Whatever Happens (M.J)

Three

Michael's head was splitting. That's it; I'm never drinking again.

He sniffed; rubbing his head, he sat up. Could he smell eggs? He opened his eyes, coming face to face with a little boy.

"Hello!" He said brightly, his toothy grin showing a noticeable lack of teeth.

"Hello..." Michael replied, unsure why there was a small child in his apartment. Looking around, he realised that he wasn't in his apartment at all. "Can you tell me where I am?"

"You're in my house." The boy replied. "You wanna play?"

"Jamie, leave him alone! He had one too many last night and he'll be sleeping it off for at least a week."

Michael looked up at the woman standing in the doorway. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her face.

She noticed his gaze. "Good morning." She said, smiling.

"Morning... What am I doing here?"

"Erm... Your apartment got crashed last night so I thought it'd be best to bring you home with me; I hope you don't mind."

Mind; how could he mind? She didn't know him, though she probably knew who he was, and yet had been kind enough to look after him?

"No, I... You took me home?"

"I felt an obligation to, since it was my fault you got so smashed."

Ah, now he remembered. She was the barmaid from Studio 54. Hey, wait a minute...

"Where did Diana get to last night?" Michael asked. His eyes narrowed when the woman bit her lip.

"That's kinda when I brought you here..." She crossed the room, sitting hesitantly on the arm of the couch Michael had claimed as his bed the night before. "Do you remember anything about going home last night?"

Michael frowned, trying to think. Could he remember anything about the night at all? That was the better question. It was a miracle he remember the barmaid at all.

Okay, so: he went to pick Diana up; they'd made out a little; he danced and she got jealous; there was the shot incident; and then nothing. He seemed to remember getting upset about something...

"What does Diana have to do with you bringing me home instead of leaving me at my own apartment?" Michael asked.

"You don't remember?" She asked.

Michael shook his head. "Should I?"

She smiled. "No; it doesn't matter. Anyway, are you hungry? I have the perfect hangover remedy; a full English breakfast! My mother swears it works."

"Swore; momma's not here anymore." Jamie said.

The woman smiled sadly. "Mmm, swore." She turned away and disappeared back into the kitchen.

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Michael watched from the doorway as the woman rushed around the small kitchen, dropping sandwiches into 3 brown paper bags.

"Dad, George, c'mon; you're both gonna be late!"

Michael stepped back, trying (and failing) to hide him self when two men strolled into the kitchen. They looked alike; both of them had the same tanned skin, the same dark hair and the same dark eyes. They even smiled the same when they noticed Michael standing in the doorway.

"I see that Mr Showbiz is awake at last." The older guy said before taking the mug of coffee the woman handed him.

"Mmm. Took him long enough to come around. He just needs to work off his hangover now." Michael smiled sheepishly at the woman, who winked at him before turning back to the eggs that were frying on the stove behind her.