"Guys, cool it, okay? It's not a big deal." Micky, standing next to them both as they faced each other in one of the most intense staring matches he'd ever seen, held a hand out toward each of them. Despite their differences, it was absolutely uncanny how much the two Michaels resembled each other in that moment, an expression of pure rage on their faces. That anger reflected in their posture, as well - both were slightly hunched, their shoulders tense, hands balled into fists.
"It's only been one day, and you two are— "
"SHUT UP, MICKY!" they both said at the same time. The unfortunate coincidence that they'd both said the same thing simultaneously only served to fuel their sudden disdain for one another. Afraid for his safety, Micky held his palms up to them, backing away. One Texan with an explosive temper was bad enough, but two? Anyone who got in the middle of that altercation was an idiot.
She was the first one to speak. "You listen t'me, Buster. I'm the original. I've been living in this house, looking like THIS…" She spat the word as she gestured to herself, "For the past month. You — "
"I'm what we're S'POSED to be," he said. "Ah'm correct. Ah'm right. This is right." He pointed at his chest, then at her. "You're— "
"Don't you DARE."
"Wrong."
She took a swing with the same fist that had broken Irving Class' nose, but he was ready for it, catching her wrist just before she managed to land a blow to his face. Squeaking out a pure, almost animal-like syllable of rage, she managed to wiggle free, grab his shoulders, and give him a shove. Given that she had all the power that he possessed, he lost his balance and fell. Now, she towered over him, and for a moment, he continued to wear that look of anger all over his features.
Until he looked up and got a gander at the indescribable expression she wore. It almost seemed like she lacked the ability to express how she'd passed from mere simmering anger and into a state of unpredictable fury. Before he could react, she scored a direct kick to his shin; he howled in pain, while at the same time thanking god that she hadn't been wearing any shoes.
Almost reflexively, he kicked out with his un-bruised leg and managed to trip her right to the floor. She landed with a thud and a disturbingly masculine grunt that reminded him too much of himself.
Himself.
She propped herself up on her elbows, hair a complete mess, and glared at him from behind a cage of her own bangs. "I hate you," she choked.
But she wasn't talking to him.
She was looking into his eyes and talking to herself.
"…Michael…" he said.
She shook her head and got back to her feet. Micky took a step toward her, but she held out her hand to stop him, retreating to the bay window where she sat on the step and put her head in her hands.