#thefoolandhisfitz

Michael was walking back to his office with a Subway lunch when Lindsay bombarded him with the question. Well, it wasn't really a bombardment, it just felt that way to him because of the wicked headache he had.

Lindsay swiveled around in her chair to face Michael. "Hey, Michael!" she said.

Michael stopped and looked at her. "Hey, Linds," he replied. He managed a tight smile.

"I'm having a pool party Friday after work," she said. "Everyone else is coming. You should, too."

"Sounds good," he said. It was only Wednesday, so he could probably recuperate by then. "Do you have any Advil, Linds?" he asked.

Lindsay scrunched her eyebrows together, swiveled back around to her desk, and started digging around in drawers. The noise of the rustling and banging of things around sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Michael. Obviously, in the final drawer Lindsay looked in, she found the damn Advil. 

She tossed it to Michael, and Michael took two pills from the bottle and tossed it back. "Thanks," he said with a nod. 

"No problem," Lindsay said as Michael walked away. 

Michael sat at his desk. He opened the 7Up bottle and took the Advil. He hoped it would kick in by the end of lunch, so he could do a Let's Play! with Geoff, Ray, Jack, and Gavin. He would need it for that little pleb.

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The Advil kicked in long after the Let's Play!, and Michael ended up beating Gavin to the ground.

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By the time Friday rolled around, Michael was feeling absolutely fine. His headache had subsided completely, Gavin wasn't bugging him after the Let's Play!, Geoff and Ray were laying off of him since he had to edit said Let's Play!, but he felt good. He could just sit there and finish editing the video, and then after lunch let it upload. Easy.

Not so easy. Michael ended up eating his words. Gavin was having another one of his freak outs because Final Cut pinwheeled on him. 

"What do you want me to do about it, Gavin?" Michael yelled.

"It's not doing a fucking thing!" Gavin complained. 

Michael took off his headphones. He looked straight at Gavin. "Save more fucking often, then!" he said.

"Are you going to Lindsay's pool party?" Gavin asked.

"Yes."

"We're gonna get crunk." He drawled out the word.

"Who taught you that?"

"Ray."

"Never say that again."

"Noted. See you at the party," Gavin said. He turned back to his computer and closed Final Cut. Michael put on his headphones again and finished the editing.

"Hey, Michael?" 

"Shut up."

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Michael showed up at the party with a bottle of Sailor Jerry's and Coke for mixing. He was going to wake up the next day with a pounding headache again and he knew it, but he might as well have fun first.

Jack greeted him and then Lindsay, who was cracking jokes with Ray, said hi and thanked him for bringing more drinks. Everyone was holding a beer. Michael took one and joined Ray and Lindsay.

He saw Geoff, and he knew that Gavin wasn't going to be far behind. He didn't have to wait until morning for that headache. 

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Gavin was right: everyone was getting crunk. Whatever that meant. Michael hoped it meant that everyone was pissed drunk. Everyone was, except Geoff, who promised Griffon and Millie he'd get Gavin home in one piece. Geoff was a bit... tipsy. But being outside, it cleared Geoff's head, and he drove people home one by one. 

Gavin was bumping into shit. The little Brit bastard couldn't hold his hard liquor very well. Michael was standing with his back to a tree, trying not to pass out. 

Gavin bumped into Michael and slurred, "Hey! Mi-cool!" He had a weird habit of dragging out his name whenever he was drunk or scared or... anytime, really. Michael thought it made Gavin feel better.

"Huh?" Michael grunted.

"Fight me!" Gavin said. He had a stupid grin on his face and his eyes were half closed.

Michael looked at Gavin. "Fuck no. I'm going to go pass out on the couch or something," Michael said. He tried to shove past Gavin, but Gavin grabbed Michael's shoulder and dug his fingernails in. 

"Come on!" Gavin said.

"Gavin, no."

"Come on!" Gavin stayed attached to Michael like a barnacle as Michael walked off.

"You're going to make me do this," Michael said. "You don't have your phone on you, do you?" Michael turned to face Gavin.

Gavin thought for a moment, exaggerating the head movement to the right side. "You - um, no," he finally spluttered out. As soon as the last syllable left his lips, Michael put both hands on his chest and pushed him into the pool.

Michael's plan backfired because Gavin pulled Michael in after him. Michael was beginning to yell, "Hey - you motherfucker!" and then he got a mouthful of water. They came up for air half-sober now. 

Michael turned on Gavin, who was pushing hair out of his eyes. "Why would you do that?" they yelled at each other at the same time.

"You didn't have your phone on you or anything?" Gavin asked.

"No!" Michael said before he tackled Gavin. It wasn't so much tackling as it was trying to ram his head underwater. 

Gavin came back up for air and started to slap at Michael wildly and blindly. He landed a few good slaps, but they were both all wet and Michael was resisting with all he had.

Their trunks were slowly sliding off and somehow in the process Gavin managed to scratch Michael's collarbone hard enough to draw blood, and the chlorine was getting into it. He groaned at it. 

"I'm sorry," Gavin slurred, and he went in for a hug. 

Michael let himself float as rigid as he could in Gavin's embrace. "Are you hard?" Michael growled, and started to push Gavin away. Well, Gavin was drunk, and shit tended to happen when you were drunk, but Michael was still hysterically yelling, "You're hard! Jesus Christ!" and variants of it while slapping Gavin away. He scrambled out of the pool and laid on his back on the side.