"Plenty of practice," the bartender replies and reluctantly walks him out of the bar at Michael's insistence.
Michael makes it to the Charger by himself. His hand slips as he tries to pry the car door open. He wipes his wet hand on his shirt, the causality of the day, and then manages to open the door.
He makes it to the end of the street before he realizes he's left his coat jacket on the back of his chair along with his cell phone. Shit, he thinks to himself as he pulls a u-turn.
Stumbling out of the Charger Michael goes in search of his missing possessions.
Shuffling back into the bar Michael answers the bartender's unspoken question, "I… um…" he puts his hand to head as a sharp pain shoots through it, "I… forgot my…" The bartender pushes him down into the nearest chair, "…phone." Michael finally finishes, managing to get the word out.
"Your phone is in your pocket," the bartender stares at Michael as if he's lost his mind. Michael looks confused as he slips his hand into his pocket and finds his cell phone there.
"Maybe I should call your lady friend for you," the bartender suggests not giving Michael an option as he grabs the cell phone out of Michael's limp fingers. The bartender looks at the last number dialed on the phone as he punches the number on the keypad on the phone behind the bar.
A ladies voice answers on the other end of line. Michael can make out Fiona's rant from where he sits. He smiles before his face slides into a stone mask as the bartender threatens Fiona, "M'am I'm not Michael. But if he's still someone you care about I suggest coming by and picking him up. If it weren't for Sam and you guys being regulars I would have called the cops by now," Michael lets out the breath he's been holding as he hears Fiona as she mutters fine, agreeing to pick him up.
As Fiona walks in with a huff, the bartender quickly passes Michael his jacket with a word of advice, "Here, best not to let her see you like this," he waves his hand in Michael's general direction.
With one hand the bartender helps Michael slip on his coat when Michael's his face clinches into a grimace as he struggles with the simple task.
Michael is able to put on a display of being okay while Fiona comes to a halt a few feet in front of Michel taking him in. He gives her a flash of teeth.
The bartender steps in between them as Fiona looks as if she could do some damage to Michael and tells her, "He's a bit disoriented."
"Yeah, well…" Fiona starts but is interrupted.
"Fiona, can you just take me home," Michael requests.
"Whatever," she huffs sliding her sunglasses back into place, already hurrying to her car.
"Thank you," he whispers to her back and slowly follows behind.
The car ride to the loft is tense, no words are spoken but the body language is screaming.
Fiona is easy to read to Michael as he watches her out of the corner of his eyes. He sees her knuckles are strained white from where she firmly grips the steering wheel. Her mouth is set in a firm line. But Michael can tell she wants to say something but he dares not to start back up what they have not yet truly begun to start.
With one arm wrapped protectively across his stomach Michael keeps quite and still, concentrating on clearing his head, he had had a few more beers while waiting for Fiona to arrive.
Fiona still doesn't know he's been stabbed with the sharp edge of a broken beer bottle and Michael plans to keep it that way. The wound is carefully hid underneath Michael's blazer. He keeps a hand firmly pressed to it, his arm cradling his chest. Fiona doesn't know he's bleeding and assumes he has a few bruised ribs.
The cold shoulder gets to him and Michael takes his chances and dares to break the silence. Leaning forward he makes a scene of looking out the windshield at the darkening sky, "Looks like it's going to rain."
She doesn't say a word as she brings the car to a screeching halt outside the gate to Michael's loft. Michael braces himself with one hand against the door as the car jerks to a stop.
Michael turns painfully in the seat so that he's staring at Fiona. The edges of his vision are a little blurred but he can still make out her beautiful face.
She takes a deep breath, face straight ahead away from his prying eyes, the eyes she loves with their blue intensity. Her eyes are really not seeing anything in particular as she speaks, "I need to tell you something Michael."
"You can tell me anything Fi," he whispers, emphasizing anything.
"This life…" Fiona starts, and Michael resists the urge to roll his eyes, but figuring it would hurt too much, he slowly closes his eyes and reopens them, and simply listens, waiting for her to continue, beginning to feel a cold gnawing sense of dread.
Fiona's throat tightens with emotion and she bites her lip before swallowing hard, "I think it's time for me to move on." She finally turns to look at him.
Out of all the things he is prepared to hear her say, that was not one of them. For one of those rare moments in his life Michael Westen struggles to formulate a response, the right words seem to escape him like a man running from gun fire.
However his body makes up his mind for him. He feels sick to his stomach and lunges for the door. Leaning out of the car he takes in the cooling air in quick shallow gasps. The sensation dimming, he forces himself to calm down, to breathe through his nose.
The first rain drops fall slowly to the ground and he's oddly mesmerized as he watches them make contact with the ground.
He's comes out of his short daydreaming session when the sudden slam of the driver's side door startles him.
Before he has time to register the fact that Fiona's hands are on his arm, he's yanked upright and out of the car.
For such a small women she sure is strong, which is one of the things that pleases Michael since you wouldn't expect it of her, making her full of surprises.
Michael stifles his groan of agony from his sudden change in position by clenching his teeth.
"Just get out," Fiona fusses. Michael is about to tell her that he's already out of her car thanks to her but she's already stomping back to her side of the car and getting in.
"Fiona! Wait!" He yells finally gaining control of his voice, but she pulls the car away hard causing the passenger door to slam shut before driving away leaving him alone, standing in the rain.
"Damn it," he mutters in frustration, wondering just what the hell just occurred.
He shoves his hand into his pocket, and pulls out his phone ready to call Fiona. He takes one look at the time on the screen and realizes the growing lateness of the hour, as if the growing darkness of the coming night wasn't enough.
Weighing his options, he opts for calling his mother to buy himself some time. Buying him some time to patch himself up and time to then go after Fiona and resolve whatever is going on with her.
"Hi, Mom it's me…" He greets his mother on the other end of the line.
"I was just about to take the meatloaf out of the oven. Are you on your way over?" Madeline questions her son.
"No, I'm sorry, I'm going to be a little late, well a lot late…" He replies.
"Michael!" Madeline protests.
"Something's come up. I'll call you later," he says hanging up the phone.
Madeline knows something is wrong, her boy just willingly offered to call her, something very out of character for her son. Oh, yes, something is definitely bothering him.
With no one around to hear him, Michael lets out small hisses of pain with each step as he carefully climbs the steps.
His right hand holds firm to the knife wound in his side as his left braces his body as he leans against the building.
Taking in too deep a breath his body locks up as pain flares across his chest. Cracked ribs burn as if set on fire, ignited with the breath he takes.
He flings out a hand to grasp the railing as he feels like he's about to pass out, light headed from the pain.
His fingers slip off the rain slicked railing and he can feel his body float for a few seconds before making contact with the steel steps.
His breath is knocked out of him as his body lands with a soft thud at the bottom of the stair case.
His body gives up the fight for consciousness as he struggles to breathe and his world quickly fades to black.