never been before even when he was away. Probably because, unlike his tours, he was so close yet so far away.