Sweet Tea

By KNS

Disclaimer: Not mine. Everything you recognize belongs to someone else.

"Hey, where's the tea jar?"

Fiona looked up that the desk where Michael was sitting, staring at the computer. The light from the monitor set his face in sharp relief, half shadow, half light. When the club was closed for the night, and the florescent strobes weren't lighting up everything in a four block radius, the loft was fairly dark. It sat above most of the streetlights, and Michael only had a few lamps scattered around.

"Michael, I said, where's your mother's tea jar? I told her I'd bring sun tea and salad tomorrow." She looked up at him expectantly. When he still didn't answer her, she picked up a shoe and threw it at him.

That got his attention. "God, Fi, what?"

"Where is your mom's tea jar?"

"On top of the counter," he answered, then went back to looking at the computer screen.

She switched on another lamp, glanced around at the few counter tops. "I don't see it."

"It's on top of the counter. Over the fridge," he added.

"Goddammit." She pulled over the green chair, stood on it and reached for the jar. She didn't even come close. So she dragged the chair out of the way and pushed the spool/table against the fridge. Kicking off her heels, she climbed onto the spool, still couldn't reach it, balanced on the edge of the counter beside the fridge.

"You're going to fall," Michael advised, sounding amused.

"Then get your ass down here and get it for me," she snapped. "Why the hell did you put it up so high? Think it was going to try to run away or something?"

"It's glass!" he defended, coming down the stairs. "A glass jar, in here? I had to put it somewhere it wouldn't shatter within its first hour of being around." He motioned her out of the way, moved the spool/table tack to its regular place. Then he went back to the fridge, reached up to the counter, and handed her down the jar.

"Don't look so smug," she told him. After a minute, she added, "You know, I was going to stay here tonight, but I've changed my mind. I'll meet you at your mom's tomorrow. You bring the salad. I'll take care of the tea." She took the jar from him, slipped back on her heels and walked towards the door.

"Come on, Fi, don't be like that." Michael protested. "You know I hate these things with Mom. . ."

"Well, it's not my country's independence day, but I'm still going." She picked up her purse from the bed, slung it over her shoulder. "And, Michael, I will tell her if you get one of those pre-made salads from the store. I'll tell her," she warned again before shutting the door behind her.

Michael looked up at the ceiling. "Just get one of those fancy plastic bowls and dump it in there."

"I'll tell her," Fiona called up the stairs.

He waited until he heard her car drive away before he muttered, "Should've just said I'd bring the tea."

[]

At least Sam was already there when he got to his mom's house. He was ex-military, a patriot - 4th of July was better than Christmas for him.

Madeline had her house decorated almost as much a she did for Christmas: huge flag at the front door, red, white, and blue streamers wound from the ceiling of the garage, boxes of sprinklers and a few fireworks on a workbench.

Great – fireworks and Fiona. This may not end well.

"Michael," Madeline greeted him, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. "Huh, you brought the salad. I thought Fi was bringing that. Where is she, anyway?"

"I'm here," Fiona said, coming around the corner. "Brought the tea. Fresh made in this morning's sun."

"Thank you, Fi," Madeline beamed. "Let's just put it in the kitchen, add some ice. Sam's in the back with the grill," she added to her son. She took the salad bowl from him, glanced inside. "Mixed fruit salad? Really, Michael, even I know you didn't make this. You don't even know where to look for melon balls at the grocery store." She blew an irritated stream of smoke in his direction, then led Fiona into the house.

Fiona glanced over her shoulder and gave him a very sweet, very false smile.

In the back yard, Sam was happily flipping burgers and turning hot dogs on the grill. He had a beer bottle in one hand, a set of tongs in the other.

"Hey, Mikey. This is pretty great, your mom holding this little get-together. Nice to be invited." He laughed a little. "Love this holiday, you know? They always have the best beer sales this time of year."

Michael smiled and went inside to get a drink. It was tremendously hot, and the humidity made it almost unbearable. For once he wished he'd worn shorts and flip-flops rather than jeans and tennis shoes.

"Here," Fiona said, handing him a tall glass of ices tea. "Play nice. Your mom is really glad you came."

"I know," he grumbled, sipping from the glass. "Really, you added sugar?"

"Madeline likes it sweet," she defended. "Get over it."

He went back to sit with Sam.

Fiona went back to the kitchen, found Madeline making herself a glass of tea.

"No, don't drink that," Fiona said quickly. "Drink this other one instead." She pulled a different jar from the fridge. "It's already cold."

Madeline gave her a knowing glance. "What'd you spike it with?"

"Nothing deadly," Fiona assured her. "Just a little something to loosen him up a bit."

"A bit?" Madeline echoed.

Fiona smiled. "He'll probably be sleeping here tonight. And tomorrow morning won't be so much fun for him."

Madeline smiled back at her. "He did something, didn't he?"

"Completely deserves it," Fiona assured her.

"Good girl," Madeline approved.

[]

Three glasses of iced tea into it, even Sam was beginning to notice his friend was off kilter.

"And then I said, 'It's a sheep. Who cares where it came from!'" Michael laughed, finishing his story.

Sam laughed because it was expected. He looked over to Fiona, who had an innocent look on her face as she ate her hotdog.

"That's hilarious," Madeline said, smiling. "Michael, you have such great stories. Why don't you ever tell them?"

Michael shrugged, grinning at her. "I don't know. Just feel like telling them today." He looked down at his mostly empty glass. "Time for a refill. Want another beer, Sam?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. He waited until Michael was gone, then glared at Fiona. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," she said innocently. "It's sweetened tea. Must be the sugar."

He shook his head, glaring at her.

"Leave it alone, Sam," Madeline said, smiling through the cloud of her cigarette. "Haven't heard Michael talk this much for the entire time he's been home."

A neighbor was blaring music from somewhere down the black. Michael caught sound of it as he came back outside. "Come on, Fi – let's dance." He took her hand, pulled her out onto the sidewalk in front of the garage. "How about salsa? Music lends itself to that, I think."

As he caught her up in the dance, Sam glanced at Madeline. "Do you have a camcorder? My phone will only hold so much video."

[]

"Let's cut the watermelon before we light the fireworks," Madeline suggested. "It's just starting to get dark. It'll look better in a little while."

"Fi and I will get it," Michael offered. "Is it in the fridge?"

"The sink," Madeline corrected. "I wanted it to be just a little warm."

"Big slices?"

"Yeah, and round," Sam added. "I like to eat the centers first."

Michael nodded, and Fiona followed him, all but laughing.

"Uh, Michael, she said it was in the sink. The kitchen sink," she clarified.

He caught her hand and pulled her into the spare bedroom. The instant the door was closed, he had her pushed up against a wall, reaching under her shirt, kissing her neck.

"This is your mother's house," Fiona hissed, pushing away his hands. "We can't do this here."

"If we're fast, they won't notice," he said, unbuttoning his pants.

Sh slipped around him. "Oh no, not here. Later." She opened the door, straightening her shirt quickly.

Madeline was in the kitchen, slicing the watermelon. She arched an eyebrow at Fiona. "You two couldn't have been that fast. You must've said no."

Fiona ducked her head. "It's your home, Madeline. I would never –"

"Well, he's so plastered, he would," Madeline laughed. "What did you put in that tea?"

"A few special ingredients," Fiona allowed, grinning slyly. "Time to set off the fireworks. And don't worry, I'll drive him home tonight. He's had a little more than I expected him to drink."

"Deal," Madeline agreed. She lit another cigarette. "He's a pill when he's hung over."

"Good to know."

[]

Sam was not thrilled with Fiona handling the fireworks.

"These aren't explosives, Fi. They're just supposed to be decorative. For fun."

"Explosives are fun," Fiona countered. "And decorative."

"Look, Fi – sparklers," Michael said, bringing her a box. "I haven't played with these in years."

He was so excited with them that Fi let Sam handle the fireworks while she messed around with Michael's sparklers. Madeline seemed blissfully happy. Sam set off the fireworks perfectly, so that the dark sky was filled with explosions of red, white, and blue. Fiona and Michael entertained themselves with the sparklers, like two young kids.

Eventually Sam called it a night. "Time to head home. Great party, Madeline. Should do it again next year." He glanced at Michael. "Want a ride, brother?"

Fiona gave him her I-got-this smile. "I'll take him home," she promised.

"Let's get together again soon," Madeline agreed. To Fiona she added quietly, "I'll dump the rest of the tea and wash the jar. God, he's going to be pissed tomorrow."

"I'll take lots of pictures tonight," Fiona promised.

Madeline hugged her. "You are so perfect for Michael."

Of his own volition, Michael gave his mother a big hug. "I love you, Mom. I don't say it enough, but I really do. You're the best mother ever."

"Tell me that tomorrow," Madeline said sweetly. To Fiona, she added, "Drive safe."

[]

Michael fell asleep in the car. Fiona had to jab him awake when they got back to his loft.

He could barely make it up the stairs. "This was the best Independence Day ever," he said, stumbling inside.

"It certainly will be," Fiona said. "You'll remember this forever. Probably."

He caught her hand as she dumped him on the bed and started to turn away. "Aren't you going to stay?"

"Nope," Fiona answered. She did take some pity on him, pulled off his shoes and socks. It was stuffy and hot, so she opened the door to the deck and turned on the fans.

"Come on, Fi, don't be like that," he coaxed, pulling her back towards the bed. "Stay here tonight. With me."

She laughed and started to shake her head. But he pulled her down beside her, once again sliding his hands up her shirt. "Make it worth your while," he mumbled into her neck.

"Oh, you already have," she assured him.

[]

He couldn't decide what was likely to happen first: his head exploding, or his stomach coming out to shake hands with his knees. The room was spinning, and even when he put his foot on the floor, it didn't stop. He wasn't wearing any clothes, and when he slid his hand under the pillow, the gun was gone.

"Good morning," Fiona said brightly, coming in from the deck. She was holding a mug of steaming something. "Want a cup of tea? It's green, should help you feel better."

"Fiona, what the hell did you do?" he asked, pulling the pillow over his eyes to block out the light.

"Me? Should be thinking about yourself." She sat down on the edge of the bed, grinning at him. "I mean, really, Michael. You haven't been that wild in bed since you were using that cover ID back in Ireland. It was lots of fun."

"Explains the bruises," he allowed. "But, god, what the hell happened? Did I drink something?"

"Maybe it was the hamburgers," Fiona suggested. "I don't think Sam was cooking them thoroughly."

He moved the pillow to glance at her suspiciously. "You did this. It was the damn tea, wasn't it?"

She patted his arm. "The next time I ask you to hand me something high-up, you should just get it for me."

He groaned and replaced the pillow. "Did we dance in front of the garage?" He sat up quickly. "Did we have sex in Mom's spare bedroom?"

"It was a great barbecue," Fiona smiled. "Can't wait until next year."

[end]