Left alone as Fiona goes to the bathroom to wash her hands, Michael kicks off the bed linens with his feet and lays completely stretched out on the bed staring up at the ceiling.
He yawns and gently stretches, feeling the pull of the stitches holding together the pieces of flesh sliced open by the disgruntled man's beer bottle, he grits his teeth together and continues to stretch more carefully.
He pulls at his cotton t-shirt feeling abnormally warm and realizes he's in desperate need of a shower. He tugs the shirt up one-handedly and flinches when he finally manages to yank it off.
Tossing the sweat dampened shirt onto the floor, he puffs out a sigh and forces himself to sit up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
He groans as his head begins throbbing. The change in altitude makes him light headed as his blood rushes away from his brain to his feet. He takes a few seconds to collect himself before the need to relieve himself makes him get to his feet and make his way across the loft to the toilet.
Fiona is putting her hair up in a neat ponytail when Michael comes to stand in front of her shirtless. She finishes, her hands coming to rest at her sides as she eyes his battered chest, the bruises seemingly more vivid in the morning light.
Realizing she's been staring, she quickly averts her eyes and side steps around him and out of the bathroom.
He quickly relieves himself and slips out of his pajama bottoms and underwear then takes a step out of the bathroom to retrieve a towel off his makeshift shelf.
"Are you going to take a shower?" Fiona startles him as she comes up behind him with medical tape and a zip-lock bag in her hands.
Snatching the towel off the rack he quickly covers himself. She walks closer to him and places the plastic zip-lock bag over the bandage on his chest and takes his hand in hers and directs it over the plastic.
"Here hold this," she tells him. He does as he's told and she takes her hand away so she can tear off the tape, and use it to seal the edges around the bag.
"There," she says softly, "Now you won't get my handiwork wet and infected," her eyes are gentle as she says it.
He opens his mouth to speak, to say thank you but she cuts him off, sounding irritated, the gentle Fi gone for the moment, "You never did tell me what happened?"
"Shattered beer bottle," he tells her simply, seeing no reason to lie to her and not wanting to fight.
"Couldn't handle yourself in a bar fight? You're getting soft Michael," Fiona taunts.
He scoffs, defending himself, "I had just gotten my head smashed into a bar and you left me. It would have been nice of you to stick around."
Fiona's eyes flash in anger at the subtitle accusation, "As I remember you didn't exactly want my help!"
She turns to leaves but he reaches out for her and his fingers graze her arm and it's just enough to make her stop but not enough to make her turn around.
"Fiona. I'm sorry," he genuinely tells her.
"Are your really? Because I don't think you are." She blurts out her emotions getting the better of her.
"Yes, I am," he places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her around. He lifts her chin up with one finger and gives her a tiny smile that reaches his eyes.
For a moment she's captivated by this Michael Westen who's got a hold on her more than he can imagine, but she snaps herself out of it and pushes herself away from him.
She murmurs softly, "Sam and your Mom will be back any minute now. I need to clean up the mess they made," and walks away.
The steam from the hot shower cloaks Michael in a comforting warm mist as the hot water gently pounds on his sore body, helping him to feel better.
He steps out of the shower clean and refreshed but feeling weaker and moving slower than when he first woke up.
Physically drained from the small exertion he's relaxed to the point of feeling like he can melt into the floor but the fear of leaving Fiona alone for too long drives him to pick up his pace.
He brushes past Fiona wearing an old comfortable pair of jeans, barefoot and shirtless as he goes in search of food.
Opening the fridge door he shivers as the cool air hits his warm skin, the hairs rising on his arms. He pulls out the last cup of yoghurt thankful they had left it for him this time.
Fiona had made quick work of the trash and was walking a bag full of it out to the dumpster.
Michael holds his breath as he waits for her to return and breathes easy when she walks back in shutting the loft door. He takes a spoonful of yoghurt into his mouth.
Someone has opened the doors to the balcony and Fiona ops for sitting out in the sunshine by herself.
He throws his head back in frustration and earns himself a jolt of pain. "Ow," he lets out softly before scraping the last bit of yoghurt out with his spoon then he tosses the cup in the trash and lays the spoon in the sink.
It's Fiona's turn to be startled but she doesn't jump like she wants to but merely turns her head to the sound as Michael clears his throat, leaning against the balcony door frame, really needing to sit down but not willing to show that weakness.
"Fiona, about yesterday. What you said-" he starts but she cuts him off again.
"I've been a little wired lately… restless," she confesses quickly.
He raises his eyebrow, giving her a look that clearly conveyed, 'You call that restless? I'd hate to see what upset would look like.'
"Just forget it. You won't understand…" she tells him, before instantly changing her mind.
"Well, I don't know. Maybe you would understand Michael. The restless part anyway. This has been a nightmare for you hasn't it? Being stuck in Miami. Not having missions taking you across the world where no one knows you. Not being able to leave at a moment's notice and fly where ever you wanted. Having to see your family. Spending time with me and Sam doing jobs that are beneath you." She spats jumping to her feet pacing the area between the kitchen and the staircase.
She had been trying to say goodbye for the past two days but she had been hoping she didn't' have to, that he would understand. But she was afraid, terrified even that he didn't love her enough to change his life for her and that hurtful thought makes her even angrier.
Fueled by this anger she continues to fuss at Michael, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation, angry tears streaming down her face.
He succeeds in ignoring her, blocking out her fuming until all the little things he has ever done to bother Fiona seem to collide.
She blows up before his eyes, her voice raising an octave as she screams in his face, "…Maybe it would be better for you if you did get your job back being a spy! It'll be better for everyone! And maybe then you'd be happy!"
Michael feels his temper rise and he shouts, "Where the hell is this coming from?"
Fiona glares at him as if he should already know before bursting out.
"I'm pregnant!" She screams, devastated, her fists clenched in rage and fear at her sides.
"I'm pregnant," she sobs, repeatedly, shaking her head in astonishment before locking eyes with Michael gauging his reaction, watching as his eyes widen in surprise or is it horror?
Stunned, it feels like someone's knocked the air out of his chest and it takes Michael a while to catch his breath and respond, "Is it mine?"
Fiona, furious that he thinks that there is even a mere possibility of it not being his, insinuating that she sleeps around, she turns as if to walk away before swiveling around and delivering a blow to his face.
The impact of the well placed kick snaps his head back and in the next split second Fiona takes his feet out from under him and he lands face down on the hard wood floor.
Crouched on the floor on all fours Michael slowly looks up at Fiona and makes sure she's watching as he spits out a mouthful of blood out onto the floor.
He stands up, takes a step and stumbles, feeling faint.
"Are you going to pass out?" Fiona asks annoyed, angrily wiping the tears out of her eyes.
"Well I just got a concussion!" He yells, voice rising with each word. He sways a little on his feet, still feeling a little woozy.
"And it's not every day I learn that I'm going to be a father," Michael calms down slightly. Somehow saying the words that he's going to be a father makes it more real to him.
"I'm going to be a father," he repeats the words again more softly.
"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," Fiona breaks his moment.
He locks eyes with her, "Fiona… what exactly are you planning on doing?" He pleads for clarification, carefully taking a step closer to her.
"I don't know okay!" She cries, upset, "Just give me some space," she tells him, stepping back out of his reach and she watches the hurt look appear upon his face, "Just give me some time," she whispers.
She moves faster than Michael thought possible as she flings the loft door open and glides down the steps without a single glance back.
What she has said slowly sinks in as he wipes away the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
He lets out a light painful laugh, almost a cry that turns into a coughing fit, brining tears to his eyes, before sobering up and burying his head in his hands, as he knows his life is about to change.
