"Whoa," Sam says startled, throwing his arms out, snatching Fiona as she practically runs into his arms at the bottom of the steps.
"Let go of me Sam!" She yells against her captive. Sam catches her wrists as she weakly attempts to pound against his chest.
"Easy there sister, what's got you so worked up?" Sam tries to smooth things over seeing the track of tears on her face.
When she doesn't answer him Sam tells her, "I've seen the luggage packed in your car. Planning on going somewhere?" Fiona ceases fighting as Sam continues to whisper into her ear, "I don't think it's the right time to be making any rash decisions," he chides her.
Fiona remains silent not denying anything before spiting the words out, "Stay out of this Sam, it's none of your business."
Sam releases her just as Madeline comes to stand behind her, blocking her path holding grocery bags in each hand, with a freshly lit cigarette threatening to fall from her lips as she speaks, "Fiona, I think it's time we talked."
"I'm done talking Madeline," Fiona says nearly choking on the words, pushing past them both.
She gets into her car, places the key in the ignition and turns it.
A dull click is heard but the car does not start. She tries it again but still nothing. She bangs her arms in anger on the steering wheel before figuring out what's going on.
"Sam!" She growls in warning as she stomps out of the car and back over to where Sam stands holding an important piece of her car.
She reaches to snatch the part out of his hand but he jerks it away, "Ah! Not until we all have a talk," he tells her and gestures for her to lead the way back up the stairs.
Sam watches as Madeline goes in first, followed by a sullen Fiona. He quickly retrieves the last of the bags out of the Charger and follows behind them.
Michael shuffles into the tiny loft bathroom, buries his face into the towel he left on the shower rod to dry and groans.
He rubs his hand across his face as he hears footsteps coming up the steps outside. He leans out of the bathroom and sees that it's his mother walking in carrying several grocery bags.
He pivots quickly back into the bathroom. He doesn't hear the loft door close so it must have been left open and this is confirmed when he hears a second set footsteps. His brow scrunches in confusion as he doesn't hear his named called or curious eyes looking for him but he slides down to sit at what he does hear.
"Were you really just going to up and leave without telling any of us?" Madeline asks Fiona as she throws the bags across the counter, looking as hurt as she sounded.
Sam is the last to step into the loft. He lays the last of the groceries on the counter and tosses the keys to the Charger down beside them. He pulls out a couple rolls of ace bandages, gauze, tape and a blue Gatorade. As Madeline questions Fiona, he looks around for Michael and goes to search the only place he could be hiding.
His mind goes on high alert as he sees blood on the floor. He carefully glances into the tiny bathroom and surveys the man sitting on the rim of the tub with his back leaning against the wall.
Michael opens his eyes and lets his head loll to the side giving Sam an unguarded view into the event that just occurred.
Seeing the fresh injuries, he quickly deduces that the damage done to Michael's face was by Fiona. Sam asks, "Do I need to call in a case of spouse abuse to my FBI buddies? I will Mikey if I have to," Sam half-way teases, half-way serious as he hands the blue Gatorade to Michael.
Unscrewing the top of the bottle, Michael gives him a bloody toothy grin and Sam grimaces in sympathy.
"I didn't think she could kick that high," Michael tells him, then takes a sip from the drink. The metallic taste of blood goes down easy with the sweet concoction. The cold drink feels good to his sore throat and he can feel it hit his nearly empty stomach, the one cup of yoghurt just not doing it for him.
"So what's the reason for the start of world war three?" Sam questions him and watches as Michael's face clouds over with a serious expression.
"I'm going to be a father Sam," Michael tells him with a small smile on his face but his eyes betray the fear that comes along with the admission.
"Whoa," Sam reels in shock.
"You and Fi?" Sam stutters. The look on his face almost comical before it becomes pensive.
"Yeah," Michael murmurs.
"Parents?" Sam asks still dumbfounded, finding it hard to believe what he's hearing.
"Yeah," Michael replies flatly.
The moment sinks in and Sam lets out a short laugh.
Michael gives him a questioning look.
"Can you imagine? A kid that's half yours and half Fiona's. It's like mixing fire and gasoline. It's a scary thought!" Sam says, his face lighting up. His grin is plastered on his face as he shakes his head, understanding the trouble Michael has gotten himself into.
"Sam," Michael warns, giving him a look before whispering to himself, "What are we going to do?"
Sam's joking smile fades and his brown eyes seem to betray him as easily as Michael's, they look deep with worry. He slowly pulls from his pocket the spark plugs to Fiona's car and flashes them at Michael before explaining.
"She's planning on leaving, for good. Her car's packed and she looks ready to skip town. Your mom's talking to her right now. But I guess you already know that," Sam finishes as he overhears Madeline's and Fiona's conversation.
"I'm not ready for this. I'm not sure I can do this." Fiona sits on Michael's bed across from his mother. She looks so miserable Madeline doesn't know what to say or do so she lights up another cigarette then carefully wraps her arm around Fiona.
"We have ourselves a situation here brother," Sam says and claps Michael on the back hard, earning himself a glare from the daddy-to-be.
"First, things first. We've got to get you well enough for battle." Sam peels back the tape and gauze. Michael hisses but let's Sam change the dressing, cover the stitches with ointment and tape down a fresh piece of gauze.
Michael sits patiently slowly drinking the Gatorade as Sam opens the ace bandages and quietly and efficiently wraps them around his chest, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to provide support and maybe ease some of the pain of having a few cracked ribs.
Michael takes a few tentative deep breathes before breathing out a sigh when nothing hurt too bad, "Thanks."
"No problem," Sam replies, and hands him a black t-shirt. Michael pulls it over his head, stands up and stops.
"You can do this," Sam assures him and pushes him out of the bathroom.