It had only been a little over a week, but MJ felt like she'd been on the road forever, with Los Angeles a distant memory. Sydney was already in the past, with its brisk weather, and they were leaving muggy Singapore, where MJ hadn't even had time to see anything other than the hotel, the arena, the airport, and the road that connected the three.

MJ was already in her (first class) seat. The plane was sitting on the tarmac waiting for Meredith, who was finishing up some shopping at the duty free shops. Meredith's friend Sammi had gone home the day before; it had been both better and worse for MJ that Meredith had company; better because Meredith had someone to keep her occupied and therefore there was less for MJ to do, worse because it gave Meredith an audience when she wanted to put on a show, with MJ, usually, as the entertainment.

For the most part, though, MJ found her job to be mind-numbingly boring. Meredith was pretty dull-witted, which had surprised MJ; she'd assumed, from listening to her music, that Meredith Renner was someone who had a lot going on in her heart, in her mind, in her life. It seemed, however, that the majority of Meredith's time was spent looking at social media and gossiping with her equally boring friends. MJ was happy to find that she had plenty of time to read, work on her own music, and draw. She made sure to keep her conversations and texts with her father happy and interesting. He didn't need to know how bored and lonely she was. After all, she was being paid pretty well, and for money she could be bored and lonely.

"Hey! Javelinopoulis!"

MJ looked up with a smile.

Heath was standing in the aisle, looking down at her expectantly.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I think you're sitting in the wrong seat," he said in a theatrical whisper.

MJ looked around, but no one else was listening.

She was sitting in the aisle seat, and next to her was Thatcher, Meredith's bass player. He was leaning comfortably into the corner between the window and the seat, sleeping already.

MJ looked again at her boarding pass, and at her seat number.

"No I'm not," she said, holding up her boarding pass. "See? 22b? I'm in the right--" she stopped talking, eyes going wide with shock, when Heath grabbed her cardboard boarding pass out of her hand, tore it into pieces, and proceeded to eat it.

He made a point of chewing vigorously, swallowing, then taking a huge swig of his water, draining half the bottle. He smiled maniacally at her, and said, "So, like I was saying, I'm fairly certain you're in the wrong seat, yeah?" He nodded at her for emphasis as he took the window seat on the opposite side and gestured to the seat next to him.

MJ just stared, still in shock, unable to move.

"Oh holy lord, MJ, will you move your arse before she gets here and I'm stuck sitting next to her for the entire seven hour flight!" Heath said, continuing to whisper as he scanned the doorway to the plane, collapsing into laughter at last as he gestured frantically at her. "Please," he entreated. "I don't want to be shitting paper for the next week for nothing, yeah?"

These words finally got MJ moving, and she quickly shifted across the aisle. She'd just gotten settled down when Meredith made her appearance at last. She came running up the walkway laughing, handing her duty free bags off to an attendant as she apologized.

"I'm here, I'm here," she gasped.

The crew quickly closed and locked the handle behind her as she walked up the aisle toward her seat, still apologizing to everyone.

She paused when she got to the empty seat.

"Um, MJ, I think you're in my seat," she said, still smiling. "Up, please."

"No, I don't think so," Heath spoke up before MJ could say anything. "I saw the checklist when they came round earlier, this is correct," he assured Meredith, his voice like sunshine. He nudged MJ, who nodded.

The plane was already in motion, and one of the flight attendants admonished Meredith to please take her seat.

Meredith made a face and sat down next to Thatcher, yanking her seat belt closed, cinching it tightly as she called for some champagne.

Heath leaned over so his lips were practically touching MJ's ear, so she could feel his warm breath. "Thank Christ it was one of those new, small ones, you know? Don't think I could've swallowed one of the old ones."

MJ turned her head so she was looking into his eyes, feeling like she was swimming, no, drowning in dark blue eyes. "What would you have done if I'd had one of those electronic boarding passes on my phone?" she asked, her face expressionless, her voice deadpan.

"I guess I would've just had to man up and eat your fucking phone," he responded without missing a beat, putting his hand on her arm for emphasis.

Then, suddenly, they were both laughing as the plane taxied down the runway.

💋💄💋💄💋💄💋

"MJ, are you wearing make-up?" Meredith asked.

MJ bit her lips together and felt herself beginning to sweat. Oh no, surely she'd remembered to take it off? Surely she hadn't pulled such a rookie move after all these years as forgetting to take her make-up off before she left her room?

MJ loved to put on make-up, to try new things. She was as much a girly girl as the next, but her father had never allowed make-up, ever, so she'd developed the habit of buying make-up, sneaking it into her room, putting it on, but always wiping it off before she left. It was a habit she'd never gotten out of, even when she'd gone away to college at UCLA; in fact, it had gotten to the point where she felt it would be dangerous somehow if she wore it where other people could see her. She could almost hear the jeers, the laughter. She was sure people would make fun of her.

But the pleasure of buying a beautiful new lipstick, smooth and new in the tube, that feeling of opening up a shiny new package of powder, that was a high in and of itself, and one that MJ treasured.

Now, as the plane leveled off and the flight attendants got busy pouring drinks and serving snacks, she desperately cast her mind back to the afternoon at the beautiful hotel. She'd spent the afternoon trying out some new blush and skin highlighters, along with a new mascara brush.  She remembered that, as she'd begun to wipe everything off, she'd gotten the call to head to the airport.

Oh no.

Meredith was looking at her, amusement in her eyes.

"You are, aren't you?" she went on.

She leaned across the aisle to put a hand on MJ's shoulder. "What? It's okay, there's nothing wrong with it, MJ." She looked across MJ to make eye contact with Heath. "I mean, I don't really know why you'd bother, but whatever, if you like it, you should do whatever makes you feel better, you know?" She nodded.

MJ just stared at her.

"But if I could offer some advice?" Meredith continued, her brows drawn together as she squeezed MJ's shoulder. "You really should do something about your mustache first. I mean, you need to take care of that before you even think about make-up, you know?" She nodded. "Okay? You want me to recommend some things, honey?"

MJ could feel Heath tensing up next to her, getting ready to lean forward and blast Meredith with his words and defend her. His eyes were so dark with fury they were nearly black.

MJ shook her head at him, eyes narrowed, as she squeezed his forearm with her hand, hoping he would get the message.

It's okay, please don't say anything.

Heath widened his eyes at her, jutting his chin out, nodding his head.

Let me speak, let me defend you.

She squeezed his arm again, biting her lips together, with another slight head shake.

No, please. Please.

MJ turned to Meredith, while keeping her grip on Heath's arm, where Meredith couldn't see it.

"You're right, I suppose. Sometimes I put make-up on, just for fun, but not that often. Like you say, why bother, right? And yeah, I really should do something about this mustache, but again, most of the time, I just don't think about it, you know?" She smiled at Meredith.

"If I decide to take care of it, I'll for sure ask you first," she said.

After a couple of minutes, MJ rose as if she were going to the bathroom. She waited outside the doors, which weren't visible from where they sat, and Heath followed her there, like she knew he would.

"MJ, why, why didn't you let me put that cunty cow in her place?" he asked in an agonized voice.

"I've never heard 'cunty' used as an adjective before," MJ said with a laugh.

"Stop changing the subject," Heath responded, his face like a thundercloud.

MJ took a deep breath.

"Look," she said, putting a hand on his arm again. "I appreciate the sentiment, and the gallantry and all that, I really do, but I don't need you to fight my battles for me, and I don't need Meredith to have any reasons to hate me or resent me."

She looked closely into Heath's eyes.

"Can you try to understand that? Please?

"If I'd let you intercede for me and tear her head off, the result would've been that she'd hate me, probably for the rest of the tour," MJ tried to explain. "She might even have fired me on the spot. And I have one of those whaddaya call 'ems in my employment contract, a 'completion clause,' where I only get half the money if I get fired before the last day of the job."

Heath stared at MJ as this information sank in.

"The way I did it, though, I turned her insult into a legitimate offer of help, there was no fight, and everything was defused, see?" she smiled.

"But, MJ, you must know how insulting her words were, how much she meant to hurt you," Heath said, his voice soft with sympathy. He reached out and smoothed her hair, making her tummy flutter a little bit.

"I do know," she reassured him. "But she doesn't know I know, right?"

"Listen to yourself," he said. "You're twisting everything into knots, just to keep everything civil. She doesn't deserve that level of civility, MJ, she doesn't," he concluded, shaking his head.

"No, she doesn't," MJ agreed. "But I do, don't I?

"I took her sword and turned it into a piece of limp, cooked spaghetti, get it?" She leaned forward. "I've been doing it all my life, I'm used to it," she assured him.

Heath took a deep breath. "I hope that's not true, MJ," he responded. "I mean, that would really, really suck."

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "Okay, go back, before she gets suspicious, okay?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I have to use the facilities," MJ said, gesturing to the bathroom.

"Oh." Heath smiled back at MJ. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah?" She looked at Heath expectantly.

"You definitely haven't got a mustache, Javelinopoulis. You have a beautiful mouth."

MJ turned and entered the bathroom without saying another word, and while she was in the lavatory, she carefully wiped off all the make-up while looking at herself in the tiny mirror.