Troubled Waters

[got_burned]

He's finally gotten the Charger's engine to click over again when he gets the call. The number's familiar. What he hears, not so much. There's so much static on the line to begin with, he'd be forgiven for thinking it's a crank, or a warning

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[maid_of_kandar]

(OOC: Oh man, the Sam/Michael part <3 . WE SO NEED A SAM. I'll ping Allie tomorrow and ask her how you guys are planning on plotting out Fi and Michael's finding each other, then I'll come back to tag :) )

[teethkicknheels]

Fiona's across the street, digging in her trunk for the the package of zip-cuffs she knows she put in there a few days ago, when out of the corner of her eye, she sees a black blur slams into the ground, metal shrieking in protest. She bangs her head into the trunk lid from the startle, swears floridly, and draws her pistol, dropping to take cover around the Jetta's bumper as shattered glass sprays across the pavement. She peers around the car, leading with the gun, and then nearly drops it as her mind tries to make sense of what's in front of her.

For a second, she's convinced she's hallucinating again. Because it is plainly not possible that that is Michael's Charger, with Michael sitting in it, bloody and stunned, in front of Finley Towers in Michigan. "No," she whispers, but you can't protest reality, and a second later she's already up and running across the street.

Time to be angry later. Time to wonder how in the goddamn hell he's here later. Fiona's vision tunnels as she reaches the driver's side door and yanks on the handle

[got_burned]

There's an unintelligible groan of suffering from him, before he scrabbles to unlock and push the door open, almost knocking her over in the process. He leans out-- almost falls out, really, but he just manages to keep his seat in the car.

And then he relunctantly and involuntarily graces the pavement with the contents of his stomach.

[teethkicknheels]

Fiona tries to sidestep, but ends up with some on her shoes anyway. There's a twinge of annoyance- she'd just bought those things- but it's far from the first time this has happened to either one of them. When he looks to be mostly done, she bends over and slips her hands under his arms, helping him up and mostly back into the Charger's seat. She grips his face, making him look at her as she checks his eyes. "What are you doing here?" she murmurs. "How did you know?"

[got_burned]

There's nothing more undignified or irritating than throwing up. When you're busy tossing your cookies on someone's shoes, you're not in control, you're vulnerable. And it burns.

"Fiona. We have got to stop meeting like this," he croaks finally, his blue eyes strained as they meet hers.

[got_burned]

It's important never to volunteer information about yourself unless asked or unless it's necessary. People are quick enough to make their own assessments, and as a spy it's your job to let them underestimate you. Those assumptions give you an advantage.

Michael's gaze flicks briefly between Fiona and the blonde, keeping silent as he then takes in the half-finished sculptures, the pieces of metal-- steel, iron, aluminum-- scattered around the workshop. It's only when the door swings closed behind the other woman that he turns back to Fiona.

Bounty?

"You've been keeping yourself busy."

He has a habit of phrasing questions as statements. Usually because the answer is rhetorical. How long has she been here? His last contact with her was only a matter of hours ago, surely?

[teethkicknheels]

"Well, I had to," Fiona replies, a bit defensively. "I told you, I was just getting out of the shower when I got--pulled up here. I had nothing. Girl's gotta eat somehow, and it's not like they don't need bounty hunters up here too." She drifts towards the back room as she talks, trying not to be stung that he hasn't shown any anger or worry at her just disappearing. I've been up here for weeks, and he's acting like he saw me yesterday. Did he not even care? She grits her teeth.

[got_burned]

Michael walks along in her wake, picking up the odd piece of metal and inspecting it as he goes before putting it back down. Hard to tell what's 'art' and what's scrap, but there's enough shrapnel here to make the lives of several dozen people very unhappy if it were packed into an IED.

Could be worse, he supposes-- she could be running guns. Then again, she could be bringing more guys like Thomas McKee home.

He thinks he'd prefer the gun-running, now that he thinks about it, as he closes the door of the back room behind them. His headache is growing exponentially, leading to a throbbing sensation behind his left eye, but he ignores it for the time being.

Silence falls between them for a few moments. Time to ask the fatal questions.

"Fee... how long have you been here?"

[teethkicknheels]

Fiona freezes with her hand on the bathroom doorknob. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that wasn't it. She turns around slowly.

For a minute, she just stares at him. There's no point to asking if he's kidding, but that doesn't mean she understands it. "I've been here for weeks, Michael. Why are you even..." She trails off, confused.