A/N: Written for SSGTMom who suggested a scenario where Fiona's family come to Miami to confront Michael. So here we go. It's only a short part today because I have to go to work soon. Happy Holidays – I have learned that it's the politically correct term to use.
Family Ties
"What happened to your face," Sam asked before taking a sip from the beer bottle in his hand.
"I ran into a wall," Michael replied curtly while closing the door behind him. He walked over to the table in his mother's living room and took a seat on one of the wooden chairs.
"That must have been one hell of a wall," Sam joked and helped himself to a yoghurt from Maddie's refrigerator. Grabbing a second bottle from the six-pack he had brought over earlier Sam walked over to where Michael sat and took a seat beside him.
Michael took the offered drink from Sam's hand, opened it and drowned half of it in one gulp. The beer ran down his throat, leaving a trail of relief and the frail hope to wash away some of his guilt and hurt.
"So, what happened, Mike?" Sam inquired further, insisting on learning the truth. They had not kept secrets from each other - but that was before Fiona, Sam admitted in defeat. Ever since she had turned herself in, Michael had blocked off any form of communication – emotional that was, living in apathy, Sam mused, enabled Michael not to lose faith.
"Told you, I ran into a wall."
Michael sat there in silence, merely uttering words of unimportance and occasionally taking a sip from his beer.
"What kind of wall was that?"
Sam refused to let go, to enable Michael to shut him out. They had been friends for a long time, even before Fiona had entered the picture, and Sam was certainly not going to surrender to a battle that they might have lost because Sam knew the war was far from being over. I just could not be, Sam admitted silently, so they had to combine forces and look for a way out; for Fiona and mostly for themselves.
"Irish," Michael admitted before drowning the last of his beer. He got up and walked over to his mother's liquor cabinet to retrieve a bottle of Scotch he had bought for Benny – Fiona had insisted they bring something to the shared dinner. He picked up two glasses from the sink and walked back to where Sam sat.
Sam remained quiet, watching Michael pour two glasses of Scotch. Michael brought the glass close to his mouth and stopped himself just shortly before the glass would have touched his lips.
He clinked his glass to Sam's and said, "To family."
He drowned the liquor in one go, put the glass back on the table and poured himself another drink.
Sam sighed audibly.
A couple of hours earlier
If Michael had not been distracted by talking to Pearce on the phone, he would have seen it coming, he supposed. But unlucky as he was – had been, he only realized that something had gone terribly wrong when his face slammed into brick wall.
Someone held him tightly against the wall with one hand on the back of his neck and his body pressed firmly against his own. He could not see who his opponent was, but the smell of whiskey filled his nostrils, leaving his restless mind with nothing but the acknowledgement that this was not going to end well for him.
Michael felt the breath of his opponent on the side of his face, tickling his skin, and when the man spoke in his distinctive Irish accent, chills ran down Michael's back and his heart started beating rapidly in his chest.
"Ya promisd ta keep ha safe, yank!"
He heard the words, loud and clearly playing in his mind like a broken record on repeat; over and over again, doing nothing to ease his guilt.
Sean pressed him more firmly against the wall, coming closer – if that was even possible, Michael thought, and putting more pressure on his already swollen eye. Michael tasted a hint of iron on his lips, a sure indicator that his lip had cracked at the impact of hitting the wall.
"I trusted ya," Sean hissed with so much anger it seemed to Michael like the anger was almost a third party in this game of blaming.
It was becoming harder for Michael to breathe the more he was pressed into the wall as well as his apparently broken nose which was swelling quickly. He tried to breathe evenly, attempting not to admit defeat – to Sean, to himself, to this situation in general.
When Sean turned him around, Michael bent over and coughed severely many times. His need for oxygen had wrestled his determination to the ground.
"Ay assurd ma motha who was worrid sick that Fiona was safe hee, safe with ya."
Michael remained silent for several minutes, knowing well that there were not many words he could say which held the power to portray his feelings – his own inability, his guilt and regret. So when he spoke, he did so like soldier would, never losing control over a situation no matter how hopeless it might look.
"It's not over, Sean," He said looking at Sean, holding his intense, angry gaze, "I'm not giving up. I'll get her out."
To be continued.