A/N: This is a sort of end scene for this Tuesday's epsiode "Through The Darkness," because I couldn't see Michael having a Nerf gun and not shoot Serena ;)
Serena entered the office to find Michael half-cut with a child's dart tag gun shooting a Santa cut-out on his indoor basketball hoop. Wow, the people here were odd. She sat down at her desk without a word, collecting her belongings to go home for the night. As she looked down at her phone to answer her daughter's text, she felt something small and soft hit her head. "Yes, Michael," she said without looking up, trying to sound bored so as not to encourage him. "Very funny."
She heard him pour her a glass of whisky and say, "Want a drink?"
"I think you've had quite enough to drink," she warned him, finally looking up from her phone; he had a glass in his hand and he was quite blatantly intending to get very drunk. He still had the gun, and he was stupid enough to use it on her again, because another one of the foam bullets hit her collar bone. Ignoring him was the only sensible thing to do; getting through to him while he was drinking would not be very easy.
"You got kids?" he asked her.
"One," she replied calmly, placing her phone down on the desk. "You've got four, yes?"
He didn't reply. He only shot her again. This time, it hit her left breast and she'd had enough. "For God's sake! When are you going to grow up, Michael?!" she exclaimed. "You're acting like a spoiled child," she continued to berate him with home truths. "Yes, Ramona left, and that is very sad. But let's face it. That relationship was never going to last. The sooner you realise that you don't need a woman to be happy, the better," she snapped.
"What, and you don't need a man?" he challenged. "I see you every single day and I still don't know a single thing about you."
"Well, it's going to stay that way," she retorted. He shrugged and drank both his glass and hers, and she decided enough was enough. "Stop drinking," she warned him once again. "You'll regret it tomorrow morning when some moron stumbles in suffering from a severe case of acute idiocy that might even be a match for your case of extreme chronic arrogance," she said, the sarcasm lining her words.
"You're not much better, Serena. Seen your own reflection recently?" he replied. Considering he was half-cut and miserable, she had to credit his quick-witted answer. She almost forgot at times that his lack of humility was not an indication of a lack of intelligence.
"I tend not to take much notice of people I don't recognise," she snapped. "Unless they're my patient, of course."
He gave her and odd look and said nothing for a moment. She had never admitted that to anyone before, but sometimes it was true; sometimes she barely recognised her own mirror image. She'd been through marriage, motherhood, divorce, work-related problems...all of it. She wasn't the same person she was ten years ago.
"Here I was thinking you were above it all," he smirked into his glass. "You're not half bad, Campbell," he chuckled.
"Is that a compliment I hear from the almighty Michael Spence?" Serena quipped, finally taking the glass from him and sipping it, trying to ensure one of them at least remained reasonably sober. "Give that here," she told him, gesturing for the gun. He eyed her suspiciously but eventually gave her it.
With a wicked smile, she shot him square in the forehead. "Ow!" Michael shouted, rubbing the spot where the bullet hit his skin. "How come your aim's so good?!"
"Because I haven't had a third of a bottle of whisky, and therefore I can only see one of you," she retorted, shooting the Santa target he had hopelessly tried to attain. She returned the child's weapon to him, and he proved her point about the alcohol – he completely missed the target again. "Try standing up," she suggested, drinking from her glass.
He obeyed, and still missed; his hand wouldn't hold steady when he pulled the trigger. She felt herself loosen up slightly as the alcohol took effect, and got up to help him. She stood behind him, slightly to his side, and held his trigger arm steady, grasping it with both hands. "Shoot," she ordered him. It hit Santa square in his round, over-sized belly, and Michael grinned triumphantly. Dear God, he could be such a child. But at least he smiled, which was a start.
They repeated it, proving that they worked better as a team than they did individually, especially after a drink, or half a dozen in Michael's case. She tried to take the toy from him to see if she was still capable of shooting Santa, but Michael protested. "Give me it," she told him, but he just stared her down. "Come on. You had a shot."
He handed her it after he reloaded it, and she shot Santa once more before feeling a tiny blow to the arm. She turned and he was holding an identical gun of his own, and she saw where this was bound to end up. Her first instinct was to duck, and shoot. Another bullet hit her leg, and she shouted "Michael!" to no avail. He shot her once more, on the cheek, and she grinned evilly and opened fire on him.
"Oh, so you're playing it like that?" he challenged her, and she stopped only to have another drink before proceeding to shoot him again. And again. And again. In fact, they stumbled about drunkenly shooting each other for a good few minutes until they pulled the trigger and nothing happened.
"I'm empty," she complained. "You?"
"Yeah, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna bend down and pick them all up," he asserted, throwing the gun onto his messy desk, in amongst all the unfiled papers, and sat down with a sigh. Serena mirrored him. "And you tell me to grow up?" he reminded her, with a cocky smirk.
She said nothing, drinking more whisky, not giving a damn about the mess around her. It was only when she finished her glass that she said one thing.
"You started it."
Hope it is OK!
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!