His body gives up the fight for consciousness as he struggles to breathe and his world quickly fades to black.
Feeling safe with the knowledge of the day's events Michael lets himself be pulled under into the darkness of unconsciousness and he's out in seconds.
Madeline stands smoking on the balcony, wrapped in Michael's white terry cloth robe that she had found and is content to be dry and warm finally. Sam keeps her company, being a silent companion.
While Michael had slept an uneasy sleep, his mother and Sam had enjoyed the Thai takeout she had brought while Fiona had kept watch over him, eating yoghurt for dinner.
The partially empty Thai take out boxes are strewn across the makeshift counter where they had eaten in silence earlier. What events transpired today were off topic, that of which Fiona had made deadly clear with a steely face. Madeline and Sam could wait until the morning and maybe then Michael could join in the conversation that was surely going to take place.
The hours pass quickly.
In the still of the night, Michael's silent cries go unheard because everyone has fallen asleep, worn out from the day's events. Sam is dozing in Michael's favorite green chair beside the bed. Madeline is asleep on the couch up stairs. And Fiona sits on the steps just outside the door staring up at the night sky lazily playing with her hair as her thoughts keep her occupied.
A sense of unease moves through her body and she stands up and quietly walks back in. Sam's snoring seems abnormally loud in the quiet loft. She notices Michael's fingers clenching and unclenching the sheets.
The mattress creaks as she sits down and Sam is awakened with a startle. Fiona whispers, "It's okay, I've got it this time," and Sam tosses in his chair and falls back to sleep instantly.
Fiona watches as Michael simultaneously sweats and shivers under the covers. His face sports a grimace with his mouth open as she watches his silent, breathless cry.
She slides closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. His movements slow to a slight tremble.
"Michael," she gently whispers. She slips her hand to his cheek and leans closer and whispers his name again inches from his face, "Michael".
His eyes roll backwards in his head before his eyelids part and his glazed over eyes focus, latching onto Fiona's gaze.
"Hey," she whispers before grabbing a pill bottle off the makeshift table beside the bed, shaking out two and feeding them to him before handing him a water bottle and telling him to, "sip," as he greedily chokes down the water.
He swallows the pills and water down but his raw feeling throat clinches and he coughs. His eyes snap close and his face scrunches up in pain.
Fiona acts quickly and grabs the extra pillow beside him and places it firmly against his chest and takes his arms and makes him wrap them around it, effectively helping him splint his bruised and broken ribs.
She rolls him a little roughly onto his right side and tucks the blankets around him.
"Get some rest. Go back to sleep Michael." She urges him.
It takes several minutes but he eventually closes his eyes and relaxes into sleep as the meds kick in.
Oh, what the hell, Fiona thinks and carefully eases under the covers on the unoccupied side of the bed, her back towards Michael. She curls into a ball and lays there thinking, wondering how she ever will be able to tell Michael what he's done to her.
The dawn breaks and the warm Miami sunshine streams into the loft. The gentle breeze blows the palms against the building making a light rattling noise causing the guy in the bed to stir.
Michael stiff and sore, sits up slowly and looks around, the empty Thai boxes along with several empty yoghurt cups and empty beer bottles are scattered across the kitchen area. He glances around at the rest of the place and notices that it's empty, leaving him alone with Fiona.
"Sam and your mother have gone to retrieve your car," Fiona informs him as she continues to sit cross-legged in his favorite green chair taking apart a gun.
Michael eyes the weapon in her hands wearily and instinctively reaches under his pillow where his should have been.
Not taking her eyes off the cold metal in her hands, she casually tells him, "Finders keepers," before grinning at him.
His eyes narrow. "Fiona," he warns.
"Michael." She taunts in a sing-song voice.
The last piece clicks into place and Fiona lowers the gun, leveling it at Michael's lower body before giving him a dry smile, as she flips the safety on and shoves it back under his pillow.
"You should clean that more often. You never know when you're going to need it." She says cryptically before walking off to the tiny bathroom to wash her hands.
"You're still here." He says smiling to himself. "Thanks for staying Fi," Michael whispers knowing she can't hear him but wanting to say it nonetheless.
Madeline pulls her car up beside the Charger at Carlito's and gasps. "Oh, Sam."
"What?" He questions, leaning over her to get a better look at what she's staring at.
"Look." She gestures at the blood staining the white leather seats in Michael's car. There's blood on the head rest and the seat, blood smeared on the door handle and the steering wheel.
"Jesus, Mikey," Sam whispers under his breath.