So this is a little ditty that came to my head while I was at practice around a month and a half or so back. I was discussing the "Brad the alcoholic bodyguard" cover ID with my roommate and speculated what it would be like if Michael actually got drunk ... and this is what my head played out. As far as the accents and drawls used, I described them just as I did when I first saw all the episodes, so if you disagree with how I'm describing them, I'm sorry. It's just the impression I got. This is a stand-alone piece that you can land in between any episodes of seasons 1, 2, and 3. Jesse hasn't come along yet.
Big big BIG thanks and a shout out to my beta, Briar Elwood. She gave this a good look-over and helped me work out a lot of different things, including suggesting that I add the little part at the end where Michael figures out why he was drunk in the first place. If you're reading my piece, then I highly suggest you go read her stuff. It'll blow you away. I recommend the Monsters, Demons, and the Devil Herself series, and Three. When you're done reading here, go read there. Thanks and enjoy!
~~*Helluo Librorum
"I need another one, Sam," Michael said, gazing into his empty glass with a slight frown on his face. All there was left was ice: ice alone wasn't going to cut it. He needed alcohol to go with his ice. Sam had all the bottles of alcohol with him. Therefore, Sam had to give him more alcohol.
"Comin' right up, Mikey," Sam said as he scooped Michael's glass out of his hand and plopped it on the table in front of him. Michael kept his eyes on his glass and the frown on his face while Sam made him another drink.
"Ooh, make me one, too!" Maddie called out as she lit another cigarette. She threw down her lighter, then pushed her empty glass across the table as well. "I ran out a long time ago."
"Then why didn't you ask for another one when you finished?" Fiona inquired, leaning forward in her seat and regarding Madeline with wide eyes and a smirk. Maddie took a drag and leaned forward as well until she found herself face-to-face with Fiona.
"And why would that concern you?" Maddie countered.
"Because, I think it's interesting that you want another drink now when you could have asked for one then," Fiona shot back.
"Well maybe I wasn't thirsty then!"
"Maybe you were lying!"
"Maybe I'm telling the truth!"
Silence ensued for a few moments, causing both Michael and Sam to look up at Fiona and Madeline as they sat locked in a staring match. Then, without warning, both women burst into laughter. Sam chuckled as he pushed Michael's glass back towards him before starting on refilling Maddie's. Michael snatched up his drink with a smirk and took a long sip.
"You're welcome, Mike," Sam sing-songed as Michael sighed in satisfaction. Immediately, the ex-spy raised his glass in a toast-like gesture towards the former Navy SEAL.
"Thank yooouu, Sammy!" he slurred, then proceeded to take another drink. He was vaguely aware that his mother and Fiona had started up a conversation on God-knows-what, but as he watched the ice and alcohol swirl around in his cup, he came to a more important realization.
Michael Westen was drunk.
How, exactly, did that happen? Michael Westen didn't get drunk. Hell ... Michael Westen didn't even really drink. That was Sam's job. And yet here he sat, at his mother's dining room table, and he was most definitely ... drunk.
"How did all this happen, exactly?" he asked aloud, causing Maddie and Fiona to cease their talking and Sam to look up from mixing drinks.
"How did what happen, exactly?" Fiona replied.
Michael blinked once, staring at her. She didn't know?
"I'm ... like ... drunk," he announced, making an awkward gesture towards himself. "I'm Michael Westen."
Maddie and Fiona snorted with laughter, Fiona almost falling out of her chair and Maddie banging her fist on the table once or twice as they both tried to get ahold of themselves. Sam laughed as well as he shook his head with a grin.
"That would be a 'yes' to both statements there, Mikey. You are indeed Michael Westen, and you are indeed drunk," Sam confirmed.
"But why am I drunk?" Michael asked.
"That's what happens when you drink too much alcohol, honey," Maddie managed to squeeze through the remnants of her laughter.
"Well I know that," Michael said in exhasperation, throwing his hands above his head before bringing them slamming down onto the table. The collision of his fists to the wood sent his, Maddie's, and Fiona's glasses tumbling over, spilling various alcoholic concoctions onto the surface. All three people seated at the table immediately jumped to their feet to escape the cascade of flowing liquid as it dribbled over the edges. Maddie pressed against the window sill, grabbing her ash tray and cradling it close to her chest. Fiona took a few hurried steps towards the kitchen counter to her right and grabbed ahold of it to keep herself steady.
Michael tried to back-pedal his way away from the dripping wet table, but his chair was in the way. So, he tried to side-step it, but it was too late. He backed into the chair and stumbled off-balance, falling back into it and knocking it backwards. A few seconds later, the chair was tipped over, and Michael was sprawled on the floor over it, looking thoroughly confused.
Maddie and Fiona roared with laughter. Sam joined them this time, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath.
"Oh my God, Mikey ... you know who you look like right now?" Sam choked out as Michael tried to climb to his feet but failed horribly. "You look like Shep! That junkie cover ID from the kidnapping case we worked a while back!"
Michael stared at Sam suspiciously. "Is that how I ended up down here? You hit me again? Some friend you are."
"Oh, you just gave me a great idea for a game, Sam!" Fiona said with a grin. "We can play the 'Guess Who' game! Michael acts out one of his old cover IDs, and the first one to guess right gets to make the others drink!"
"That's not fair, I don't know Michael's cover IDs!" Maddie protested.
"She's got a point, Fi," Sam said. "And even we don't know all of his covers."
"We know enough about them that we could probably guess the case, though! And Maddie can be the score-keeper. Besides, Madeline, I think you'll get a kick out of this game!"
"A little help here?" Michael called from the ground as he tried to get up a second time, but only succeeded in shifting the chair he was lying on further away from the table. Fiona and Maddie stepped over to him and helped haul him to his feet. Michael steadied himself using his mother as an anchor, and Fiona retrieved the chair from the ground and set it back on its legs.
"What do ya say, Mike? You up for a game?" Sam asked as he brought a rag and a few more rounds of drinks to the table. He wiped up the pool of alcohol and tossed the rag into the sink, then took a seat himself.
"What the hell," Michael said with a shrug. "If it's going to keep me from drinking any more, fine by me. I'm already at a loss as to why I let myself get this drunk in the first place. Though you realize that every cover ID I put back on in this state is going to remind you of Brad the alcoholic bodyguard."
Fiona squealed in satisfaction and returned to her own seat as Maddie plopped down in hers, resettling her ash tray in the middle of the table. Sam snickered and shook his head.
"I don't know about that one, brother. You forget that Brad the alcoholic bodyguard gave up drinking when he got born-again by a late-night bible program?" he asked. Michael let his head fall backwards and groaned. He paused a second or two, then straightened up only to drape himself in the chair in a haphazard, relaxed pose.
"Well," he said in a slightly drunken, southern accent, "I reckon you know more about my cover IDs than I do, Sam ol' boy. Don't call no po-lice on me, ya hear?"
"Oh! I know this one!" Fiona exclaimed as she planted an elbow on the table and pointed a finger at Michael. "That guy from job with Virgil; the repo guy! We took that Jamaican guy's boat ..."
"Well, missy, you just scream out the answer when you git it. Don't be worried 'bout no twisted cops, now," Michael said with a smirk, running a hand through his hair.
"Homer! You're Homer!" Fiona shouted happily, then shot a smirk across the table at Sam. "Drink!" she demanded.
"Don't mind if I do," Sam replied as he chugged a few swallows from a bottle of beer.
Maddie chuckled a bit and took another puff from her cigarette. "Homer? Where'd you come up with that one?"
"Doesn't 'Homer' sound like a dedicated employee from a repossesion business?" Michael asked.
"Maybe, but you're not bald, fat, jaundiced, and generally a moron," Maddie replied.
"Wait," Sam said, eyeing Madeline suspiciously. "You mean to tell me you actually watch The Simpsons?"
"What do you think I do all day, Sam? Sit at the table, smoke, and otherwise do nothing?"
"Moving on," Michael interrupted, taking another sip from the drink in front of him and clearing his throat. He climbed to his feet carefully, then retrieved his mother's round, white sunglasses from the nearby side table. Sliding them on, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight to one leg.
The other three people in the room stifled the laughter as best they could, but the sight of a fully-grown man with bug-eyed sunglasses on, standing as could only be called 'with attitude,' was almost too much.
"So," he said, his voice smooth and and drawn out. "We've been sitting around here doing nothing but drinking for the past ..." He paused to pull his right hand out of his pocket, and made a big scene out of checking the watch on his wrist. "... Three hours, forty-nine minutes, and 20 seconds. I think that's a little counter-productive, don't you?"
"Johnny! Johnny the car thief!" Fiona yelled, causing a giant grin to spread across Michael's face. Sam rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his beer.
"The only good things that came out of that job were those Dolphins' tickets and getting to drive an Maserati around South Beach," Sam grumbled.
"Hey, I think playing a band of car thieves was kinda fun," Fiona argued.
"You don't call helping out Corey and Tanya a good thing?" Maddie asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well and that," he said as he opened another beer. "But that one's a given."
Michael snickered as he pulled off the sunglasses and returned them to the table, then crossed his arms over his chest. "A given?" Michael asked in a distinct Texan drawl. "Boy, you'd better acknowledge them two kids; they were the whole base of the operation!"
"Well excuse me, Mister Cullen," Sam said, raising his beer. "I'll be sure to remember them next time."
"That one was too easy," Fiona whined as she downed a few swallows of her drink. "You've only ever done one Texan-type ID."
"Cullen? I thought you didn't keep up with popular culture, Michael," Maddie said as she polished off both her cigarette and her drink.
Silence took over the room as Michael, Fiona, and Sam pondered Maddie's statement. A few seconds later, Sam was laughing so hard, he almost dropped his beer on the table.
"What?" Michael and Fi asked in unison.
"Cullen ... I can't believe ... I didn't realize ... that before!" Sam wheezed. Maddie joined in Sam's laughter, while Michael and Fi just observed in complete confusion.
Finally, Sam gathered himself enough to explain. "That tween girl book series about vampires and werewolves," he breathed. "Miss Reynolds was telling me about it. Moonlight, or something ... the main character's last name is Cullen. Every girl from the age of 8 to 14 is swooning over the guy."
Fiona exploded into laughter at this, and all the color seemed to drain away from Michael's face.
"Twilight! You mean Twilight!" Fiona gasped.
"Next cover ID!" Michael yelled, quickly picking up his drink and downing it in one go. After putting the glass down, he reached up and popped the collar of his button-down. He gave his shoulders a few shakes, then picked up his empty glass as a prop.
"Now that we've succesfully dropped this vampire pretty-boy talk, perhaps we can move on to the bigger and better things," came Michael's voice in the accent of a New Yorker. "I mean, I've got people I've gotta pay off, you know."
"Well, Milo honey, you gotta do what you gotta do," Fiona responded in-like, before turning on Sam with the same twang to her voice. "Which means Sammy here's gotta take another drink!"
"By all means, Brianna," Sam said as he took a few gulps from his beer, then reached for Michael's glass. Michael, however, jerked it away.
"Hey, that's my glass!" he exclaimed loudly. "And this is my house, on my block!"
"Michael!" Maddie said in a huff. "This is my house, not yours!"
"Oh yeah? Well maybe you should leave, because it's mine!" Michael responded, his face taking on a crazy expression.
"Michael West-" Maddie started to scold, but Sam cut her off.
"Crazy gringo!" Sam said. "Now you drink, Fiona."
Fi shot Sam a glare as she finished off her drink, and he responded by sliding her another one. Madeline, however, pushed for more from Michael.
"Now what job could you possibly do that would require you to to be a possessive crazy person?" she demanded.
"Long story short, some woman was bullying the shop owners of this neighborhood so she could buy up the real estate," Sam explained. "Mikey played this crazy guy to scare off the collectors and later infiltrate the upper ranks so he could take the organization apart from inside."
"Crazy? No, no, no. See, I don't do crazy," Michael said in a meek voice as he buttoned his shirt to the top. He climbed back into his chair and hunched over, looking around nervously as if he was expecting someone to jump out at him at any moment. Madeline almost snorted into her drink as she watched her son's acting. "Meth was crazy. That's why I got out of that business. Crazy doesn't ... yeah, crazy doesn't do well on my nerves."
"That has to be Jackson!" Fiona cried, giggling madly. "All you need is that inhaler!"
Michael straightened up quickly and plastered the most serene expression on his face that he could muster.
"Bless you, my dear. Your memory is a gift you use so well," he said softly as he folded his arms over the table.
"Hey Father Peter, you think you could use another drink?" Sam asked with a snicker. Michael smirked and slid his glass across the table as Sam finished yet another beer. Sam promptly refilled it and slid it back, and Michael took a long sip with a sigh before shooting another smirk at Sam.
"Hand me that bottle of coke, Sam," he said evilly. Sam raised an eyebrow, but passed the 3-liter bottle to the ex-spy anyways. Michael snatched it up, stood up, then turned and took a few steps into the living room.
"Michael, we're not done playing yet!" Fiona called after him, but Michael didn't answer. Sam watched Michael's back with a curious expression. Maddie looked from her son, to Fiona, to Sam, and back in confusion.
Finally, after a good minute or two, a low, scratchy, downright evil-sounding voice echoed through the dining room.
"Father Peter thanks you for that drink," Michael said, "and wants to return the favor."
At that, Michael turned on his heels. The bottle of coke was nestled against his stomach, with the neck pointing towards the other three people in the room, and his left hand was holding a mostly-untwisted cap. The bottle had gone from dark to light brown, and looked to explode at any minute. With an evil smile, Michael raised his right hand beside him and pressed his middle finger and thumb together hard.
"Oh no," Sam said as he slowly pushed away from the table. "Don't do it, Mike."
"Do what? What's going on?" Maddie asked, looking at Fiona and Sam for help. Fiona and Sam, however, were too concerned with Michael.
"Michael," Fiona warned, holding both hands out in front of her with her palms facing him. "This is a new shirt ..."
"I do what I want," Michael said through his evil smirk. Then, all at once, he snapped his fingers, and twisted open the bottle cap.
Coke sprayed all over the table, chairs, and the three yelling humans in the room as they scrambled to get away from the shower of carbonated beverage. Michael laughed as he shook the bottle empty before he was tackled by Fiona, who had flung herself at him in attempts of getting the makeshift weapon away from him. The two, both having questionable balance at the time in the first place, tumbled backwards into the living room, Michael landing square on his back with Fiona sprawled beside him, both laughing. Maddie and Sam were yelling curse words through their own laughter as they scrambled to check on their fallen comrades.
"Okay, I declare Fiona the winner, and I need a shower," Maddie said once they had finally calmed down. "Michael, Fiona, you're both staying here tonight because none of us are in any condition to drive. Sam, I assume you're going back to Miss Reynolds'?"
"That I am, Maddie," Sam replied.
"Good, then we're all accounted for. And Michael?"
"Yeah, Ma?" Michael called from the floor.
"You are cleaning my dining room in the morning, young man. Massive hangover or not."
At that, Maddie shot them all a smile, and disappeared into her room, wiping at her coke-soaked shirt the whole way.
"Well, that was fun, kids. We should do it more often," Sam announced as he squeezed out the tail of his shirt onto the already-wet table. "You're pretty fun when you loosen up, Mikey."
"It's all your fault that I'm drunk anyways," Michael grumbled. "Tomorrow morning's gonna be interesting. At least Brad the alcoholic bodyguard had a reason to get hammered."
"Call it what you want," Sam replied. "I'll see you all tomorrow."
Sam headed out the back door towards Miss Reynolds', leaving Michael and Fiona laying in the middle of the living room floor. They were quiet a few moments, both of them just staring at the ceiling above them before Fiona decided to speak.
"He's got a point, you know," she said. "That was fun, and you're pretty fun yourself when you let your guard down."
"It wasn't by choice," Michael shot back. "I still have to figure out how you all managed to get me drunk in the first place. And whose idea was it to play 'Guess Who'?"
"That would be mine, though you failed to put on my favorite cover ID."
Michael chuckled.
"Well now," he said quietly, the ring of an Irish accent escaping his lips as he snuck an arm under the Irish woman and pulled her close to him, "that particular cover ID is a special one. Use them too much, and they lose what makes them special. We can't have Michael McBride losing his charm, can we?"
"Now that," Fiona said as she draped an arm over his waist, "would be a tragedy. Michael McBride has such flair."
"I thought that was Johnny the car thief?" Michael said, keeping up with the accent. Fiona snickered.
"Johnny had flair, but Michael McBride had flair and a penchant for explosions."
"That's what made him your type of guy."
Fiona chuckled lightly. "My type of guy or not, I'm not sure Michael McBride would have subbed a coke shower for an explosion."
Now it was Michael's turn to chuckle. "Yes, well," he said, slipping back into his own native accent, "Michael Westen wasn't about to blow up his mother's house."
A light, devious laugh escaped Fiona's lips.
"Well, it would have made for one hell of a finale," she said with a grin.
-THE NEXT MORNING-
Maddie strolled into the kitchen, lighting a cigarette as she went. When she pulled the lighter away and looked up, she saw her oldest son sitting back in a chair at the table. A rag, bottle of all-purpose cleaner, a glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen sat in front of him, and an ice pack sat on his head, held there by his left hand as he massaged his temples with his right. Maddie smirked.
"Good morning, Michael," she said as she pulled out a chair next to him and sat down. "Sleep well?"
"Ungh," Michael replied. "What did you all do to me? I haven't had a hangover this bad in years."
"As I recall, honey, you were the one pouring more and more alcohol down your throat, not us. Where's Fiona?"
"Peer pressure. And she left about an hour ago."
Maddie chuckled and shook her head before taking a drag from her cigarette. "Well, thank you for cleaning my dining room like I asked. At least you remember that much from last night."
"Oh I remember most of last night, unfortunately," Michael shot back. "I've never been a black-out drunk, thank God. Which reminds me, Ma ... Why did we start drinking in the first place? I remember coming over here with Fi for dinner ..."
"And then Sam came over from Miss Reynolds' and ended up staying. You three started talking about the job you just wrapped up ... something about Sam having to out-drink a restaurant manager who was pinning a scam on a chef. If I remember correctly, Fiona made a comment about having good alcohol tolerance and it was all down-hill from there."
Michael shot a look at his mother.
"That's all it took for me to start pouring down drinks like it was the apocalypse? I have a hard time believing that," he said, picking up his glass of water and taking a drink.
Maddie snickered. Michael stared suspiciously.
"What are you leaving out, Ma?"
Maddie snuffed out the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table.
"Fiona said something about having good alcohol tolerance, followed by a statement that you drink so little, she and I could probably outdrink you."
Michael groaned and rolled his eyes.
"You three set me up," he accused.
"You should let loose a little more, Michael," Maddie said as she lit another cigarette. "I'd like to see what other pop-culture icons you use to base your cover IDs off of."
Just a little end-note: Michael's final cover ID is one of my favorites. If you haven't figured it out, it's Louis from season 3. ~~*HL