A/N: Hello, readers! I'm here once again to torture you with mindless ramble in my oddly long author notes. So to save you all the trouble, I'll dive right in. Thanks as always to Bookish. I have a feeling you're getting tired of me saying your name all the time, but thank you's are due. Also to a new reviewer and alert add, Serenity Rain. And my last thank you, to all my readers, anonymous and not. Keep reading and I'll keep writing. I'm sure I've said that before, but there's no harm in saying it again.

Anyway, it's a short chappie this time, just to keep you on your toes. Slight cliffy, but since I warned you about it, it probably won't be as bad, right? Also, I didn't mean to make it seem all fluffy sweet and crap, but if it does sound like that, I'm sorry in advance. Okay, now onto reading. Enjoy.

My Belle
Chapter Six
Eyes You Can Swim In
"Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose."-Mary Shelley

Michelle touched her index finger to her lips, the international sign of quiet. While her eyes turned to the old wooden door, she slid her key into the slot. She turned it incredibly slowly, making a great effort to make no noise at all. She swung the door open revealing an incredibly tiny apartment. The kitchen melted into the dining room which melted into the living room. Max could see an open bedroom door to the right and a bathroom next to that. A lady with long brown hair was sitting on the floor in front of the couch watching I Love Lucy on an incredibly quiet level. All the lights were off so the TV's lights were dancing across her face.

"Hey, Sue," Michelle whispered, tip toeing in.

Upon seeing Michelle, Sue hurried to her feet. "He's asleep," she informed her. Suddenly her eyes drifted to Max in the doorway. Her face dropped. "It's him."

"Yeah," Michelle confirmed, beckoning him inside.

Still staring at Sue's face, Max was a little hesitant to enter.

"Thanks so much," Michelle said as Sue gathered her things and turned the TV off.

As she made her way past Max, she shot him an accusing look before closing the door and leaving.

"Don't mind, Sue," Michelle said as she approached the couch. "She's just a little protective over me."

"So she knows," Max stated rather than asked.

"'Course she does, she was babysitting for me tonight," Michelle replied. She reached the couch and stared down lovingly at something on it. From Max's spot, he couldn't tell what. She bent down and scooped it up and Max nearly choked on his own spit as he saw it, him, er, whatever. In Michelle's arms she held a little boy whose eyes were half open and head drooped onto her shoulder sleepily. His skin was a shade between Max's paleness and Michelle's deep tan, and his hair was also in the happy medium between his blonde tresses and her black ones, a mousy brown. Max could see slight resemblances, his nose, his face structure, and his overall body type. And then he could see bits and pieces of Michelle mixed in there: the shape of his eyes and his pouty mouth. But he saw the most distinguishing feature of all once the boy lifted his head and stared at him. Those eyes, his eyes, were now on the boy's; as the boy stared at him, he could feel the blues of each colliding with his own. It was a sight so beautiful and shocking that Max could feel his heart skip a beat.

Michelle beamed at the little boy, hoisting him higher up into her arms, getting a firm hold of him. "Hey, John, sweetie, this is Max. Say, 'Hi, Max.'"

"Hi, Max," the boy repeated shyly.

"Max, this is John. Can you say, 'Hi, John?'" Michelle asked Max jokingly in the same sickly sweet manner she had asked her son.

Max didn't find it all that funny since he just stood there gaping.

Michelle cleared her throat loudly. "How old are you John? Can you tell us?"

The boy held up two fingers while he yawned.

"Two?" Max repeated hoarsely.

Michelle nodded. "He's going to be three in three months." She looked between him and John. "Okay, I think it's time for bed." She led the way into the small bedroom which was devoted to the little boy. Tiny toy cars were scattered over the rug and hard wooden floor and coloring books were laid open on shelves and chairs. Michelle laid him down on his puzzle piece comforter and tucked him in. Once he had gotten comfortable, Michelle sat down on the bedside and Max stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching.

"Good night, baby," she said, kissing him on the forehead.

"Sing me a song, mommy," the boy asked gently.

Michelle rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, do I have to? I'm so tired."

"Please!" John pleaded.

She sighed loudly. "Oh, all right." She tapped her chin in thought. "But what should I sing?" She turned to Max. "Have any ideas?"

Max just shrugged, surprised she had asked his opinion.

"Oh, I have one," she announced. She leaned into John, stroking his hair, then around his face.

"But of all these friends and lovers,
There is no one compares with you.
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new.
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before.
I know I'll often stop and think about them,
In my life I love you more."

And like that, John was out. And so was Max.

While Michelle had crooned the familiar song to her sleepy child, Max was flooded with memories. He could see himself doing the same thing, but to her, Michelle, and she was crying; then she had left. It was the same song he sang to her when he had gone off to New York. He could see now what he had left behind. Not only Michelle, which was an already big mistake to begin with, but this child as well. He had left Michelle for years and hadn't even known. That apprehension was just too much for him. He couldn't stay there in that little apartment with them anymore. It was too much to take all at once. All this pressure was suffocating him and he ran. He ran out of the apartment, out of that building, and right into his taxi. He punched and hit his guiltless steering wheel out of anger and regret. He couldn't do anything now. He had seriously fucked up.