Michael bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Cormac was obviously in some sort of pain, but Michael couldn't help but feel a little smug that it wasn't him in this predicament. '"What happened, mate? Did she kick you out? Hex you? What could she have possibly done to make you get to this place?"

Cormac took a long gulp from his glass, finally setting it on the coffee table with a loud thunk, causing some of the liquid to slosh over the sides. "We fought," he whispered. "I don't fight."

Michael shook his head. "No."

"I don't care enough to fight."

"Of course you don't," Michael muttered.

"When a woman gets pissy with me--I leave."

"Yeah, you do, usually."

"But I stayed. And fought. I care." He threw his arm up over his head and groaned some more.

Michael pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. This is going to be a long night, he thought. He looked at Cormac's melodramatic pose, shook his head again and leaned back in his chair. "So, Cormac, in what way did you wrong her royal highness? I assume she has it in her head that you are in some way to blame for her unhappiness?"

"Forgot we had a lunch date," he said, reaching for his glass again. "Only when she stopped by my office I was out to lunch with Katie--who, you might have guessed--is a woman."

"You stood up Pansy Parkinson?" Michael gave a long, low whistle. "I can't say that I know her all that well, but I remember the nasty hexes she used to throw at school. You're lucky you have all your appendages where they are."

"I guess I did stand her up, didn't I?" He swore. "It was purely accidental, though. I should get some leniency for that. Besides, I think she was more upset I was with Katie."

"She didn't hex you? No curses at all?"

Moaning, Cormac answered, "It would have been better if she had."

"So you forgot a lunch date. So what? That's all you fought about? I'm assuming that you apologized profusely?"

"Sincerely, even!" Cormac said, obviously still shocked about that. "And then she started in on 'why didn't I tell her that her friends paid me a visit me last week' nonsense. What good would that have done?"

"Maybe she's just being, you know, a girl, and in a week or two everything will be fine - not that I recommend saying that to her."

"It's not her I'm worried about, mate. Don't you get it?" he asked, frustrated. "I'm hung up on a woman. Me. She told me she had dinner with another bloke and do you know how I reacted? I got jealous! This is not good, Michael!" he all but hollered.

"Who did she have dinner with?" At Cormac's incredulous look, he backpedaled slightly. "Okay, okay, clearly not the point. You got jealous. So you like a girl. Worse things have happened, mate. And Pansy's not that bad. A bit... cold, a little spiteful, but dead sexy. All in all, a nice package. You could do lots worse."

"This has nothing to do with her! Of course she's fabulous, but do you know what comes next? When you're jealous of Dean Thomas?" he asked incredulously. "Commitment! That's what comes next." He laughed laughed bitterly and reached for his glass and drained the contents.

Miachael concentrated hard on not laughing out loud at his friend. 'Commitment' coming ot of his mouth was roughly on the same par as 'dragon pox.' He ran a hand over his face and considered his words carefully before he spoke. "Cormac. Have you actually ever tried committment? I mean, tested it out?" He poured another three fingers of Firewhisky into Cormac's tumbler and leaned back into his chair. "It doesn't have to mean a wedding or children, you know."

Cormac sighed irritably. "There are things just as bad as marriage and children. Unshaved legs and flannel nightdresses, for example."

Michael looked thoughtful. "Pansy doesn't seem the flannel nightgown type." He suddenly blanched, shaking his head. "Not that I ever want to think about what she wears to bed. Ever."

"But you know what she wears to-" he stopped abruptly. "Ah." He noticed Michael wasn't drinking much. "Not drinking with me, mate?"

Michal shot him a look. "No. And I don't plan on elaborating about it, either." He stood up, suddenly full of nervous energy, and began pacing, keeping Cormac in his peripheral vision. "So you care."

Another groan came from the direction of the sofa.

"Well, do you plan on drinking yourself into oblivion until the feeling goes away?"

"That was the plan."

"Or are you going to move on? I recall someone recently comparing women to an all you can eat buffet..."

"Brilliant bloke, that was. Perhaps I should take my own advice. Is that what you're saying?"

Michael shrugged. "There's no point in making yourself miserable. And if she's going to be pissy and jealous and fight with you, there's no point in staying around, right?"

"Right." He gulped down his Firewhisky. "But it's Pansy. She's as beautiful as she is bitchy. Not all boring and plastic." He sat up suddenly, if not wobbly. "You know what? Enough. Not only am I now thinking about a woman in disturbing ways, I'm acting like one. How're you?"

Michael sank down in the chair again, exhaling heavily. "Fine. Work is beyond busy." He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, to the left of the burned place. "What the hell happened to your table?" he asked, looking around his otherwise perfect flat. "It looks like there was a dragon in here."

Michael's remark brought a genuine smile to Cormac's face. "You could call her that, yes. Pansy didn't like the naked portrait Alicia gave me of herself, so she disposed of it--on this very table. She's mentioned replacing it, but the scorch marks are growing on me."

The scorch marks are growing on me? What the hell? Michael smiled. Obviously his friend was arse over elbow for this woman, and didn't want to admit it. "So, you're going to leave it, then?"

"For now, I suppose. It is kind of a interesting design, don't you think?" He stared at it for a moment. "If you turn your head to the side, it almost looks like a Hippogriff."

Michael squinted at it. "What's that thing coming out of it's head, then?"

"No, no, that's it's foot."

"Oh," Michael said, sitting back and rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Gods, look at the pair of us. I can't get over a girl who couldn't give two knuts for me, and you're hung up on a shrew that you can't get out of your head. What's say we head over to the Obliviator's office first thing in the morning and have it all taken care of?"

"That's brilliant, mate!" Cormac said happily. "I know an Obliviator who takes side jobs. He scares me, but he's not too expensive."


{Summary: Cormac bemoans that *gasp* commitment might be the next step with Pansy. Michael avoids the Firewhisky, and tries not to roll his eyes too much.}