TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse

This is a very dark chapter. I'm sorry if it upsets you. It upset me. But it's an important part of Michael.

Michael gripped the steering wheel of the Charger and accelerated to 90 mph. "Stop crying, Charlie," he said sternly. "Why do you always cry? You cry when I take away that goddamn, stupid train. It's your own fault I take it away. You throw it at me, I'm gonna take it. You don't want it taken, don't throw it."

Charlie was wailing. There was no child seat in the Charger, so he was on the bench seat in the back. And there was no working seat belt back there, so he was sliding from door to door, trying to hold on.

"You want me to give you something to really cry about?" Michael shouted. "Huh? How about this?" He veered suddenly off the highway into a grassy field, then slammed on the brakes. Charlie's body flew forward. The windshield slowed his movement, but his head and torso still crashed through and lay motionlessly on the hood.

Michael let out a primal scream and thrust himself forward to try to get Charlie.

"Michael, Michael, Michael, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Michael. Michael." Fiona was shouting at this point. And she was using all her strength to contain him and pull him down, because he was on his knees on their mattress, clawing at something only he could see.

"I can't reach him," Michael said frantically. "I can't reach him. I can't reach him. Help me get him." He was sobbing as he kept reaching forward only to find air.

"MICHAEL!" Fiona yelled as deeply as she could. Startled, Michael froze. Fiona seized the opportunity to straddle him and push him down to the mattress. She leaned forward and pressed on his arms with all her might. "Michael, you're safe. I'm here. It's Fi. I'm here. It's okay."

Michael's breathing finally began to slow. Fiona continued to talk to him softly until he was breathing normally.

"Fi?"

"Yeah, Michael, it's me. You were having a nightmare. Pretty awful one, from what I saw."

"I killed Charlie," he said, starting to breathe fast again.

"No, you didn't. Charlie's fine. He's sleeping in the next room. He's fine. You didn't hurt him."

"We were in the Charger," Michael said, forcing himself to slow his breaths. "We were in the Charger, and he didn't have his seat, and I got so mad that I threw him through the windshield."

"Oh, Michael. No, you didn't. You didn't hurt him at all. You would never hurt him," Fiona said, trying to control her voice and stop her tears. She lay on his chest and held him as tight as she could.

"I was going so fast, and then I told him I would give him something to really cry about, and then I ran off the road and he flew out. And then he was just lying there." Michael was in control of his breathing, finally, but he was still crying softly.

"God, Michael, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He's okay. He's safe."

"He's safe," Michael repeated.

After a couple of minutes, they fell asleep, Fi's head still on Michael's heart.

An hour later, they woke again. Peacefully this time, but the air was still heavy.

"Michael, what happened?" Fiona asked softly. "Why do you think you dreamt that?"

Michael was silent for a few seconds. "I – I – ugh, Fi, I can't."

"Can't what?"

"I can't go through this again."

"Go through what?" Fiona waited for Michael to say something, but he didn't. "Michael, please talk to me. What happened before was incredibly frightening."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"So please try. Just – just try."

Michael took a deep breath. "Sam and I were talking at lunch today about Charlie's tantrums. I told him how tiring they are when you handle them right, and I told him how my dad used to handle anything we did that he didn't like, which was to hit us."

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm violent, Fi. I can kill someone. Easily. What's going to stop me from hitting Charlie? I want to hit him. I want to hit everybody that makes me mad."

"You are going to stop you," she replied. "The same way you stop yourself from hitting everyone else you want to hit. You're violent, but your emotions don't control your violence. Actually, you're probably never more in control of yourself than when you're hitting or shooting or killing.

"I understand why you're scared," she continued. "I do. But you would never hurt him. Not intentionally. Not physically."

"What if I hurt him accidentally? What if I lose control?" Michael said. "This is why I haven't had a drop of alcohol since he moved in. I'm terrified of losing control when I'm supposed to be taking care of him."

Fiona was quiet for a few moments. "If you hurt him accidentally, you hurt him accidentally. We'll take care of him and we'll deal with it."

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Michael said, "Heh. Doesn't take a shrink to figure out I'm scared of turning into my dad. I was driving his car."

"I want to ask you something, and I don't want you to dismiss it out of hand," Fiona said later that morning. She and Michael were sprawled out on their big couch while Charlie erected and demolished block towers near them on the floor.

"I'm telling you right now I'm not being Neal again, so save your breath."

"That's not it."

"I would consider being Joshua, though," Michael said wistfully. "That kid is going to be a star."

"Michael. I'm serious."

"Okay, shoot. Heh. I bet you've been waiting for me to say that one."

"Michael, so help me, if you don't shut – "

"Okay, okay, okay. What did you want to say?"

"I think you should consider talking to someone about all this stuff you're going through."

"You mean like a shrink?"

"Shrink, counselor, someone like that, yeah."

"You're kidding, right? How could I go to a counselor? Do they even make counselors with my security clearance?"

"Michael, what you're going through now is not unique to being a spy. You're a middle-aged guy who's sorting out what he does versus who he is. You're a child abuse survivor who's terrified of continuing the cycle. These are regular people problems. You're not that special." Fiona gave him a little grin.

"Did you just call me middle-aged?" Michael asked in mock horror.

"Well, you are. I'm not."

"You're eight months younger than me."

"Don't change the subject."

"Fi, no. I don't want to talk to a shrink. I can barely talk to you most of the time. What makes you think I'd be able to talk to a stranger?"

"Because it'd be a stranger."

"Uhh . . . ."

"It'd be a relationship that is entirely about you. You don't talk to me because you're closed off, yeah, partly, but you also don't talk to me because you think it's your job to protect everyone and you think you can't protect me if you unburden yourself on me."

After a bit of silence, Michael said, "I hear you, and I guess what you're saying makes sense, but I can't."

Fiona got up, went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and sat at the kitchen table.

"Don't you want to come back here?" Michael asked.

"No."