1. The one with...HERMANO
Lindsay washes her hair with her special self-esteem boosting conditioner. She rubs millions of diamonds into her skin. She slips into her sleek red dress—frowns at the way it stretches a little oddly and smells faintly of Old Spice before chasing it away because her face just might stick that way—and looks at herself in the mirror.
"Oh yes, look at you," she sings to her reflection, vogueing and primping. "He won't know what hit him."
She sashays into the kitchen and strikes a seductive pose against the far counter, eyeing Michael.
Michael is cornballing in the corner, Marta, Hermano and GOB heavy on his mind. He catches a flash of blonde out of the corner of his eye. Lindsay was...doing yoga? Against the counter? Well, he'd seen weirder things in his family.
"Hey, Linds. Want a cornball?"
"Not today, Michael." She leans against the top and sends Michael a come-hither look.
Michael wonders if Lindsay is constipated, and then if it would be rude to offer her some prune juice or something. Probably not a good idea, this is Lindsay after all. He goes back to cornballing. Lindsay shifts, looking impatient. Michael wonders what she's looking for and notices her dress. Of course she's fishing for a compliment. Michael rolls his eyes then pastes a smile on his face.
"You look nice, going somewhere?"
"Only to find...hermano." Lindsay makes sure her voice drops seductively.
Michael's head snaps up. The way she said hermano, as if she knows... "Where did you--"
"Don't talk," Lindsay says breathlessly, pressing a finger to Michael's lips. "I know, Michael. I know."
"How do you know?" he asks helplessly. He's been looking for days and is no closer to Hermano than when he started. "No one is supposed to know."
"I'm a woman, Michael. We always know." She cups his cheek. "I..." There are butterflies in her belly.
"You..." Michael prompts.
"Do...do you want me, hermano?" Lindsay whispers.
To Lindsay's misfortune, Michael hears, "Do you want Mi Hermano" thinking 'Mi' is the elusive 'Hermano's' first name.
"Of course!" Michael says emphatically. How can she doubt it?
Lindsay's eyes light up. She leans in close. "So do I," she whispers, and walks out.
Michael blinks and scowls at the door Lindsay disappeared through. She didn't have to flaunt it like that. Seriously, what is it about this 'Hermano' guy that drives women crazy?
2. The one with drunken confessions
"It's just...she's so pretty."
Lindsay slinks into the living room, keeping to the shadows. Michael sprawls on the couch and GOB pours him another drink; she can see a dove moving in his pants and wonders how long this one will last and if GOB's changed pet shops yet.
"With her eyes and her hair and her...hair." Michael sighs and sticks out his tongue, letting the last little bits of vodka drop onto his tongue. Don't want it to go bad. "But it's a big resp...reponse...job. Takin' care of, um, that."
"She is a hot little blonde. You've got it bad, Michael. Oh, I remember those days. When I was a free man. Able to live the life Mother Nature intended, not tied down to the old ball and chain. I could make my own decisions."
"GOB, you don't even know her name. You call her Wife. You're getting divorced."
"It's a respectable profession, Michael. And a title of respect."
"Yeah, yeah I can see that. Profeshun: Wife of GOB. Income: r'spect. Has a, has a nice ring to it." Michael closes his eyes and hums drunkenly. Somewhere along the line, he comes to a (very drunk) decision. "I want her."
"Enough about you, let's talk about me."
"I just, I just want her so bad," Michael rambles, oblivious to GOB's annoyed eye rolls and huffs of annoyance. "She's cute, with that little button nose, and that personality. And her golden...golden stuff."
Lindsay smiles to herself. Oh Michael. Didn't he know all he has to do is ask? She won't say no—though she does have standards and Michael will have to work for her before anything happens. Maybe duel Tobias. She sneaks off plotting ways to drive him crazy.
"I just don't think George Michael is ready for a dog."
3. The one where Michael blue himself
Michael feels a growing distance between him and his not-twin-sister. Something's off with her, and he can't quite figure out what. They were doing well now that they were allied against mom and her underhanded sabotage.
So Michael searches for ways to reconnect with his sister, or at least make her happier. He's walked in on her trying to cry two days in a row now, and he's not sure he can take a third.
Michael goes through his options. He can't play dress up like they had when they were little. No tea parties to throw, and they're all a little too old to play Baby Buster: Battering Ram. Michael scours his brain, looks up websites, and pulls his hair out searching for idea.
When Tobias wanders in, wearing nothing but his cutoffs and blue paint, Michael has an idea. It's not a good idea, or even a bright idea—it probably registers at a low 35 on the wattage scale—but it's an idea.
So Michael and Tobias blue each other. Only it turns out that Michael is mildly allergic to one of the dyes used in the paint and ends up going a little loopy.
Lindsay comes home from a shopping trip just in time for Michael to fall on top of her.
"I, and you, with the...happy?" Lindsay wrinkles her nose in confusion, but soon smoothes it out; she doesn't want to turn into a leathery old coot like mom. Michael whispers into her ear, lips brushing against the shell, "I blue...blue m'self. Thinking...you.." Lindsay can't help the pleased flush.
"Aww Michael. You shouldn't have." Michael smiles down sappily at her. "No, really. You shouldn't have. But it's...kind of sweet?"
4. The one with 'Afternoon Delight'
Turns out one of GOB's Hot Strippers was a small time pot dealer on the side and was running a special on Afternoon Delight, which is how Michael found himself with a baggie of high-grade marijuana and no one to smoke it with.
He sits around waiting for inspiration to strike—as if he'll magically know how to make a bong out of an apple or build one out of tin foil—when Lindsay waltzes in with her big sunglasses and mussed hair.
"You didn't drink bad vodka again, did you?" Michael asks with a smirk. Lindsay glares at him (he thinks, it's hard to tell with the sunglasses) and lets her head thump to the table. "That's too bad, I was going to ask you to partake in some 'Afternoon Delight.' Maybe some other time, then." Michael pats his pocket full of Mary Jane and laughs as he saunters past Lindsay, whose expression flitters between aroused at Michael's words, irritated he's being coy and flirty while she's hung over, and violently ill—due only in part to the alcohol she'd ingested. The other part is Tobias's fault because she keeps having flashback to the night before when they'd tried to—you know what? It's all Tobias's fault.
5. The one with the Conversation
"God, Michael, just...do you want me?"
"What, Lindsay—of course I want you. You're...adopted in revenge because mom and dad can't stand that there's a decent human being in direct competition with them, sure. But that doesn't matter. I want you. Here, now and always."
"You mean that?"
For the first time in years, Lindsay's eyes mist up. "Oh Michael."
"Are you...crying?" It looks even scarier than when she's trying.
"This is the first time anyone's..." Lindsay sniffs, remembering how she'd married Tobias in a Las Vegas chapel with an Elvis-impersonating alien officiating. She'd had visions of her parents, righteously indignant, swooping in and annulling her marriage Britney Spears-style.
Instead, Lindsay had woken up hung over, with gum in her hair and wedding photos that cost $4.75 at Wal-Mart.
Michael hugs Lindsay close. These moments of vulnerability remind him of the person his sister is underneath all of the bluster and facade of practiced--
"I'm going to have to kill Tobias."
Michael waits a moment to see if his brain will put the non-sequitur into a place where it makes sense. Nope, not getting it.
"Why are you killing Tobias?"
"Divorces are so last year, Michael. Everyone's hiring out these days." Lindsay pulls away and narrows her eyes at him, considering. "How do you feel about Tiffany's?"
"You're right, so done. Maybe Harry Winston. Or De Beers..." Lindsay's voice trails off into the other room as Michael replays their entire conversation to try and figure out...
Oh no no no.
"I've made a huge mistake."