Michael comes home to the loft at night, where Fi has dinner waiting. Or, more accurately, salads in what look like ancient Colombian bowls. Looks like the prop department picked up a few too many. She asks how it went. Michael is noncommittal. "Whatever happens, one of us will be happy, I guess," he grumbles. And then he asks her, rather pissily, "Why can't you be with me on this?" She compares him to Spencer, with his monomania. Michael doesn't disagree: "We both see the world a certain way and we both have skills that make it a better place. That's not a bad thing." He starts getting heated as he says what they just did is "the type of work I was made for, Fi. It's what my old job gave me a chance to do every single day. So no, getting back in isn't just a way to survive, to protect the people I love. It's what I want. And if you truly care about me, you should damn well want for me what I want for myself." Whoa, that's kind of harsh. She doesn't have a response to that, other than to give in. "I'll be with you," she says. But then she leaves, pausing as she walks past him just long enough for the camera to get a good look at the tears in her eyes. Short dinner for her, but she was probably full anyway.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.