Thirteen hours later, Michael again found himself lying next to Fiona in bed. Their comforter was crunched up at the foot of the bed, and they left space between their bodies as they sought refuge from the damp night. The evening had been on the challenging side of normal. Charlie was in a bad mood. No reason, other than that he's almost three, and almost-three-year-old children spend half their time in bad moods. Once he'd gone to bed, Michael and Fiona had lasted about fifteen minutes before they called it a night, too. Now they were lying still, letting their minds and bodies find calm.
"You've been quiet tonight," said Fiona a couple of minutes after they got in bed. "All day, really."
"Mmm," Michael said.
"Something bothering you?"
"No. I . . . hmm."
"What?"
He turned to face her. "William."
This time she was quiet. "I didn't know if you'd remember," she said after a while.
"I do."
They were both silent again.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked. No response. "Fi?" He propped himself up to look down on her face, and that's when he saw she was crying. No noise. Just tears. "God, Fi, what's wrong?"
"He's our son, Michael. I mean, no, he's not; but yes, he is." Her voice cracked. "He's our son, and you don't want to be his father, and I can't make you want to be his father, and at the same time I can't let you not be his father."
He let out a big breath, the wind out of his sails. "Oh, Fi."
"Do you know I've even thought about moving in with your mother? He needs stability, Michael, and if that's impossible with you, then he shouldn't be with you."
"I know that, Fiona! That's what I said the night he moved in here!" He spoke too loudly, then forced himself to breathe, just as he'd done next to her all those years ago. "I called this months ago, Fi," he said quietly.
"So what?" she hissed. "So. What. This is happening, Michael. It doesn't matter if you predicted it. Charlie needs us, and that's that."
Michael swallowed hard, again, at that's that.
Fiona took a couple of slow, deep breaths. "He needs us, Michael. He needs you. He needs me, but he's got me. He needs you."
"I know he does."
"So?"
"So I don't know how to be me and also be his father."
She waited before she spoke. "Michael, for months now I've tried to be supportive, because I understand. Really, I do. But you don't have the luxury of time anymore. You just have to do it. He needs a father, and you're it. Stop trying to decide if you can do it, because you have to. There's no decision to be made."
Michael lay back down and stared at the shadows on the ceiling.
He gave up on sleep at 4:30 am. Moving quietly through the room, he pulled on a t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. He lifted Fiona's phone from her night table and wrote her a message on the notepad app. 4:32. Gone for a run. Back by 6.
Closing the front door behind him, Michael looked all around the street, then headed down the sidewalk to the right. The people in the neighborhood were mostly still asleep, but the birds were beginning their day. Over time he found himself singularly focused on deciphering the birds' complex code. He was aware of everything else, because he's Michael and he can't not be aware, but nothing else mattered. Just the birds and their cipher.
Fiona was sleeping when he crept into their room at 5:54. He moved quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and hoping the shower wouldn't wake her.
He was standing under the stream, trying to let the hot water melt the tension he felt everywhere, when Fiona opened the bathroom door. "Hi," she yawned.
"Morning."
"Did you sleep at all?" she asked as she sat on the toilet.
"No."
They were quiet while Fiona took care of business. She was undressed and in the shower before the flush stopped. "Going to be a long day on no sleep. Today's get-the-thumb-drive day." She got close to Michael and closed her eyes as the water glued her hair to her head.
"I know. I'm trying not to think about what Neal's going to do this time."
"I dreamed about it. I dreamed that he put his arm around me, so I broke it. And his shin. Just for fun on the shin." She chuckled. "It's been quite some time since I've had such a pleasant dream."
"Do not break anything, Fi. Please. No broken bones. That'll require some kind of report. I'm too tired to do paperwork."
She looked thoughtful. "I'll make you a deal. If he does something where I have to refrain from breaking a bone, I get your month."
He cocked his head. "How's that now?"
"If I do not maim him when any reasonable person would, I get to choose all sexual acts for a month. You get no choice." She had that devilish gleam in her eye again.
"When any reasonable person would is pretty vague, Fi. What if we disagree?" The corners of his mouth were slowly turning up.
"Well, we can bring in Sam or Jesse as an arbitrator, or you can just accept at the outset that I'm right."
"An offer I can't refuse, huh?"
"I think you might be forgetting how delightful I am sexually."
"Definitely not forgetting that." His little smirk turned into a giant grin. "Fine. Deal."
A huge smile erupted on her face. Then she silently shifted gears and reached for the body wash. "So? Did you come to any conclusions in your sleepless night?"
"Not really."
"Then what'd you think about?"
"I don't know, Fi. Nothing. Everything."
She sighed and shook her head as she continued washing herself. She was too tired to argue.
"All right, Neal. You're up." Michael had put it off as long as possible. He'd made the other three students do the exercise first, and he'd given everyone a two-hour lunch break. But the moment had arrived, and there was no more avoiding it. Neal stood up, saluted, and walked out of the room. A moment later, he appeared on the video feed of the next room. Michael and the students watched the screen. Well, the students watched. Michael cringed and grimaced and watched.
The room was bare except for a bridge table, two wooden chairs, and Fiona. And now Neal. Fiona was sitting on one chair, sulking. Neal sat on the other, sweating. It's hard to make the act of sitting down look awkward, but he did it.
"Well, hello there, pretty lady," Neal slurred in a bad John Wayne imitation.
Fiona turned to face the camera mounted high on the wall. "I win," she mouthed, then turned back to Neal.
Michael had to give that one to her. Neal-as-John-Wayne might be worse than Neal-as-Neal. He sighed internally as he imagined the ridiculous things Fiona was going to make him do for the next month.
"Come here often?" Neal drawled.
"Where?" she asked in a deep voice.
"Why, this here saloon, that's where! Where else?" Neal then leaned forward and whispered, "I'm pretending we're in a saloon."
She leaned forward and shouted, "Yes, I got that." Then she leaned back and said, at a normal volume, "Don't you recognize me?"
Neal already looked thrown for a loop. He prepared for yes or no. This wasn't yes or no. "Should I recognize you?" he asked nervously, forgetting the John Wayne.
"Maybe you don't recognize me with my clothes on. I'm a dancer here. Surely you've seen me."
Neal didn't speak.
"My stage name is Black Widow? Yes? Ring any bells?"
Neal didn't speak.
"Ughhh!" Fiona threw her hands up in disgust. "How insultin' that you don't remember me!" she twanged. Apparently Black Widow was now from the south. "I do believe you're the one who caught my panties two nights ago. Black leather encrusted with diamonds?"
Neal didn't speak. He got up and hurried to the door.
Jason, Daniel, and Melissa were looking at each other nervously and Michael had his head in his hands when Neal burst into their room.
"Go back in there, Neal," Michael said from his hands.
"Mr. Westen, I – she – what am I . . . "
"You gotta run with it," Michael replied, still from his hands. "Go."
Neal turned around and walked slowly out of the classroom. In a much longer time than it should've taken to travel three feet, he finally reentered the interrogation room.
"There you are!" Fiona exclaimed. "Where'd you scoot off to?"
"Uhh – um – I – well – "
Fiona cut him off. "Oh, I bet you were off lookin' for my panties, weren't you," she said flirtatiously. "Don't tell me you lost 'em." Now her tone was faux-foreboding.
"No, I didn't lose them," he stammered.
"Well, what, then?" she asked.
"I turned them in at the lost and found," he said quickly and quietly.
"How about that! You smart little doodlebug. I think you're the first guy who's done that. I'll have to go pick 'em up later."
Neal looked relieved. "Yes!" he said under his breath and into his armpit, making a fist and pulling his arm down in victory. "That's right; I left them in the lost and found. The lost and found," he repeated. "You just go there."
Fiona nodded and smiled.
Michael cringed, terrified of what she was planning.
"Um, can I ask you a question, Ms. Widow?" Neal said.
"Sure thing, sugar."
"Do you have a thumb drive?"
Her eyes grew huge and she dropped her jaw. "Why, you sneaky little devil, yes I do! How on earth did you know?"
Michael's head was back in his hands.
"I don't know. Can I have it?"
"How do you ask nicely?" she teased.
"May I please have the thumb drive, Ms. Widow, please?"
"Well, since you are so darn polite and just as cute as can be, you absolutely may. Hang on just a second while I get it." She stood up, stuck her hand down the front of her pants, rooted around, and pulled it back out holding a green thumb drive between her thumb and index finger. "Here you go, sugar!" She held it out to him.
"Wait, that was in your . . ."
"That's right, sugar; right in the holy grail." In fact she had wedged it in the crease between her pelvis and her right thigh.
"Oh – um – well . . . Mr. Westen, is that good enough?" Neal asked loudly, still staring at the thumb drive.
Michael sighed, then pushed a button on the console and spoke into the microphone. "Yes, Neal, that's enough. Come back in."
Neal got up and practically jogged to the door. Fiona got up more slowly, looking pretty pleased with herself.
"Fiona, may I have a word with you in the hallway?" Michael said through the speaker. His tone was the one he used with Charlie when he was trying not to explode.
"You got it, sugar." Fiona winked at the camera.
Michael took a deep breath. By that time, Neal was back in the classroom. "Will you all please excuse me for just a moment?" he said to the four students. "Be right back." He had a permasmile plastered on his face as he headed for the door.
"Lest you have any doubt, Black Widow will absolutely be joining us this evening," Fiona said as Michael closed the door. "I may have to stop off at Frederick's of Hollywood, though," she added. "I doubt La Perla has leather panties."
"What the hell was that?" he hissed.
"Any situation. Remember? You've told them they have to be able to improvise in any situation."
He rubbed his hand over his entire face. "Fiona . . . "
"Michael, obviously he wasn't going to be able to do it this time, either. Jesus. John Wayne in a saloon? So I had a little fun. And in case you didn't notice, he did accomplish his mission."
He just stared at her.
"Seriously, Michael, you will talk to him, and you will explain how important it is that he never go in the field. End of story. Because he will get himself killed."
He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. You know, Fiona . . . " He trailed off.
"Yes?" she prompted, smiling broadly.
He tried to stay angry, but her stupid grin did him in. "You know, if Black Widow murders her sexual partner tonight, Black Widow is going to have a pretty boring month."
She leaned in close. "The modern black widow knows her victim is much more valuable alive than dead," she whispered.
Author's Note: So. Much. Fun. to write this one! And who knows; maybe we'll have a few more detours like this along the way to the end. Happy reading!