Hey guys!

Yes, this is another story, but it is not about the Tudors. It's about Michael Myers.

This has been sitting in my computer since forever, so I finished the first chapter, and decided to upload it.

~I don't own nothing except for Lincoln!

Enjoy!

The Internship:

It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. With a shortage of nurses, Lincoln is assigned lunch duty for the infamous Michael Myers. What starts off as fascination on both ends – quickly turns into obsession on one end.

[Rob Zombie's Version]

Michael/OC

Chapter 1: Week Two

It was the same stare.

Blank nothingness shone through his eyes as he stared out into the distant past. What ran through his mind, nobody knew. It was a guessing game constantly with him, but every time you thought you had him, he'd change the game completely. His doctor once used the comparison of a poker match to describe him – "He has a mean face, no sign of emotion. I'd hate to play poker with him." Now the comparison was different. No one, not even his own doctor understood him now. No one knew it, but he had won the game a long time ago.

But now, he was painstakingly loosing the game. His own game. He didn't know how she did it, but she was winning, and he knew she had no clue at all. He had seen her around before, she would walk around with the nurses, listening to every word they said, jotting down notes, or sometimes just simply trying to remember what was said. She dealt with the patients in the East Wing: those who suffered from depression, suicidal thoughts or actions, mental/physical disabilities, and so forth. Never in his wildest dreams (and they were wild) had he thought that she'd be here with him, slowly, unknowingly winning his game.

Never in a million years had he thought someone could beat him at his own game, but it deemed possible. And he hated it. He hated the looks she gave him, he hated the words she said, and he hated her, but most of all, he hated himself. He hated that he was so weak around this girl, that she could make him feel things, think things over. He had only, ever came across two people in his entire life who had that effect on him. One of them left him, the other one was still out there, and he couldn't wait to find that person. He knew that the girl before him was one of those special people, she wasn't like anyone else here, or that he remembered, but he still hadn't decided whether she lives or dies. He had been craving to kill something lately…

"You need to eat."

For the pass twenty minutes, Michael had been refusing to eat. It didn't go pass the young intern that Michael barely ate, it was recorded that the longest he had gone without eating was two years in-a-half. But she didn't care; Michael knew that, so he decided that he wasn't going to care either, not that it made a difference. He would never admit it, hell, he wouldn't admit to himself, but he enjoyed these moments they had. Seeing the fire in her eyes when he's refuse to do something made him tingle inside, something he despised.

"Eat – now."

Now the command. Michael had quickly learned the pattern to their little game, well his game. She wouldn't speak for twenty minutes, and then she'd gingerly remind him of the food in front of him. When five minutes pass, that's when she's annoyed. She knows that he comprehends that the food is in front of him, but he just won't pick up the spoon and eat the soup they had for lunch six days out of the week. (On Fridays they had a different meal, each one not the same.). She'd then command him to eat.

"Fine, die of malnutrition. See if I care."

Now the guilt. She'd try to guilt him into eating. Why she thought that would work was beyond him. Hadn't she heard the rumors? Surely she has, he's seen the guards and nurses whisper it all to her. He's the devil, and the devil feels nothing for no one, not even those who are of alliance with him. But what made Michael tilt his head to the side every time, she'd say 'I'. Not 'we', or 'them', or 'us', but 'I'. As in singular, speaking for herself, and only herself.

"Michael, I swear if you don't eat this food I will inject so much morphine into your system that you'll be out for days."

Now the threat. Michael hated this part. He would narrow his eyes at her and glare one full of pure hate. He didn't take kindly to be threatened; he had beaten a kid with a stick when he was ten for being bullied and threaten. But Michael knew she wasn't kidding. When she was first assigned to him, he wouldn't eat; he wanted to see how far he could push her. Next thing he knew, Loomis was standing over him as he was chained down to his bed. She had actually done it; she had injected so much morphine into him that he was knocked out cold. Michael couldn't believe it.

Of course, though, no one was concerned for Michael, they knew whatever came his way he would withstand. They found that out when he was fifteen. He had struck a guard so badly that the guard fell into a coma. Michael that same day was strapped up to the electric chair. The volts were enough to put him in a comatose stage, but Michael appeared as fine.

Michael, against his restrains, lifted the spoon and ate. He hated the smug look on her face.

~..~

"How did it go?"

Lincoln shrugged her shoulders. "The same as usual."

"He didn't try anything?"

"No."

"He didn't say a word?"

"Nope."

"No movement at all?"

"Zilch."

"Nothing at all?'

"Nothing, Loomis, you know I'd tell you if he did anything."

Loomis's shoulders slumped, but he nodded his head. "Alright, alright," he said. "How are you? You look exhausted." He noted the dark circles under her eyes, and how pale her skin had become. The usual spring in her step was gone, along with her radiant smile.

Lincoln noticed Loomis staring at her; she moved her locks of brown hair to shield her face. She felt self-conscious when people stared at her, examining her. "I'm fine." Only she wasn't.

Against her mother's better judgment, she took the internship of Smith's Groove. She was planning on being a nurses when she was older, what type of field she'd want to go into was still undecided, but she knew in her heart that she wanted to be a nurse. When she had first started at Smith' Groove, her boss, Glenda, would take her to the East Wing to get accustomed to the patients there. Depression, suicide, and other life threatening disabilities was something she had seen before, but she swore it wasn't going to bother her, because it wasn't about her, it was about those people.

Loomis nodded his head. "How's your home life?"

Too personal, too personal, way too personal.

No one at Smith Groove's, or at school knew about Lincoln's home life. They just knew it was her and her mother living in an apartment development. No one knew who Lincoln's father was, and Lincoln wished she was one of those people. Her past with her father wasn't something she'd call "fond" memories. The same could be said for her mother right now.

"It's alright, I mean, my mom's found a job, so we're good." Like the job last that long anyway. Lincoln's mother had trouble keeping a job; she always had factors getting in her way. And she'd once again depend on Lincoln for money.

"That's good, that's good." Loomis clasped his hands behind his back and looked her straight in the eyes. "Lincoln, be honest with me, how do you really feel about being assigned to Michael?"

I enjoy it. I enjoy it way more than I should, Lincoln thought. He was interesting, like no one she had ever known. Michael made Lincoln feel things that she hadn't felt in a while. For a long time Lincoln had given up on trying with people, she saw no reason in communicating with them, or even socializing in a small group. But Michael – Michael made her feel again. All the frustration, silliness, the feeling of annoyance, and dare she say…happiness.

"He's fine, I guess. He's the same as he's always been." Lying was a specialty of Lincoln. Just like stealing, she had no tell, nor did she ever bluff. That was one good thing her father taught whenever he came around. Knowing how to hotwire a car was another one.

Loomis stared Lincoln down, trying to see if she was telling the truth. This was about her babysitting (as Lincoln liked to call it) a psychopathic murder who had murdered his sister, step-father, and sister's boyfriend all in one night! There was also the fact that the murders were the most gruesome murders Haddonfield had ever seen. So Loomis had to make sure Lincoln wasn't pulling one over on him.

This had happened so many times before; Lincoln did the same routine conscienceless. She stared back at Loomis, never wavering. Her eyes held nothing in them, nothing that Loomis could use against her. Her body was relaxed. Surly no one guilty would be too worried, or she was a psychopath herself. She had done this countless times with the cops that would haul her to the station back in Seattle.

"Alright, alright," Loomis sighed. He had caved, much to Lincoln's pleasure. "But go home and rest." He pointed a finger at her. "I mean it, Lincoln. The next time you come in here like a zombie I will place you on bed rest myself. Do we have an understanding?"

Lincoln laughed – something she hated about herself. A boy in the school yard said Lincoln's laugh sounded like a man's because it was smoky and husky.

"Alright, Doc."

So what do you think?

Please review and let me know! :)