No one knows when things at the dining table got so heated, but maybe that's because there's already been so much fighting that not even the decadent Italian Christmas dinner before them can ease familial tensions.

There's always been squabbles before the meal is served; that isn't new. But with Mikey high and belligerent, Lee continuing to be a pompous jerk, and Donna flipping out after Sugar set her off, it makes sense that the room has reached its breaking point.

Mikey's tried to be good tonight. He starved off the itch for painkillers with cigarettes for as long as he could, he stuck by your side the entire night to keep himself in check, and he even tried some of the grounding exercises you'd researched to help him get out of his head.

But he still snuck away, still took those pain meds he'd been keeping in his pocket, and still got high despite promising you he wouldn't. Mikey only hopes that when all this is said and done you'll go easy on him (you won't). Screw Lee and his high-and-mighty crap. He's bullshit.

Everyone's still reeling from Donna's outburst and exit when Lee decides to speak again, the table of Berzattos and other family members' faces hidden in palms and lungs exhaling shaky breaths. "So, it's out," the man mutters, "and, uh, maybe everybody— everybody can relax, yeah?"

Murmurs from the others sound off in agreement, and it just kills Michael to watch his family act like Lee's their savior; that Lee's little quips and his fucking smirk and his overall presence at the table are wanted in any capacity whatsoever. Glazed-over eyes hone in on the older man as he clutches Pete's fork in his hand, but they meet yours at his side for just a moment.

You're horrified. He's being an awful boyfriend, isn't he? This isn't the Christmas holiday he promised you, knowing that you hardly have a family to celebrate with in the first place. It's not fair.

Mikey grimaces apologetically before throwing the fork at Lee, and he doesn't even flinch when the table flips and Lee rushes him.