The Rulebook
They were picking through the ruin of Fi's belonging when Michael made the suggestion. Sam's reaction was simple and honest. "No freakn' way."
Michael raised his brow. The older man had crossed his arms over his chest and glared back at him across the divide. "I'm just trying to be sensible, Sam."
Sam snorted. "What you're thinking about is that little redheaded banshee of yours," he replied. "And how quickly you can get into her pants after finding her a nice safe place to stay."
Michael's expression was just as implacable. "I thought the two of you made up."
"We have. She's like a sister to me. A sister I want to keep away from my bullet stock."
Michael rubbed his temples. "I have enough on my mind right now, Sam. Jesse's going crazy out there and my mother's trying to get Nate to take her back to Nevada with him..."
Sam groaned. "Fine, Mikey. Y'want me to keep an eye on Fi for you? I'll do it."
"Thanks Sam," he sighed.
"Y'know it's gonna cost you?" Sam remarked, picking up what might have been a toothbrush at one time.
Michael hiked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a crate of pale British ale half-hidden beneath a drop cloth in the backseat of the U-Haul they'd rented for transport. "Will this do it?"
Sam's brow forked. "D'you get it from my usual?"
"Oh yeah," Michael said. "And he said it was the best. "
"Now that's why we're pals!" Sam laughed, clapping Michael so hard on the back that his sunglasses fell off.
***
"No."
"Fi? Fi-o-na," Michael bit out, chasing after his quasi-girlfriend as she stalked away from him down the boulevard, licking a cone of frozen yogurt. He'd made a grave miscalculation in his hope that taking her out on a mini date might make the decision more pleasant for her, but it had, predictably, blown up in his face. "PLEASE listen to me for a second..."
"Do you really think I can't take care of myself, Michael?"
The words were a purred double-entandre. Michael definitely knew she could handle herself and smirked. "We both know the answer to that."
Fiona stared up at him for a moment. "Then why do you insist on foisting Sam on me?"
"I'm not," Michael insisted. "I'm just trying to make sure you're safe. I'm at my mom's so I can look after her, but you..."
"...have two long-range rifles and twelve cases of plastic explosives..."
"...Which you just lost in a house explosion triggered by our ex-partner." Michael put his hand on Fiona's shoulder. "Please just hear me out on this one, Fi."
Fiona sighed. "All right." She crossed her arms, pretending to listen.
"I'm just trying to make sure you've got someone watching your back at all times. This would be the easiest way to do it."
Fiona stared him down. "You're going to insist, aren't you?"
"Yep."
"Sam and I aren't exactly bosom chums. Give me a better reason to live with him."
Michael was temporarily caught flatfooted. Then he declared, "Sam will give you refrigerator privileges. And he won't look in your gun case."
Fiona paused to consider this. "How does he feel about La Femme Nikita?"
"You'll have to ask him," Michael siged. "Come on, Fi, please. Just do this to ease my mind."
"We've never liked easier, Michael," she remarked quietly, but walked back up the boulevard with him without further protest.
***
Two hours later, Michael sat rubbing his temples at Madeline's kitchen table. "Let's read this back one more time," he cleared his throat and read aloud the short list he'd been given:
GROUND RULES:
1: No barging into Sam's room without knocking. Especially if you hear moaning.
2: Touching Fiona's guns and gun-related accessories are forbidden, especially if you want to brag to your Navy buddies about your 'sweet little piece on the side'.
3: Fiona's also not to be called 'your sweet little piece on the side' on pain of death, unless you're working a cover.
4: No complaining about the amount of beer in the refrigerator, and no replacing Sam's beer with 'healthy smoothies'.
5: No talking during 'La Femme Nikita'.
6: No distractions during any and all Lions games.
7: All cars are the property of their original owners and not to be begged, borrowed or stolen, even in emergencies."
Sam stared at Fi over the table. "I still wanna expand the beer clause."
"Oh come off it, Sam! Don't you have the courage to sign a little piece of paper?" she growled.
Sam's dark eyes flashed. "Gimmie a pen."
Michael watched them mark the paper with x's and tacked it to Madeline's refrigerator, as if they were two naughty kindergarteners signing a playground peace treaty. "Can I trust you two not to tear each other to shreds?"
"Of course, Michael," Fiona said, mock-obedient. "I'll make sure to leave a few chunks for identification purposes."
"Fine." Sam said, his smile stiff. Then he glared at Michael. "Ms. Reynolds is gonna love this."
"Just say she's your cousin," Michael suggested.
"Whatever," Sam snorted, holding out and jingling his car keys. "C'mon, Fiona Axe, let's go for it."
"It's still Finley! I'm an independent woman." Fiona tucked her purse beneath her arm, and at Sam's confused look she expanded, "I'm your father's trophy wife. He's on a fishing trip in Vancouver, remember?"
"Permission to act like a bitter stepson?" he asked.
"Permisson granted, you lush," she said, following him from the room and leaving Michael in peace.