"We're what?"

"Dear god, MJ, warn a person before you do that," Heath implored, shaking his head. "Only dogs should be able to hear your voice when it goes all high and weird like that." He put an arm around her. "We're stopping to refuel, if that's what you're worried about. In Caracas. That's in Venezuela."

"I know that's in Venezuela," MJ retorted, doing a fair imitation of Heath's accent. They were sitting on his bed, finishing their packing so they could leave first thing in the morning. "Why didn't you tell me we'd be traveling in one of those teeny, tiny planes?"

They were passing a bottle of wine between them as they packed, which made the packing more fun, but it also made their conversation more maudlin and ridiculously emotional as the evening went on.

Heath shrugged. "Dunno," he answered. "I usually travel by private plane, and the truth is that, by the time I pay for four first class tickets, it's very nearly the same, anyway. It didn't even cross my mind, to be honest. I'm sorry," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he did so. "I am, please forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you," MJ said, shaking her head. "There's nothing to forgive. It's just kind of scary. I know I'm being dumb."

"No, you're not dumb, you're not," Heath insisted. "It's a legitimate fear, I know that." He shook his head, and was surprised at how much the room seemed to wobble.

MJ smiled. "For the record? I love the way you say 'legitimate,' I really do." She sighed. "I'll be fine, I always am. Let's finish this."

She sighed as they lined their bags up in the hallway and climbed into bed.

"What was that sigh for? Hm?" Heath asked as they put the light out.

"I worry sometimes," MJ admitted in the dark.

Heath waited, finally giving her a little shake.

"That you're going to realize that I'm not all that great," she eventually continued. "That a girl with a nice rack isn't much, that on the cons side of the column you have that I'm fat, I'm not confident, I'm sweaty--"

She felt Heath's fingers on her mouth, and she stopped talking. "How much wine have you had, anyway?" he asked rhetorically.

"First, you have an outstanding rack, MJ," he said, and MJ could hear that he was smiling. "And, you have the most amazing and beautiful heart, such a capacity to give and love. You're so honest and kind. You're incredibly talented, you have one of the most incredible voices I've ever heard, and you have to be one of the best songwriters of our generation, though no one knows it yet. You have integrity, and honor, which you might not think count for much, but believe me, after the years I've spent in this business, mean so much to me, so much. You're scary smart, and I feel like I could talk to you all day, every day, for the rest of my life, and not even scratch the surface of what makes you who you are. You're the most fascinating person I've ever met, full stop."

He leaned close and kissed her temple, just above her eyebrow. She could smell the wine on his warm breath.

"I love you, darling, dearest MJ, I can't say it any plainer than that," he concluded, his voice thick.

MJ nestled closer, putting her arms around him, inserting her knee between his legs. "Don't think I don't love hearing those things, mmkay? Because I do, I really do." She was silent for a moment. "Do you know the phrase 'that's just the icing on the cake'?"

Heath thought for a moment. "Yeah, I think so? It means something that makes a situation more of what it is, yeah? A good situation better, or a bad situation worse?"

"Exactly. So you're saying that I'm not anything stupid or sugary, like the superficial icing, if I could sort of pull the idiom apart a little. People like Meredith and her friends are like the icky, gooey, icing, that melts and goes bad and slides all over the place? You're saying I'm the important, substantive stuff, the solid, good stuff that's underneath, that things are made of, that things can be built on, not the fluffy, insubstantial, unnecessary frosting, right? I'm all cake, right? I'm the cake?"

Heath hugged her. "Yes! Yeah, MJ, exactly!" His voice was soft, but MJ could hear the joy.

"So here's me, being all pink and shallow, okay?" She sighed again. "I'm sorry." She pulled away from Heath a little bit. "I'm not saying I'm not super happy and grateful to be the cake, because I really am, I really, really am, and of course I'd rather be the cake than the icing. But the truth is that, in my heart of hearts, sometimes, I want to be both." She let out a nervous, quavery breath, as if she couldn't believe she'd said the words.

"I hope you don't think less of me for saying that, Heath, but it's true. I'm glad to be the cake, but I want to be the fluffy, sugary, icing sometimes, too!"

Heath was a bit shocked to hear that MJ was crying.

"I want to be showered with flower petals and diamonds or whatever, you know? I want someone to bring me chocolates, which no one will ever do, because who'd ever bring a moose like me chocolates? It would be like saying, 'Here, have a heart attack,' right? I want to get chilly and have my boyfriend hand me his jacket to slip around my shoulders, and have it fucking fit, or have him lend me his hoodie in a restaurant, so I can smell his cologne when I put it on. That could never happen to me, you know? I could never get it over my fucking boobs!" MJ hated the self-pity she heard in her voice, and she couldn't even remember how they'd gotten on this topic, but now that they were here, she felt powerless to stop.

"I want to have a door opened and be swept up and carried to a bed covered in flower petals. But who other than the Incredible Hulk could ever carry me? Maybe someone could get a friend to make a cradle by joining hands and I could sit-sit- sit- in-in-in-the-middle--oh god, I'm sorry--"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, MJ, shh, poor darling," Heath was horrified at how the conversation had degenerated. "Please don't cry, it breaks my heart."

"I'm being such a fucking idiot," she sobbed. "You're like, the most popular guy on the planet, the best looking, the most sought after, except for maybe Pete Santangelo, and you just told me you fucking love me, and I'm lying here in your arms blubbering like a fucking idiot because I'm not fucking icing or whatever, which is fucking ridiculous--"

"MJ, I think we're both more than a little pissed, you know?" Heath said, peering at her face in the near complete darkness.

"I guess so," MJ agreed tearfully.

"Heath?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm gonna barf, maybe."

"What?"

"I said maybe, you don't have to yell at me."

"Should you, you know, go to the toilet?"

MJ shook her head. "I don't like to barf."

Heath thought about this. "What does that mean, then?"

"That I don't like to."

"Oh. Okay." He rubbed her back, hoping that this action would help.

"That feels nice."

Heath remained very tense, ready to jump out of bed and haul MJ to the bathroom at a moment's notice should the need arise. Just when he was getting ready to ask if she was feeling better, MJ let out a gentle, purring, adorable snore.

Heath slowly let himself relax, and pulled her closer, burying his nose in the soft curls on the crown of her head and pressing a kiss there.

Poor little button.

She snuggled into him, and his chest swelled with emotion.

Heath realized that, starting with Freya Thompson in fifth grade, who was his first official "girlfriend," he couldn't remember ever feeling this way about a girl, ever. He had completely lost his head, his heart, and his soul to the girl who was sleeping (and snoring) in his arms.

As he pondered this, Heath, too, fell asleep.

🛩🎂🛩🎂🛩🎂🛩🎂🛩🎂🛩

"How you feeling, tiger?" Heath asked MJ with a smile as they settled back in the car for the drive to the airport.

MJ just blinked at him.

"Why didn't you wake me up when you got up?" she finally asked.

"I thought you could use the sleep, to be honest," he replied. "I made sure your alarm was set on your phone, didn't I? And I left you some Paracetamol, too, which I thought was really nice of me." Heath leaned in and pressed a kiss to MJ's forehead.

"Aww, MJ, have you got a headache?" Poppy asked with sympathy. She turned to Archie without waiting for a reply. "You hear, idiot? MJ's got a headache, so keep your voice down."

"As of right now, you're the only one screeching like a harpy," Archie pointed out.

His remark got him a poke to his ribs from his sister.

"MJ got a bit pissed last night whilst we were packing," Heath informed the other occupants of the car.

"You did, too," MJ complained. "Why are you so chipper?"

"Some of us can just hold our liquor better, I guess," Heath answered, smiling as he looked out the window.

MJ just gave him a look.

She was feeling better by the time they arrived at the airport, and even accepted a croissant and a cup of really good coffee from the flight attendant as they got ready for take off.

"Did we talk about the flight last night?" she asked Heath in a quiet voice as they buckled their seat belts.

Across the aisle, Archie and Poppy were doing the same thing.

"What, don't you remember?" Heath asked.

MJ shook her head. "I feel like we talked about the plane, and then I feel like we talked about cake? But that would just be weird, right?" she asked Heath.

Heath just laughed, and pulled her head down to rest on his shoulder.

"Just relax, and maybe even dribble a bit on my hoodie," he told her.

At his words she raised her head. "Hoodie? That sounds familiar, too," she said.

Heath just shook his head.