I froze in Fiona's doorway when the tipped furniture and strewn belongings registered in my mind. I reached behind me to pull out my handgun, freezing again when Fiona's anguished scream filled the house. Completely terrified now, I swiped out my handgun, following the sound of the cry to her bedroom. A vase crashed on the doorframe by my ear and I winced at how close of a miss it had been.

Fiona screamed again and I stood, paralyzed, as she ripped her bed sheets off, hurling them to the floor. She continued to ruin her room for a minute before she stopped, back to me. Her shoulders heaved and I suddenly realized she was crying. I stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out how to react.

"Fi--"

At the sound of my voice, she whirled, fist flying towards my jaw. I caught it, holding it firmly in front of her, staring her in the eyes. Recognition flickered inside of them and her entire body collapsed, falling onto my chest, letting the tears flow again. I awkwardly patted her shoulder, eyes searching the room for any clue to what had set this off.

"Fi, what's wrong?" I asked, concern etching my voice. She pulled back, staring into my eyes for a second before turning to her dresser and picking up a piece of paper. She thrust it into my face wordlessly. I glanced between her and the paper before gently taking it from her and reading it.

It was a letter from Sean, explaining how Fiona's mother had passed away.

I could feel my heart twisting inside my chest. I'd known Fiona's mother pretty well and had great respect for the woman. I would grieve for her, but Fiona...

I looked up from the letter, to see her seeming to fight with herself whether or not to be angry or distraught. "Fi..." I breathed, reaching a hand out to make an attempt to console her. She brushed me off, turning away.

"I'd known she was sick," she said, talking more to herself than to me. "But I couldn't be there. I'd known she was dying. But I can't go to Ireland anymore. Now she's gone. And I still can't be there!"

She snatched the letter from my hand, crumpling it up and tossing it across the room. I winced again. She'd already tried to throw a punch at me: I rather hoped she wouldn't try to toss me across the room.

"I'm sorry, Fi," I whispered. "I... I really don't know how to help."

Fi shook her head, as if blowing away a bothersome fly. She brushed her fingers through her hair, turning away from me again. It was silent for a while. Fi simply stood there, a battle visibly being fought inside of her. There was a battle inside of me, too, but mine was more of confusion. I had no idea how to react. I'd never needed to console someone who'd just suffered the death of a loved one. And this someone happened to be a loved one of my own...

"Michael." Her voice was hoarse and she didn't turn her head to look at me. I glanced up at her, jumping at the opportunity to distill the awkwardness.

"Yeah?"

"You... you'll... always be there for me, right?"

I paused, frowning at the strangely sentimental question. "Of course."

Now she turned to look at me, eyes piercing through me. "You're not just saying that?"

I stopped. It really meant that much to her...

"No, Fi. I'll be there."

Fi nodded, dropping her gaze. After another silent moment, she glanced around the room, taking in the mess.

"My goodness," she said, voice returning to normal. "Look at this place. It's a disaster!"

I grinned. That was my Fi.

A/N: I love reviewers and live for constructive criticism!