[A/N: Gosh, this was a hard chapter to write. I swear I had to edit every little bit of this entire thing just to get it sound right, and I'm still not completely sure of what I think of it. Explaining my long disappearance from fanfiction. Reviews, anyone? Oh, and speaking of reviews, you guys are too awesome.
The lyrics I refer to in this chapter belong to Michelle Branch, I think they're from "Here With Me"? Not quite sure of the song's darn title, as I haven't heard it in a while, but I just sort of realized how perfectly it fits this darn story. But anyways, they're not my lyrics. Okie dokies?
And, oh man, I just realized I never issued a disclaimer for this story in the first place, so…
Disclaimer: Meg Cabot owns all the characters that you recognize from the books. She owns the original plot line of The Princess Diaries. All I own are a few characters of my own imagination, the names of the chapters, and the fairly sappy plot line. This goes for all the chapters before this point and all chapters after. Teehee.]
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It's been a long, long time since I looked into the mirror
I guess that I was blind, now my reflection's getting clearer
Now that you're gone, things will never be the same again
There's not a minute that goes by every hour of every day
You're such a part of me, but I just pulled away
Well, I'm not the same girl you used to know
I wish I said the words I never showed
I know you had to go away
I died just a little, and I feel that now you're the one I need
I believe that I would cry just a little just to have you back now, here with me
Mia's POV
I waltzed into the apartment after dessert at The Coffee Hut, in a fairly good mood, and rushed into my room. Tossing my purse onto the floor and kicking my shoes off, I flounced back onto my bed, and found myself in the same stance before Conor had called earlier that night. Yawning, I reached out to the nightstand next to my bed and turned on the radio, bringing down the volume so that it was merely a string of comforting background music.
"Hey, Mia." Renee peered in through my doorway and after a moment's hesitation, she perched herself on the corner of my bed. "How was tonight?"
I grinned. "Perfect, as usual. Oh, God, Renee, you've got to try the chocolate cake at The Coffee Hut sometime, I swear, it's the most amazing thing to have for dessert–"
She gently interrupted me. "Mia. I hate to change the subject, but… is there anything you're… you're not telling me? I mean, as soon as you left for dinner tonight, somebody called. Michael? Really deep, creamy voice, with a tendency to cuss when things aren't going right? He seemed really anxious to talk to you. And, I mean, he knew the number to the apartment… I'm here to listen if you're willing to spill."
I felt my cheeks turn a bright shade of deep red and my nostrils began to flare just slightly as I muttered, "No. Michael? I don't know who you're talking about."
Renee smiled at me and nodded. "Sorry. I thought I might tell you about it. He didn't leave a message. Anyways, so tell me about that cake, again?"
I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the need to talk. "No. No, no, Renee, wait. I lied. Michael… Michael… was my first boyfriend I fell in love with. Ever. And he's the same one that left me for the… the military." I hugged my knees and pitifully looked at the comforter on my bed as my voice diminished into a little whisper. "He's back. After six long years. And, Renee, I really don't know what to do."
She sympathetically wrapped me in a hug. "It's all right, Mia. You've got Conor now. You have a good life, with everything looking so wonderful for you. Why even bother to think about some guy who left you long, long ago?"
I blindly shook my head as I felt my voice choking up. "I'm so confused, Renee, I just don't know what to think anymore. I'm not completely sure about this… but I think that I still love him."
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Michael's POV
"All right, now this is the type of enthusiasm that I like to see around here!" I subconsciously heard a booming voice ring out from behind me, and felt a large fist thump my back. My head sprung up and I nearly jumped out of my seat, realizing that I had completely forgotten to go back home the other night.
"So, Moscovitz," my manager drawled out in a mix of half sarcasm, half pity. "Glad to see that you're taking your work seriously. Keep it up, and we'll consider a pay raise. Oh, and nice imprint on your forehead, there. Just remember, next time, not to fall asleep on top of the keyboard."
My hand immediately flew up to my forehead, and I felt the dents on my skin. Smooth, Moscovitz. You're now a walking keyboard. "Sorry, sir."
"Sorry?!" He let out a heavy chortle. "Sorry? For what? I like to see my tech guys on the case 24/7 - did you find anything out last night? Any sudden revelations on Minge's whereabouts?" Those words were all I needed to remember. Last night came tumbling back, every little detail playing through my mind as if I were equipped with TiVo. Don't you dare do anything to ruin Mia's life. You know you owe her.
"Whereabouts? None… none of that, sir. Of… of course… course not. Minge seems to be an extremely sly suspect; he's left no tracks whatsoever. I was just running some extra searches, but didn't come up with anything… absolutely nothing… of course."
My manager looked crestfallen, as if expecting me to have discovered the exact latitude and longitude of Conor Minge's location overnight. If only he knew how close I was. "Ah, well. That's all right. Maybe today'll be the day. Oh, and Moscovitz, wipe that sleep out of your eyes before your coworkers begin to arrive." He winked and headed off towards his office.
I groaned as soon as he was out of sight, and the significance of what I had picked up yesterday quickly became more and more evident. Yesterday, it had merely been me cursing my bad luck and trying to understand the horrid coincidence. Today, I felt the nasty burden weigh upon my shoulders for the very first time. Why me? Why leave me with the tough decisions at hand? It became highly obvious at that exact moment that I needed to talk to Mia. Before I did anything a whole lot stupider than I could be capable of doing.
I snatched up my cell phone, from where it had fallen onto the floor, and speed-dialed her number for the second time in less than 24 hours, silently hoping that she would actually pick up this time. Come on, Mia, come on.
"Hello?" Her tired voice was beyond unenthusiastic, and I could practically picture her sighing dejectedly.
"Mia," I breathed into the phone. "Don't hang up on me. Please. It's Michael… Moscovitz. I need you to listen–"
"Michael, not now–"
"No, this is important, Mia. It's probably not what you think it is. I'm at work right now. I need you to come over because we need to talk. Mia, please."
Silence from the other end.
"I work on the first floor of the investigator's office on 38th Street. It's, like, the only modernized building on its block, you'll spot it right away. Big, gray, pretty ugly. Three blocks north of The Coffee Hut. I'll be waiting outside. You need to come right now."
Still silence.
"I'll be waiting, Mia." And with that, I deliberately hung up the phone, hoping with all my might that I was making the right decisions. And hoping that she would trust me, and come.
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Mia's POV
I found Michael sitting on the steps to his office building, his slightly pink forehead peering out from under dark chocolate layers of hair, hands clutching a pile of papers. I couldn't meet his eyes at first, so instead, I peered up at the towering building behind him. A tall, granite-colored stretch of office, after office, after office. Somewhat menacing, and seeming to hold all sorts of secrets behind its walls. I quickly looked away, and reluctantly found myself heading over to sit next to him on the steps instead.
"Hi, Michael. How's life?" Stupid attempt to start the conversation.
An almost irritated, sarcastic look began to cross his face, but he merely took a deep breath. "Let's skip the introduction, shall we? There's other… pressing matters at hand. I just… I just don't know how this is going to sound to you, but I want you to know that I'm only telling you this because I care. Because I don't want you to get hurt. Crap, I just don't know how to say it–"
"Just say it, Michael. I need to get back to work soon. All right?"
Michael glanced at my face, and slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mia, I'm so sorry."
"Michael." Get on with the point, Michael. This is so hard for me, too. To sit here and watch the world pass both of us by.
His voice had diminished into a complete, and seemingly frightened, whisper and the papers he held out shook in his hand. "The fact is, you're going out with someone who's hiding from the law, Mia. Look. Look at these files. Conor Joseph Minge. That's him, right there, isn't he? He's made some illegal stock trades in the past few years, in an attempt to double, triple, and quadruple his savings. He's tricked people, ran off with their money. He's done all of these, these things, and now he's wanted in court. And you know what? That's not even his real name. Conor Minge is some makeshift name he's made up for himself. Conor Minge doesn't really exist, Mia. Don't you see how wrong all of this is–"
"Shut up!" I was stunned as his words began registering themselves in my brain. He had caught me completely off-guard, fired an accusation at me that seemed so unreal, and everything went spinning. He was not here to demand an answer to the return of his necklace; no, he seemed to be here to further strain our already tense relationship. "Where the crap do you get the ideas for this? You bring me out of work, claiming something serious is going on, and this is what you have to say?! Is it that satisfying for you to ruin the few things that I have going for me? You know, you don't have to lie about things like this!" I was nearly screaming, tears mercilessly streaming down my face, my heart pounding so loud that I could hear it ringing in my ears.
He stupidly stared back at me, eyes wide open, shaking his head slowly.
"If you want me back, this isn't the way to do it!" I felt my hands wipe away at my smeared mascara, heard my voice crack. He knew I was vulnerable like this, he knew what would make me crumble. Yesterday's girl-to-girl talk with Renee flew out the window, and I knew I couldn't have possibly meant any of it. "You disgusting jerk."
The accusation was a crushing blow to Michael, and he reared back, almost as if I had physically slapped him. "Mia. Isn't it possible that I might not be making any of this up? Think about it. I never knew the name of your… your boyfriend until yesterday. You never told me. I saw… I saw you two at The Coffee Hut last night. Both of you. I heard you talking to each other. That was the first time I ever really saw your… with him. I don't see how – I didn't – I didn't make any of this up, goddammit! I already told you that. I'm not trying to hurt you, Mia, I'm trying to prevent you from getting hurt. Don't you understand?!"
"Michael! I don't believe you, I can't believe you anymore! You've lied to me before, so how on earth do you expect me to trust your word now? I've been trying so hard, Michael, to make things less awkward. I really have. But this–"
"You haven't tried at all. You've let the past get to your head too much. You know it."
"You're wrong, Michael, and you never have been more wrong in your life." I was unaware of how red my cheeks were turning, or how obviously my nostrils were flaring.
He looked down at me, almost ready to laugh out in complete disbelief, but simply turned on his heel and headed back into the looming investigation building behind us. Back to work. Back to the way things were before this crisp morning. "You know I'll be here for you, if you ever feel you need me again," he said out loud before walking inside. I watched his retreating figure as it slowly disappeared, leaving all sorts of countless obstacles to stand between us once more. Leaving me to ponder the many accusations he had made about Conor.
Leaving me to wonder if I had said and thought all the wrong things just minutes before.
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You're going out with someone who's hiding from the law.
No, that couldn't be right. It made no sense, no sense at all. Conor, hiding from the law? Sweet and innocent Conor, once a cashier at The Coffee Hut, Conor with the bluest eyes? Conor, who had stepped into my life, just as Michael had left it, for what seemed like a lifetime? Him, doing illegal things, hiding from the cops with some illegal name? And never telling me about it, hiding a secret like that for two years? No, no, no. It was just a sick form of revenge, coming from Michael, it had to be…
"Miss Thermopolis? Miss Thermopolis!"
I looked up and found one of my newer coworkers beside me, impatiently holding a piece of paper in her hand, and looking slightly irritated.
"Sorry. Yes?"
She looked down at the scrap of yellow paper. "Someone left you a message while you were out this morning, and he asked that you called as soon as you got back to the office. Here." She handed me the slip of paper and I immediately recognized Conor's number scrawled on it.
"Thank you," I muttered, my face uncontrollably turning bright pink, but she stalked off without a word.
I bit my lip, playing with the paper, unsure of whether I could face Conor in this state. The claims that Michael had made were not light (Light?! He had made Conor sound like a ruthless criminal, for gosh sakes!) and they kept nagging at the back of my mind, regardless of how hard I tried to defend Conor. It was one huge mental debate against myself, and I found myself losing, found myself at a horrid disadvantage, no matter what. Conor could never be such a bad person, I argued, but… but Michael would never waste his time to cook up some screwed-up scheme like this, I countered. Right? Right… My head spun dangerously. Had I really made the right decision by choosing to attempt to detach myself from Michael, now that he had finally reentered my life?
I thought back to the morning's events and saw Michael, himself, his eyes filled with complete loss and disbelief, the pain in his face visible in the morning light, watching helplessly as I called him a liar. A loud rush of air roared in my ears as the silently crisp, but deafening, image grew clearer in my mind. I shut my eyes and found myself angrily crumpling up the paper with Conor's number written on it, and surprised even myself as I tossed it into the garbage can, without giving it a second thought.
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[A/N: Mia, Mia, Mia! I know, she was being somewhat stupidly stubborn in the middle of the chapter, but she's slowly redeeming herself (wink) by making her own rational decisions, right?]