Part 19
Maria woke up and looked around as she tried to figure out what had woken her up. The house was dark so she knew it was too early for Michael to be on his way outside for his morning run. She was shifting onto her side when it registered in her sleepy brain that her hand was being held in a warm, calloused grip.
Her eyes followed her arm to her hand and then to the man slouched down in an uncomfortable sprawl in the rocking chair next to the bed. She wondered what had driven him from his own bed and made him take up his current position, certain that it wasn't something he had necessarily wanted to do. He wasn't the type of man who sought out comfort or offered it, so waking up and finding him sitting in her room, holding her hand was completely unexpected… and slightly unnerving.
He shifted and his features became taut as his sleep was disturbed by something that she couldn't see. Her response was automatic as she rubbed his hand, applying enough pressure to soothe away the tension she could feel thrumming through his body, but not so much that it would wake him up. After several minutes he began to calm, settling back into sleep as he slid further down in the rocking chair.
Had he been her Michael she would have simply tugged on his hand and pulled him into bed with her, wrapped him in her arms and held him until the nightmare released him from its grip. But, despite the momentary illusion provided by the early hour and the rare glimpse of vulnerability in his harsh features, he wasn't her Michael and she leaned back against her pillow with a regretful sigh.
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Michael awoke several hours later, his internal alarm clock letting him know it was time to start the day. His gaze shifted to the woman asleep in the bed he was sitting next to, her hand still wrapped around his. He pulled his hand free, careful to not wake her up, and he slipped from her room so he could get ready for his morning run.
When he got back the sun had risen above the horizon and he could smell breakfast cooking so he knew Maria was up. He decided to avoid the kitchen for a while and went to take a shower before facing her. After passing the room she had claimed as hers he backtracked and stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning over the furniture that he still hadn't figured out how she had managed to move on her own. He shook his head and walked back to his bedroom as he considered his next move.
Maria was setting breakfast on the table when he stepped into the kitchen a short while later and despite his intention to bring up the situation with the bedroom furniture, he found himself distracted by the tempting scent of food.
"I'm not changin' my mind just because you cooked," he muttered as he paused in the doorway to watch her.
Maria shrugged as she placed a short stack of pancakes on the table next to his plate. "And I'm not helping you move all that furniture back out to the shop."
Argument or food… argument or food… Michael debated for all of thirty seconds before he gathered his plates up and carried them into the living room. He came back for the glass of juice, syrup, and the jar of salsa sitting on the table.
Maria shook her head at his behavior and stared at her pancakes; they just weren't quite the same without syrup. Was it worth an argument with him just to get it back? She drummed her fingers on the counter as she tried to decide how badly she wanted the syrup. Yes, she decided, it was.
Michael looked up when his view of the television was obscured by his irate houseguest and he motioned for her to move with the hand holding his fork. "Get outta the way," he mumbled around a mouthful of pancakes. "You're blockin' the TV."
"I'd like the syrup, please." She sent a pointed look at the bottle he was clutching in his left hand when he just looked at her.
"Oh." He squeezed more of the syrup over his pancakes until they were practically swimming in the thick liquid and then handed it to her. "Go away now so I can watch TV in peace."
"No problem," she muttered as she stalked out of the room. Cretin! Not a single ounce of appreciation for the fact that she had spent the past hour slaving over a hot stove cooking for him. Jerk couldn't even be bothered to pretend he was civilized long enough to eat a meal at the breakfast table.
She sat down with her own breakfast and realized that she really didn't have an appetite. It wasn't exactly something new; she hadn't had much of an appetite in weeks, not since that day when… No! She wasn't going to think about it. She shoved the thoughts away, pushing them back down into the dark corner where she kept them hidden so she didn't have to deal with them. She couldn't afford to let those feelings out because she knew the moment she did she would be consumed by them.
"Why aren't you eatin'?" Michael asked as he placed his breakfast dishes in the sink.
Maria rolled her eyes. "Do you think you could rinse those off and put them in the dishwasher?"
"I could," he said, nodding his head. "But, why should I when you can do it?" He made a motion towards her plate. "You'd better eat; you're gonna need your strength so we can get that furniture moved back out to the shop."
"We're not moving that furniture out of that bedroom," she said adamantly.
"That room is not a bedroom!" he shouted, infuriated by her refusal to help fix what she had messed up. "No one told you that you could move all that shit in the house… and how did you get in the shop anyway?"
"You didn't make it all that difficult." Maria's tone was condescending and she knew she was only pushing him into a fight, but at that moment she didn't really care. "If you had any idea how to use your powers I wouldn't have been able to pick that lock."
Michael's temper flared at the implication that he was incompetent and he wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter to stop himself from doing something stupid. "You had no right to move my stuff outta the office, or to break into my shop and move all that stuff in the house. I should have you arrested for breaking and entering."
"Go ahead."
His back teeth began to grind in response to her goading and he took a deep breath to bring himself under control. "I didn't bring you here so you could just move in and take over!"
The dishes rattled when her fist pounded against the table. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Because the last thing I need is for you to run your fuckin' mouth and bring attention to me."
"It was never my intention to do that; all I want is to figure out why I'm here so I can do whatever it is I'm here to do. Why won't you listen to me? I just wanna go back home to my Michael and I can't do that until I've accomplished whatever mission the Granolith sent me here to - "
"I'm not interested in your alternate reality or your pathetic lovesick puppy routine! I want you to eat so we can get to work on movin' that furniture."
Lovesick puppy routine? Maria's right hand clenched around the glass she was holding and before she could control the impulse or her anger, she threw it across the room where it hit the wall and shattered inches from where he was standing. "You have no right to talk about my feelings!"
Michael glanced over his shoulder at the juice dripping down the wall and the bits and pieces of glass littering the counter and floor next to him. He had seen it coming, had seen the anger building in her features, but he had to admit that he was surprised that she had actually carried through with the action. "You'll wanna clean that up before we get started on that furniture."
"We're not moving one single piece of that furniture. As long as I'm here I will have my own room - "
"This is not a democracy! This is my house and - "
Maria pushed back away from the table and stood up. "Do you even understand the need for privacy? You and me, we're stuck together for the present time, and I need my own space just like you need yours."
"You don't have the slightest clue what I need!" he yelled as he straightened up and pushed away from the counter. "Don't stand there and talk about things you don't know a damn thing about!" He grabbed his wallet and keys off of the counter and stalked through the laundry room to jerk the door to the garage open.
Maria shook her head when she heard the motorcycle's engine revving up as the garage door was opened. Why couldn't they ever just have an amicable conversation? Why did he have to be so argumentative? She sighed as she dropped back down in the chair and her gaze was automatically drawn to the mess she had made when she threw the glass at the infuriating man. She knew she couldn't really blame this argument on him; she had started it and she had been more than willing to keep pushing him to keep it going.
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Michael left his motorcycle in the parking lot and walked up to the doors of a bar a few blocks from the building that housed Marcos' offices. The bar was a safe place for people like him to hang out and unwind at the end of the day or to just kick back and relax after a difficult assignment. The people who frequented the bar were all employed by the Company or one of its contractors; outsiders weren't welcomed into the bar and the man that stood at the entrance made sure that they didn't make it inside.
The big man nodded and waved one beefy hand when Michael reached for his ID. The man crossed his massive arms over his chest and stepped back to allow the new arrival to enter the bar. "Think I don't know you by now, Guerin?" he rumbled. "How long've I been standin' at this door?"
"Long enough, Rafael" Michael muttered.
He cleared his throat and grinned when the younger man took two steps back and glared at him.
"This is unnecessary."
"You know the rules, Guerin; check your gear at the door or put it in reverse."
Michael turned to look at the owner of the new voice; it was deep and raspy and belonged to the owner of the bar. "Hey, Gabriel."
At nearly seven feet tall, bald, and heavily muscled, Gabriel was a force to be reckoned with; he was a living legend within the Company and the people who frequented his bar knew better than to cross him. A small smile slid across his tough features when Michael removed two concealed handguns and the knife strapped to his right boot beneath his khaki pants. His expression radiated annoyance when he dropped the items into the bin that Rafael held out in front of him.
"You've got locker thirty-seven tonight," the man announced as he slid the bin into one of the lockers mounted to the wall behind his desk.
Gabriel walked back to the bar and pulled a bottle of beer out of one of the coolers beneath the counter, uncapping it before sitting it on the polished surface in front of the younger man. "What brings you in here so early in the day, Michael?"
"Just needed some breathin' room," he muttered cryptically. He made a motion towards the stage that was empty at the moment. "Who's playin' tonight?"
"Local talent." He could tell that Michael wasn't in the mood for conversation and he wasn't on the prowl because most of the patrons were male and Gabriel didn't allow the guys to put the moves on his waitresses. It was too early in the day for most of the regulars to be showing up any time soon, and it was odd for Michael to be there as early as it was.
"They any good?"
"Would I hire them to play here if they weren't?" He shook his head. "Why don't you just tell me why you're hangin' out this early?"
"Mind your own fuckin' business, Gabriel." His head snapped up when the giant behind the counter chuckled.
"Somethin' has seriously got you wound up."
"I am not wound up," he snarled.
"Well, I've seen you a lot more relaxed than this, Michael. You look like you could choke someone without a second thought right now and I happen to know for a fact that you're not on any assignments for Marcos. Matter of fact, that last job wasn't anything that would account for this type of tension."
"If I say I'm not interested in talkin' about it can we just leave it alone?" Michael took a long drink from the chilled bottle and tapped it against the counter.
"Your choice. You'd feel better if you'd just get it out in the open though."
"I don't subscribe to your belief system, Gabriel; maybe you like to talk about your… feelings, but I'm not interested."
"Suit yourself." He fixed himself a glass of ginger ale and braced one hand on the counter. "Confession's good for the soul though."
Michael rolled his eyes and motioned for another bottle of his preferred brand of beer; he had no interest in talking about his feelings or anyone else's. He should've been able to hold up his end of the argument much better than he had, and it bothered him that he had simply walked away instead of pushing back until he had won. He knew the blame could be placed on the nightmare; he hadn't been able to completely shake the images or the feelings that came with them and it had prevented him from focusing on the argument.
He should be moving furniture and making Maria help him, but instead he was sitting in a bar an hour from home, wondering how long he could avoid going back home.