Michael

Two hours passed before any of us were tired.

I saw the children's tired, little eyes being rubbed every time I heard a yawn. I look at my watch. It was 10pm and way past their bed time. Before I send the children to bed, I notice that Krystal hadn't sat back up for a good five minutes. Was she playing dead or simply refusing to leave? 

Meanwhile, Blanket had already fallen asleep on one of the beds.

"She's asleep, dad!" said Paris as she watched me edge closer to the girl at my feet. 

"She's really tired, don't wake her up. She can sleep on the floor," Prince adds, most seriously.

"Yeah!" 

Obviously not impressed with what my children were telling me, I rub the nape of my neck and then look up, trying to come up with a plan for how I could deal with this.

"I can't wake her up. It's not in me to do that." No matter how pathetic that sounded, I really couldn't. She looked so peaceful. 

"Well we're not waking her up. She won't play with us any more if she gets mad." Paris hisses and crosses her arms. She's turning into a right little stubborn thing. I should brace myself  knowing she's just two years shy of becoming a teenager. I sighed, bending downwards.

"Prince, go find Grace and tell her to come in here for Blanket. Krystal?" I shake her shoulders but only receive a sleepy "mmh," in response. It was obvious that she wasn't going to wake up easily. . .or any time soon.

I rub my eyes in frustration and lurch forward, scooping her into my embrace in a bridal-style and begin walking over to the room she was staying in. Yep, at almost fifty-one, I still had it.

As we neared her room, I held my breath, fearing her wake up at any moment.

Krystal moves slightly closer to my chest and my suspicions are almost confirmed. My mind wonders over the possibilities of her having planned this.

"Omma," she murmurs. I'd watched a South Korean documentary on the airplane once and heard one of the girls address her mother as exactly that. I couldn't help but giggle at Krystal's child-like demeanor. I wondered how old she was. Twenty-five. . .twenty-six, maybe?

I finally reach her bedroom, pulled off her red boots and replaced them with the duvet instead. After she was in bed, I turned the lights out and smiled at her as she stirs underneath the covers. 

***

The next morning was difficult. 

"Krystal, is it? Please open your door. You were suppose to be on duty an hour ago! please open up! Ms Dubois called for you."

"One minute!" called back the younger girl as she jolted upright against the covers. 
It was then that she realised how long she had overslept. Anyone that ever knew Krystal Jung would know how long she could sleep. Her fans and family would constantly . 

She pulled on a fresh top seeing as she had fallen asleep in her clothes from the previous night and only had time to fasten her apron; no time to tie up the laces on her doc martens, choosing to tuck them in instead. She sighs in relief, still pondering on how she made it to bed from playing with the children. Did she dream the whole thing? No, that wouldn't be possible. She remembered exactly how they looked like.

After rushing through brushing her full head of hair a few times and making it look presentable enough, Krystal finally barges out of her room, accidentally hitting Joanne, another housekeeper, on the face.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Joanne. Can I get you some ice?" she pleads holding onto her colleague's elbow. Today couldn't get any worse and it was just the morning.

"It's er-kay," Joanne replies, holding her nose. Krystal was forced to offer an explanation for why she had overslept and told that it shouldn't happen again.

After the short commotion, Krystal was quickly assigned a fairly easy task: to carry in lunch for Michael and his children. 

"Consider yourself lucky. Beats baking or cooking or swabbing the floor, any day," said Joanne, watching Krystal's face flush a deeper shade of pink. She looked as inexperienced as ever. "First time on the job?" 

"First real job, actually. We don't have to cook, do we?!"

Joanne side-smirks at Krystal's innocence. She looked like a lost child given the task to do something much harder than to serve food. "Yeah yeah it's fine, now take these plates out to the table through this door right here. And no, we don't have to cook," she grins at her. 

Krystal gulped. 

She was handed not two plates full of food, but three. The fourth plate for Blanket had been left out since he had been taken to be tutored earlier than the rest. Ms Dubois laid out the cutlery and side-dishes. 

"O-okay. No problem. This should be a piece of cake." 

Carefully, or at least in an attempt to, Krystal took the plates. They were huge and heavy. But then again this was America. The portions were a lot different than they were in Korea. 

She had already made eye-contact with Michael whom before she saw, had a stern, scowful expression on his face and had smiled, mouth open, when he saw her. He was talking on the phone. "Yeah, uh, yeah, uh yeah yeah send them in. Whenever. Today? Yeah I'm in today. Time?"

Before the Korean-American could lay out the food in front of it's diners, her three fingers holding onto the edge slip off and they all tumble; some smashing as they collide with the ground. 

"I'm—"

Michael hangs up the call. 

Ms Dubois sighs loud enough for everyone to hear and the children hold their breath, waiting for the older ones to show some sort of reaction. The air was tense. 

"Sorry."

Joanne and Ms Dubois rush out to snatch the plates from off of the floor, followed by Consuela who takes her time waddling to the mess with a broom in hand and a blank expression that said she wasn't bothered at all. 

"We're sorry, Mr Jackson. We'll clean it up."

Krystal was so embarrassed she wanted to kick her own bucket or melt into the floor. Surely anything would be better than to face the people she so wanted to make such a good first impression in front of. Especially Michael. 

But he just bursted out laughing.

"That was funny!" He slaps his lap and tilts his head backwards. Prince and Paris began to giggle soon after. 

However, this doesn't put Krystal's guilt to rest. 

"I'm so- oh, I'm- oh my God. I'm so sorry. You can fire me!" she shouts aloud.

Upon hearing these words come from her, Michael stops laughing and looks at her attentively and confused. Krystal looks in his direction then at the floor in utter devastation. If he didn't know better, he could see her trembling. 

"I'll wash all the dishes and will leave whenever you want me to," she promises, biting her top lip. It was now evident to Michael that Krystal must have never worked a day in her life. "This is so embarrassing. Why do I have to be so clumsy?" she kneeled down and began picking bits and pieces off of the floor. 

"Hey!" He stood up. Everyone else stopped what they were doing to see the scene unfold in front of them aside from Consuela who continued to clean without too much mind. "Don't say that. You're not an embarrassment. It's only human nature that you'd make mistakes. We'll take care of it." He was reassuring and calm and all smiles when it came to her. Even though Krystal knew that the media continued to spread falsehoods about Michael, every body could agree with one thing; that he wasn't selfish. But even Ms Dubois was surprised at how soft her boss had came on to Krystal. 

"Thank you, Mr Jackson," she resumed cleaning the floor. But inside, she was stunned. Someone she really admired and that was her boss was as nice as she had known it. And it felt amazing to keep this job, now. He was just so encouraging. So warm.

The Jacksons ultimately re-rook their seats and began eating like nothing ever happened. 

***

Krystal

As a sensitive and easily-embarrassed person, I usually shut up like a clam when things go horribly wrong. Usually, I can't get my stupidity off of my mind. I think that's one of the reasons I'm a generally quiet person. It stops trouble from finding me. 

Michael had gone out and came back home after being out for several hours now, and he wasn't alone.

He had his arms around two women; a blonde, tall girl and another with mousy brown hair. They looked quite younger than he was. 
I turned my attention back to the kitchen, dismissing who the other two might be. 

"Our boss is great, isn't he? I thought I'd be fired but he was so— so friendly about it." Joanne who still looked like she was still holding a grudge over me about what happened earlier today didn't show any signs that she was listening. Was she still embarrassed to talk to me?

"Yeah, he's like that to everybody," she comments coldly. Her eyes stay glued to the dishes that she gently dry with a flannel. 

"He got really sad when I said I wanted to leave," I thought aloud, smiling, without even wanting to. As odd as it sounds, I feel like I'd known him for longer than a day and a half. Much longer. 

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't dare and try anything with him. He's got his own affairs going on and the last thing he needs is some maid in the mix, " she emphasised, quickly laughing it off to stop herself from sounding rude. 

It wasn't what Joanne just said that made me roll my eyes, but how she sounded like she didn't trust me as a person. I fake-laugh.

"What does that mean, like get with him? He's like my parents' age." Joanne raises an eyebrow and I furrow my own. It was so impossible, it was even funny. "And he's Michael Jackson. I'm out of his league," I say to myself, trailing off to agree with her. I wasn't talking to Joanne anymore but myself. Making a bad impression on her had already lasted long enough and she'd only pointed out something factual. As I placed each dish where they belonged, I couldn't help but think of all the potential relationships that Mr Jackson could have had but lost because of a social status as big as his. But I suppose his fame makes him more wary, which is a good thing, I guess. 

I look back up to see my boss slip an arm around the waist of the girl with the light brown hair. I stare, a little too obvious.  Ms Dubois comes in and pokes my head rather hard. 

"Who're they?" I ask without even thinking. Wow– and what was that? I squint my eyes, watching Mr Jackson whisper something into her neck. This was NOT the Michael Jackson I was used to seeing.  

"Well curious Alice, they're his girlfriends."

I think I just choked on my own spit. "Y-you mean, like two of them?" 

"Yes. Pretty much. Especially brownie over there. He never uses their real names." Ms Dubois chuckles as I follow her around the kitchen. "Calls them 'Friend' and 'Flower', he does."

"Really?"

"They've not been in his life for long but he's spent a lot on those girls. And I mean a lot." I can see her look out at the three of them with an expression of concern awash her tired face. Ms Dubois looked like the kind of woman to have seen life. 

"I wonder if he'll settle down with one of them soon." I walk over to place a dish into the dishwasher that was stuffed with what I swear were over a hundred other dishes. 

"Doubt it. Michael is complicated. No one seems to get him or really satisfy him for long," she smiles at me. I swallow hard because I'd made myself flustered with the amount of curiosity I was showing. Complicated? Satisfy? I wondered what was so difficult about the man to understand and keep "satisfied".

"You seem like you care. But I won't entertain you on that anymore because we're the staff and they are them, our gracious providers. We have to maintain a professional level of distance with them, no strings attached." She sighs. "Now, go take care of the kids' rooms. I'll finish off." 

I left the kitchen feeling a bit. . .off. Something tugged at my heart. Why wasn't Mr Jackson able to settle down? I went on my toes to try and catch another glimpse of this girlfriend and my boss again, but was only met with the back of Grace's Rwaramba's head. I am, quite proudly, a Michael Jackson fan myself, and hearing about him through a TV screen and interviews or books was still not enough to form a whole picture of who this person really was. If the media called him a recluse, then in reality, he was emanated confidence, if they presented him as evil and manipulative, he would really be giving and virtuous, so what were the chances of him actually not having it together, unlike what everyone else thinks? 

I reflect on my own experience. There was always more to someone than meets the eye. I glance at the grandfather clock and push my curiosity to the back of my mind, ready to take on the rest of the day. Why was I letting this get to me? I was on a mission to make money, not be a guardian angel. 

When I turn around, my heart skips two beats as I watch Stacy being fondled by another man behind the fridge. 

Their giggles came to a halt as she looks back at me. Feeling like she was going to come down on me like a ton of bricks, I slowly backed away, hitting the corner of the island. 

"Do you mind?" 

"I uh. . .have to go." I quickly grabbed a pack of wipes and walked away, only to be 
stopped by the children crouched right in the middle of the floor around something I couldn't see. 

"Thank God. I almost tripped over you."

*

Krystal held to muffle her voice. It was some kind of big rodent with a fluffy tail that ran right past her. 

"Catch it, Krystal!" 

Krystal did as she was told and grabbed the moving, fuzzy bundle before handing it back to Prince. 

"Isn't he cute? We found him under Prince's closet. We decided to keep 'em." 

"Yeah and we called him Rudolph." 

"No, Blanket! He doesn't even look like a reindeer. Its a chinchilla! We're calling him Moonwalk."

Krystal laughed at their banter and crouched down to pet the animal on its head. "You know that you're going to have to find its owner soon, yeah?" The chinchilla closed it's eyes, enjoying being pet on the head. 

"And thats why you can't let anyone know. Don't worry, we'll tell our Daddy about it later," Paris reasons taking the chinchilla from her brother's hands. 

"Ow! It bit me!" 

"Its getting away again!"

*

Michael storms in, cellphone plastered to his face as he tries to do more than one thing at once. He doesn't look the slightest bit pleased as he beckons 'Friend' and 'Flower' to stand to his side so that a crew of people in tacky neon colours and leotards flood the hallway by the main door. There were around fifteen to twenty of them with props as tall as 7ft.

"Derek, this wasn't the style I was going for. What? I said I'm sorry. But I- no! I remember you blatantly agreeing to hold a public audition. We were going to publicly audition dancers." He gestures for one of his staff to take the group of people to another room while he continued to argue back and fourth with his potential assistant director. Krystal follows the chinchilla as discreetly as possible so that he doesn't see. 

"Derek, please just tell them to drop any suits and leave it to me. No, I'll settle it with Gongaware. Okay? Goodbye." He tosses his phone and rubs his face, hands reaching for a small glass of white wine on the countertop. He was extremely stressed, especially because 'Friend' and 'Flower' were there and he didn't want to risk his children seeing them. 

"Michael, calm down. You've won things over before," assures 'Flower'. Her long, flowing locks of blonde bouncing with the movement of her head. Her hands reach up to fix some stray hairs. Michael wasn't listening. 

"Marissa, pour me some more?" 

Just as he picks up his drink, a bloodcurdling scream escape's 'Friend's' red lips. It was so loud, Michael spills some of his drink. 

"Its a rat!!!" 

'Flower' had already climbed up onto the countertop.

Krystal looks upwards, just as she was about to grab it, etching a nervous smile. She was on her hands and knees and on the floor.

Two disasters in one day. 

"Get it away!" The chinchilla was so close to 'Friend', she began crushing Michael by climbing into his arms in a desperate attempt to be as far away from the animal as possible. "I said move it!!!" The screaming wasn't showing any signs of coming to an end until Krystal jumped forward, missing the catch and scaring it into running into Blanket's direction. He catches it, holding it tightly underneath his little arms.

"Rudolph!!"

"What on earth is this rickeracket?!" Grace demands. 

"You again?" Grace shot a look at Krystal and then at Blanket who was holding the chinchilla. 
She knew who 'Friend' and 'Flower' were and led the children outside of the room so that they wouldn't see as much of her. Michael was on the verge of a full-blown rant until his children were out of sight and he could finally relax a little.

'Friend' composed herself, brushed at her clothes and walked over to Krystal who was dying of shame on the inside. "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you took care of what belongs to you while you work this place," she said in her thick eastern-european accent. 

"I'm sorry, but he wasn't mine. The children found him and I tried to catch him before it got away. We'll be more careful next time. Promise."

"You will be more careful." She handed Krystal her jacket. "It isn't the children's job to make sure guests are comfy."

Grace then walks in again, tutting her head . "Did you actually pretend you were one of them? You should have just reported the animal to Ms Dubois." 

Krystal sighs. She was tired, her body ached and she was feeling more and more nauseous, the longer she stood there and took being scolded. 

"We'll let you off since I haven't seen you around here and you're new but just mark my words, young lady--" 

"But please try to listen--" Krystal's defensiveness failed. Her timid nature had let her down. 

"And this isn't the first time. Just yesterday, I walked in on her slacking off and playing with the children until Mr Jackson--" 

"That's enough." Michael raises his voice enough to bring the conversation to a halt. He takes 'Friend's' coat from Krystal's arms and hands it back to her.

'Flower' her head to the side, quite surprised as if she were expecting a completely different reaction from him. "Michael, don't tell me she's wrong. Why are you defending your maid?" 

"Please, she's new. And her name is Krystal. Don't talk to her that way. You wouldn't like it." Michael held the shorter girl's shoulder. 

"Are you aright?" He asked. "Where did they find the chinchilla?" 

"They told me it was under Prince's closet," she replied, barely audible. I'm fine." But she wasn't, and Michael read her like an open book.
Krystal looks down at her shoes and swears that a day as ill-fated as this would never repeat itself. Her voice was shaky as she spoke. "This won't happen again. You have my word."

Michael and Krystal make eye-contact for several seconds. The awkward standing position, the solemn eyes— it was as if he was watching an image of himself as a child. 

"Michael, let us go. Weren't we going to the Emerson?" 'Friend' whispered. She made sure that she was holding his hand quite tightly, wanting him to follow her out of the door but he doesn't budge.

"If you have any problems with this girl, you have me to answer to. This is my home, and I'll do what I want. If I want to take her side, I will. If she's in trouble and calls for me, then I'll be there. And if you want to ridicule her for being clumsy at her job then I'm clumsy too." Michael's voice was rarely ever raised this loud. He knew better than anyone how pressure could set off a cycle of nerves and mistakes and thus, was not going to let Krystal feel worse about herself having to work around intimidating people in his home.

"As I would do with any of you," he concludes. And with that, Michael pulls Krystal by her wrist until they arrive at a spare room for them to speak in. She was rendered speechless from not knowing if he was going to tell her off or what he was planning to say. 

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A/N: I'm sorry this one was a tad bit boring :( I really do NOT want to rush into a bond that started from nothing. I really am all about realism, and I could only hope you enjoyed this little number. Upcoming chapters will be shorter, I promise. And more exciting. Which means a sub-plot here and there. Thanks.