He sat on the sidewalk, too dizzy to stand up, too dizzy to lie down. All he knew was that with the pounding in his head, if he moved too far from this sitting position with his knees tucked up, his forehead resting on them and his hand cradling the back of his head, he could very well end up in a worse position.
A sharp spike of pain pierced his skull and as he sucked in a breath, crunching already pre-crunched ribs, his vision greyed out and he miraculously passed out in that position, as comfortable as a cat on a leash.
~!~
Sam did not like getting calls in the middle of the night. While he was sleeping. From Her.
So when his phone rang fifteen times in 10 minutes and Sam Axe had given up all hope of sleeping he picked up the phone.
And now he was here, sitting in his car on the sidewalk watching a furious glare from the living room window of the house he was parked in front of and staring pitifully at the huddle on the kerb. Mikey! Sam thought, What the hell are you doin' here?
He posed a mental question that was asked not five seconds later as he tried to rouse his friend from consciousness.
"Mikey, did you use your spy gear to find her? Did you go on a bender?" Sam used his best Stern Uncle voice. It wasn't working because sympathy filtered through.
Michael Westen groaned into his knees when he tried to shake his head. He didn't realise that his hand had glued itself to his head with a dodgy glue that crackled when his fingers moved.
"What country am I in?" he asked, finally.
Sam glared at his friend, annoyed. "What do you mean 'what country'? Mikey, you're on the sidewalk of Fiona's new house in Miami."
Despite the ache, Michael's head popped up. "Fi? Where is she?" he tried to look around but pain got the better of him and he, again, groaned into his knees.
As Michael groaned through his pain, a curious thought dawned on Sam. "Mikey… do you know how you ended up here?"
A soft "No" wound its way from the spy's knees.
"Ohh great." Sam immediately started examining his friend. Using the light from his phone made it a bit difficult, especially with the uncooperative patient, but he did discover something startling… Michael's hand was glued to the back of his head by blood."What on Earth did you get yourself into Mikey…" he whispered to himself. He then looked up at the living room window, which had just had a curtain shift close. Then open again. Then close once more before the porch light turned on.
Fiona Glennan, pretty pissed and mildly concerned, stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, lips in a pout. "How bad?" she called out.
"Bad enough that is takes two to move him".
The Irish woman rolled her eyes. "Fine".
While she disappeared inside to find shoes, Sam tried to move Michael. "C'mon mikey, we gotta get up now…" he half pleaded with friend.
The bad part was though, if Michael moved his head, his stomach might not stay down. "Can't Sam".
"Mikey. Come. On."
Sam started to pull Michael up.
"Sam – No!" Before Michael could protest anymore, he was standing, leaning on Sam. Who just got showered in bile. Or at least his shirt did. He grinned goofily at Sam. "Ssssorry"
"Jeez Mike, you couldn't hold it?"
By now Fiona had made her way outside to the out-of-sorts duo. She regarded Sam with a look of disgust and a look of disdain at Michael. "Enough dilly dallying boys, lets just get inside".
And with that She scooped the other side of Michael onto her should and they made an awkward trip inside.
~!~
Moving hadn't been fun for Michael. He was dizzy and felt sicker than before, but he didn't want to repeat his episode with Sam so he kept quiet. Once they reached inside, Sam gently eased Michael onto the sofa. Fiona just let go of the other side and Michael half fell down, landing on his already punished ribs.
Then he passed out.
This time Sam was the one glaring at Fiona.