Mizabeth A-Z Oneshots

X⃞ena

Xena - A tough, physical, confident woman.

"Why is it such a problem?" Michael asks, bored of arguing now, especially when he's not even getting a straight answer.

"Because you're making it a problem!" Liz exclaims, exhausted after a long day of work.

"Tell me exactly what I did wrong." Michael says, desperately wanting to get to the bottom of this.

"It's not what you did, Michael, it's what you didn't do." Liz sighs.

"And if you don't tell me, then I'll just keep doing it!" Michael exclaims, getting frustrated now with her lack of clear communication which she normally is pretty good at.

"Fine! You didn't do any of the jobs that I asked you to do before I got home from work." Liz finally tells him, rubbing the side of her head to ease the headache she can feel coming.

"What jobs?" Michael asks.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Mike! All of the jobs that I normally do!" Liz yells, minutes away from going off on one of her tears which never ends well.

"Like what, Liz? Because as far as I'm concerned, when you get home from work you normally go to sleep or eat a pint of ice cream." Michael fires back, and it's hard not to take that one personally.

"How dare you. How fucking dare you!" Liz yells, storming into the kitchen and leaving him to follow. "Before I think to even sleep or eat, these are the jobs that I normally do. You see that dishwasher there, I unload it from when I loaded it that morning, and then I reload it with the dishes you've created. You see that refrigerator right over there, I take out food and I make a dinner with it."

He stays totally silent so Liz storms across into the utility room, and again he follows.

"You see that basket of laundry there? I put all of it into the washing machine and I take the clean clothes out and put them in the dryer." Liz rambles, taking an unwashed pair of jeans and tossing them on the floor to release some of the tension coursing through her body.

"Don't throw things, please." Michael says quietly, although he knows full well that it's completely futile.

"I'll throw what I god damn like." Liz stares him down before walking out and to the living room, waiting for him to join her. "And you see those dog beds, I tidy them up and I make sure they're clean."

"I feed the dogs." Michael murmurs, lost for any other words that might help the situation.

"So I think that when I come home from work and I do all of those jobs, I can then sleep or eat some ice cream. You know why? Because it's my house." Liz rants, walking to the kitchen to start making dinner.

"Liz, this is my house too and-"

"Really? Who paid for it?" Liz spits out quickly and his jaw drops.

"Liz-" Michael starts, shocked that she would go that low in one of their little fights.

"I'm just laying down facts, Michael. It's nothing personal." Liz shrugs, even though she had now made it very much personal.

"Alright then. Let's talk money. It's clearly an issue for you so let's talk about that." Michael says mockingly, knowing how much she can't stand to talk about their finances.

"We are not doing this now." Liz decides sternly, dead set on burying that discussion.

"Why do you always avoid this conversation?" Michael asks with a sigh, genuinely curious now that their argument had taken a turn from chores.

"Because it always turns into a fight!" Liz yells, making Michael realise he was wrong to assume she had calmed down slightly.

"Look, all I'm saying is that we share things we've bought separately, and things we bought together. I don't think it's fair of you to say that the house is yours when I put a very substantial amount of money down for it too." Michael explains, ready to have the conversation in a mature way, which Liz obviously wasn't.