InsaneJournal

( now in the right place )
Who: Liz and Michael
What: Friendtime
Where: Their apartment
When: Backdated to Sept 29
Warning: Michael Guerin is his own warning.

Music filled the apartment and Liz danced around as she finished up with dinner. She had always enjoyed cooking, something passed down to her from her parents. It was her pleasure to cook for Max and now Michael. Making food for three instead of two wasn't too much of an adjustment, she'd found. It was actually pretty easy to adapt the potion size to fit all of them.

"Dinner is done!" She called out as she turned off the burner and began moving everything over to the table. When the curly haired alien who she knew was home didn't come out right away, she stepped and looked over towards his room. "Michael! Food!" She called out again, watching to see if he came out. The music wasn't even that loud so she knew her voice carried over it. He had to be hearing her.

Deciding not to try a third time, she finished setting the table then she walked over to the door leading to his room. She lightly knocked on it to give him a warning then she opened up the door and walked in. Right away she frowned at what she saw. "Oh Mikey" She said with a frown as she walked over to the bed there he was passed out with a beer bottle in his hand. Reaching out, she took the beer from his hand and checked his pause to make sure there wasn't anything she needed to do.

-

He'd spilled the beer, though it had dried some time ago, the smell was strong because it had spilled on his bare chest and soaked the sheets beneath him. Somehow he'd managed to hold on to the bottle, his once mangled fingers gripping it in a death grip.

He stirred when Liz pried the bottle out of his hand. Groaning, he attempted to stay in his blitzed out, drunken state of absolute numbness. It didn't last. Liz's presence jolted his brain and awareness washed over him in waves.

He opened one eye, then the other, in an attempt to glare at Liz. "Fuck off." It wasn't personal, and for that reason he didn't attach her name to it. He wasn't upset with her, didn't want to hurt her feelings or whatever. But damn it he wanted to be alone in his misery.

-

She pulled her hand back when he began stirring, standing up straight as she watched him wake up from his drunken stupor. This was a bad one, she could tell. And she knew exactly why he'd drunken himself to this point. She had been the one that opened that can of worms but he needed to know.

"No" She replied simply, letting him know she wasn't going anywhere. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she noticed the beer on the sheets and made a note to grab them to wash next time he was out of the house. She didn't mind taking care of him like that because that was what friends did for each other.

"Is this because you two talked or just because he's here?" She wondered, not one to beat around the bush. If he didn't want to talk about it, that would be fine. She wouldn't push him but she had to ask.

-

Michael cut his eyes at her. It didn't quite work the way he wanted it to, since he was hung over and headaching badly. He sighed and fumbled around just under his bed for a bottle of nail polish remover. He chugged a few sips, buying himself a few seconds to decide what to say.

He could deny it had anything to do with Alex, but he knew she wouldn't buy it. He didn't even know how much she knew about him and Alex. He was pretty sure she knew about him and Maria. It was a big complicated mess, and even he didn't really know what to think, so how could he expect anyone else to know what to make of it?

He screwed the cap back on the acetone and set the bottle aside. He flexed his fingers and shook his hand out. He really wished Max hadn't healed his hand. He'd lived with it for ten years, and he was used to it. Now that it was healed, it ached in a whole new way, and felt constantly like it was going to sleep with the pins and needles.

"Do you know what happened to my hand? Before Max healed it, I mean." Michael moved a bit, scooting back to sit against the headboard of the bed. He dropped his hand to his lap, his other hand went into the tangle of curls on his head. "His father did it. The honorable Master Sargent Manes smashed it with a hammer. I wouldn't let Max touch it for ten years because he'd know, and Alex would know, something wasn't right with us."

-

Her face remained neutral when he narrowed his eyes at her. In fact, she moved to make herself comfortable on his bed. He'd gotten so drunk that he passed out and spilled beer everywhere so clearly, he needed a friend right now ( though he probably wouldn't admit it ). She decided, at that moment, that she was going to be that friend. Whether or not he wanted to talk, she'd be there for him.

When he asked if she knew what happened to his hand, she shook her hand as she looked down at it. She had noticed it was healed the first time they interacted here but said nothing about it because she didn't really need to ask what happened. Max had healed it, that was a given fact. It had never been her business how he had gotten hurt in the first place. She looked back up at him when he said Alex's dad smashed his hand with a hammer and her hand went up to cover her mouth as she gasped. No wonder he didn't like to ever talk about it.

"That's ... that's a lot" She finally commented as she lowered her hand down. His logic made a lot of sense to her. "So why did you let him heal it now?" She asked, assuming that was how it happened.