Here is my first oneshot. It's different from the other things I've written but give it a chance!
Please read it and trust me that there is a happy shipper ending! Thanks!
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The first man Fiona Glenanne had truly loved was Michael McBride. She had been in a few relationships before; one or two had been serious. But she never knew the feeling of complete, unconditional, irrational love until she met McBride.
It hadn't been a typical courtship. They had had one dance, which lasted all night, and were partners in crime from that moment on, literally. Fiona was a person who had her own morals. She did things in an unconventional way, but for all the right reasons. And she avoided collateral damage at all costs.
McBride had admired this about her. He too lived by his own moral code, and because of this, he and Fiona worked seamlessly together. They trusted each other, and had each other's backs no matter what. The first time Fiona took McBride's side in an argument with her brothers solidified their relationship in her family's eyes.
They were discussing the logistics of breaking into an RIRA headquarters, and the Glenanne's wanted to crash their way in, guns blazing. McBride suggested a more subtle approach and the men stared at him incredulously until their little sister spoke up.
"I like McBride's plan."
The brothers were taken aback, but received the message loud and clear. There was one man who mattered most to Fiona, and it was a man from Kilkenny by the name of McBride. Mrs. Glenanne invited him over for dinner with the family the next day.
Despite how close they were, or perhaps because of it, Fiona and McBride had their disagreements. They were nearly always fighting about something. Their arguments were violent, explosive, passionate, and the make ups were more of the same. It was an unusual relationship, but it worked for them. No matter how tense things got neither of them once considered walking away. Their worst day together was still better than their best day apart. McBride knew that no matter how angry Fiona was, she would always come through for him when it mattered. Fiona knew that McBride, dark and mysterious though he was, cared about her more than anyone ever had. And although neither would say it, when Fiona looked into the eyes of Michael McBride, she knew she was loved.
She had been furious when she had found out that McBride was not who he claimed to be. She had been ready to turn her back on him; he was nothing but a stranger to her. But he was a stranger she loved, so she had saved his life and been prepared to give him a second chance. She had fallen in love with his cover identity, but mightn't she feel the same about his real one?
The Irishwoman was ready to find out, but wasn't given the chance, because after a wonderful dinner and earth-shattering lovemaking, McBride had left her home and her life, leaving her to mourn the loss of a man she had never really known.
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Just over a year after Fiona had been left in Ireland by the love of her life, she bumped into a handsome but slightly nerdy man on the street in Belfast. She nearly marched away in indignataion, but something made her stay where she was. The man with red hair was a sloucher, and could barely make eye contact with the beautiful woman he had bumped into. Even though he was clearly shy, and lacked any self assurance, Fiona would bet her life that the bespectacled man had jostled her on purpose. She was a bit disconcerted by the unexpected and unplanned meeting, but couldn't be too upset with the guilty-looking man.
He stammered out an apology, although he seemed unsure what he was apologizing for. She was about to ignore him and stomp off, but something in his eyes made her pause.
"Can-can I buy you a c-cup o' tea?" he asked, in what she recognized as a West Irish accent. She sighed and opened her mouth to refuse -she was still angry with him, and he certainly wasn't her type- but decided that dating men who were 'her type' hadn't worked well for her in the past. Perhaps she needed something different. Besides, if he tried anything, she'd be happy to shoot him.
She sat with the man, who introduced himself as Colin Reid, for nearly three hours that afternoon. It turned out they had a lot in common. He was in town for a very brief time for business, and couldn't stay long because he had pissed off some unsavory characters. Fiona decided that perhaps this was the rebound she needed. A man who was different enough to be a reprieve from her dark past, and who wouldn't expect more than a one night stand. The one night stand had turned into a three night stand, and included day long trysts too. Against her better judgement, Fiona had agreed to help Colin with his business too.
It was a simple job, and only required her to build one medium-sized bomb, but for a few days she had felt a completeness that she hadn't felt in over a year. For those few days, Fiona and Colin were able to find a rhythm. It was nearly the same as working with McBride, but Colin seemed to have a weight on his shoulders that the man from Kilkenny had lacked. Their lovemaking too was more slow-paced than Fiona had experienced before, and every touch from the Irishman seemed to be a poorly disguised apology. Fiona didn't dwell on it though, and instead focused on the completeness she felt when she was with Colin, even though she knew it wouldn't last.
When the Irishman's four-day stay had ended, Fiona found herself sleeping alone once again. Even though she had known that her lover would leave this time, it had still opened up those old wounds. Fiona had known Colin Reid for less than a week, but there was no doubt in her mind that she had loved him deeply.
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Seven months later, Fiona was in Germany, procuring some supplies for a job she was doing. She had gotten there a couple days early so she could check out the situation before touching base with her contact.
One evening, as she sat in the dark, smoky bar where she would have her meeting the following night, a man dressed in all black approached her. He was muscular, with short dark hair and a good amount off scruff on his chin. She could tell this man would be trouble, but she had never been intimidated by the rough-around-the-edges type. So when he sat across from her and handed her a bloody mary, just what she had been craving, she let him sit rather than chasing him from the establishment.
"Well, are you going to tell me your name?" Fiona asked the strong, silent man who sat in front of her.
"Ralf Steinwig," he said, and she was a bit surprised by his thick German accent.
"Just what do you think is going to happen here?" She felt a combination of unease and excitement, knowing exactly what Ralf wanted from her. Ralf smirked and raked his eyes over her body.
"Whatever you'll let happen."
Fiona felt she should have been disgusted, even angry with his bold behavior, but she wasn't. He looked at her like she was a particularly juicy piece of meat, and she felt herself flush and tingle in all the right places. So she ordered more drinks for both of them and let him stay.
A few hours and more than a few drinks later, Fiona was stumbling along the dark streets of Berlin, with Ralf following close behind her. His hands were all over her, but she didn't complain because she was pretty sure she would fall on her face if he let go. Fiona led the German man back to her motel room, and the two wasted no time in getting each other undressed. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Fiona wanted nothing more than to feel this man's skin against her own. She could tell from the hunger in Ralf's eyes that this night would be rough, but just what she craved.
As the two fell onto the springy mattress and continued their activities, Ralf's scruff scratched her skin harshly. She wasn't used to the sensation, but she liked it. The irritating hairs enhanced the sensitivity of her body to his hard form.
The dark haired man was as quiet in bed as he had been in the bar, but Fiona appreciated the silence. She was able to focus on her physical reactions, and savor every moment of the tumultuous lovemaking. As nice as romance was, Fiona certainly enjoyed sex that doubled as a work out, and Ralf seemed to understand that far better than Colin Reid had.
Fiona had expected her lover to leave immediately after they had finished their activities, but was pleased when she heard his breathing slow to a deep, steady rhythm. As she drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, Fiona knew that she would not get to know this gruff German man. They had given each other what they needed, for a night, and she didn't regret it, would never regret it.
As soon as the first beams of sunlight crept over the horizon, Fiona felt the cheap mattress shift as her companion got up to leave. She pretended to be asleep as he dressed, wanting to avoid the awkwardness and pain of saying goodbye. She thought he had fallen for it too, until he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to her forehead. As her German lover's lips lingered by her face, breathing in her scent, she realized that, no matter how brief their night had been, she had loved that man.
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Almost two years later, Fiona had hardly even begun to recover from her lost love. She wasn't thinking of him at the moment though. Instead, Fiona was running as fast as she could, running for her life. She was being chased by a small group of angry Italian mobsters, having just reneged on a weapons deal.
She needed business as much as the next gunrunner, but when she had found out that her potential clients were planning on using the weapons to attack a church congregation, she had refused to supply them. So now the Irishwoman was stuck sprinting down an alley, trying to lose her pursuers in a city with which she was very unfamiliar.
Fiona reached the other end of the alley and found herself on a slightly busy main road. She was speed-walking along the sidewalk, trying to look inconspicuous while searching for a place to hide, when a terribly expensive black car slowed beside her. She doubted the pricey vehicle belonged to one of the low-on-the-totem-pole mobsters who was chasing her, so she slowed long enough to peek in through the window that the driver had rolled down.
The man inside didn't look like a typical Italian. He had dark, slicked-back hair, and was wearing a very nice gray suit, but his skin tone wasn't quite as robust as most in the country. Fiona knew if she was smart she would run away from him as fast as she was running from the mob. However, Fiona hadn't become a gunrunner and bomb maker because she didn't take risks.
The man motioned for her to come into the car, saying with an amused smirk, "You need help?"
Fiona knew that she didn't have much time to plan her next move. She could either take a risk and go with a man she knew might hurt her, or take her chances with some Italian thugs. Finally, she decided to follow her gut, and got into the dark car with the eager driver. She thought he might try to take her somewhere isolated, and was almost disappointed when he didn't. Her adrenaline was still pumping from being chased, and she would have liked a good fight.
When the Italian man, Roberto, as he introduced himself, asked where she'd like to be dropped off, she hesitated. She had been staying in a hotel, but her new enemies knew exactly where it was. She'd be insane to go back there. Sensing that the woman was struggling with answering that simple question, Roberto offered to let her stay in the villa where he himself was living.
"There's plenty of room," he explained. "You won't even have to see me, if you don't want to."
Fiona took a moment to process the offer, but quickly agreed to his hospitality. She knew she might regret it, but she wanted to see more of the man beside her. Besides, she had nowhere else to go and her flight back to Ireland wouldn't leave for another two days.
When Fiona arrived at the villa she couldn't help but gasp. It was huge, with intricate landscaping and elegant statues.
"You live here?" she asked.
"It's being rented by the company I work for," he explained. "A colleague and I are staying here for a couple of weeks, on business."
Fiona exited the car and began following Roberto to a side door of the mansion. She was still taking in the exquisite elegance of the place when she caught sight of a woman whose beauty rivaled that of the building around her.
"Roberto?" asked the woman, in a light Italian accent, "you did not tell me you were bringing a...guest." She eyed Fiona's grungy apparel with obvious distaste.
"I meet her in the city. She needs a place where to stay." Fiona was taken aback by Roberto's suddenly deplorable English.
The sexy woman pasted a faux smile on her face and introduced herself. "I'm Antonia."
"Fiona. Pleasure to meet you. I hope you don't mind me staying here; it's just for two nights."
"I don't mind at all," said Antonia, in a tone that suggested that she did indeed mind.
"Excellent," said Roberto enthusiastically, seemingly oblivious to his colleague's reluctance. "I show you where you stay," he said to Fiona.
Fiona followed the well-dressed man up a grand staircase and into a large, fully-furnished bedroom. It was incredibly luxurious and all she wanted to do was curl up in the silk sheets and go to sleep. Instead she turned to the man standing beside her. He was looking at her with a smug gaze, and Fiona wondered if he was waiting for her to thank him.
After a momentary staring contest, Roberto asked, "Are you with hunger? The chef is make dinner soon." Fiona smiled at his butchering of the English language, then answered.
"I am. But were you and your girlfriend planning on having dinner together? I wouldn't want to impose."
"She's not my girlfriend," he answered quickly in a whisper.
"Oh, but she's so beautiful," said Fiona. "How can you possibly resist? You are a man, Roberto, after all. Surely you've-"
"Not my type." Roberto rolled his eyes.
"You come to dinner or no?" Fiona shrugged and nodded, following the wealthy Italian down to the dining room.
After dinner, Antonia bade Roberto and Fiona good night, and headed down to her wing of the villa. Roberto, noticing his guest was a bit tipsy, offered to help her to her room. Although being fairly tipsy himself, it was like the blind leading the blind.
As soon as they reached the bedroom, Roberto closed the door and slammed Fiona against it, ravaging her with forceful kisses. She pulled away after a moment and slapped him.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"What I've wanted to do since I saw you running along that sidewalk," he answered, and continued kissing her neck.
"And what if I say no?" she asked, trying to ignore the heat that was building up between them.
Roberto pulled back and looked at her with a smoldering gaze. "You won't."
His air of certainty gave Fiona no choice. She kicked him in the chest, hard, causing him to fall back onto the bed with a grunt of pain. She leaned over him and took his most delicate body parts firmly in her hand.
"I do have a choice," she whispered, and it sounded like a threat. For a moment Roberto seemed to be regretting his boldness, but soon Fiona was caressing and kissing him with a desperation she hadn't felt in a long time.
They continued slowly, taking their time to enjoy each other, and to enjoy the most comfortable bed either had ever laid in. Fiona was not usually one to take her time with things, but she found herself lost in the moment as soon as her lover entered her. His voice was raspy as his accent disappeared and he whispered into her ear in his native tongue.
While they moved together Fiona couldn't help but go back to Ireland, imagining that the man above her was Michael McBride, and when she came undone, his name escaped her lips fleetingly, accidentally. She knew immediately that she had made a huge mistake.
"What did you call me?" Roberto asked, sounding angry but looking scared. The man glanced around the room, as if he were being watched or eavesdropped on, and removed himself from the bed, making sure Fiona's bare body remained completely covered by the sheets. He shook his head in disappointment and turned towards the unlit lamp. Fiona followed his eyes to what appeared to be some sort of listening device.
"I-I'm sorry," stammered Fiona. "I didn't mean to, I just got caught up in the moment. For a second I forgot-" she wasn't sure what to say. She took a deep breath, sensing that she needed to think fast if she was going to salvage the situation.
"You see, I had a bad break up. This man left me without a word and I guess," she felt sick admitting it to the man in front of her, "I'm still not over him."
Roberto looked a bit embarrassed by the confession himself, but it seemed to have the desired effect. He walked back towards her slowly and leaned in close, sensing she had something else to say.
"I want to be loved tonight," she admitted, in a barely perceptible whisper.
Roberto's eyes softened and he got back into the bed, wrapping himself around her snugly. He laid his head close to hers, and just before she lost herself to sleep she heard him whisper, "You are."
The next morning Fiona's brother called to tell her he'd gotten her an earlier flight, and she'd left her beloved Roberto's bed and his life, without a word.
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Fiona had to wait nearly a year and a half until the next time. She had decided to treat herself to a vacation, something she had never done before. Of course she'd travelled often, but it had all been work related. This was the first time she was going to go away by herself, for herself.
She got the idea of going on a vacation from a generic postcard sent to her house, advertising a resort in New Zealand. She wouldn't have given it a second thought, since New Zealand was so far away, but there was a coupon for a free snow globe attached and Fiona decided that that sweetened the deal enough for her to pack her bags and leave that very weekend.
She arrived at the resort feeling jet-lagged, but excited for a week away from the icy chill of Ireland's winter.
On the very first day she arrived, she sat by the pool, soaking some of the warm sunbeams into her chilled bones and people-watching. A man caught her eye almost instantly. He was surrounded by pretty girls and seemed to be having the time of his life. The phrase life-of-the-party popped into her head.
The man was tan, with golden brown hair that hung over his forehead, almost in his eyes. He was drinking a beer and grinning from ear to ear, telling some joke that made everyone around him roar with laughter. Fiona couldn't help but notice that his outward appearance seemed like a façade, and wondered what he would be like behind closed doors, away from crowds and alcohol.
Fiona had always prided herself in not being the type to chase after a man. She waited for them to come to her, giving her the upper hand in the relationship. However, considering that her vacation was not going to be long, she decided there was no time to waste. She removed her thin cover up, revealing a skimpy red and gold bikini, and sidled up to the man who had all too easily caught her attention.
He noticed her right away, although he pretended not to. After a while, the attractive man, who had a drawling British accent, moved almost unnoticeably to her side.
"See something you like?" she asked flirtatiously. He swallowed and nodded, losing his air of cockiness for a split second.
Then he stuck out his hand casually saying, "I'm Edmund Talbot." The handshake lingered, until Edmund pulled his hand away and placed it briefly on her hip. "You're beautiful," he said, and led Fiona to a quieter area of the patio, between a blooming garden and a gurgling fountain.
She looked around, but couldn't tell if they were truly alone. "My, you certainly are forward," she said.
"I am when I see something I want. I won't be here for much longer, sweetheart, so I don't have time for foreplay."
Fiona narrowed her eyes at his boldness, but didn't move away. Instead, she allowed herself to get lost in his sunny blue eyes for a moment, but was brought back to reality by the arrival of a busty brunette who strolled up to them, sat in Edmund's lap, and said in a whiny voice, "Eddie, who's this?"
Fiona's cheery mood suddenly darkened and she looked at the man before her with her eyebrows raised.
"This is..." he began.
"Fiona." Fiona finished his sentence and stuck out her hand. "I just arrived here and I was getting to know everyone."
"Oh, well, I'm Callie and I see you've already met Edmund." She set her unnaturally white teeth in a fake smile and walked away, pulling Edmund behind her.
The man in question didn't dare look back at Fiona, but she shot him a deadly glare anyway before heading to the hotel's gym to work off some energy. Her brief meet up with the Brit had left Fiona grumpy and ticked off. Who was he to lead her on when he was clearly taken?
However, she refused to let a man ruin her week, no matter how enticing his lips happened to be. So that evening, she dressed up in a short, midnight blue cocktail dress and made her way down to the bar.
Fiona pretended not to notice the stares of the men who were sitting at the bar, watching various sports games. Soon however, a man who had clearly had a few drinks, sat down beside her and began to make conversation. She didn't feel attracted to the man, but chatted with him nonetheless, needing to take her mind off of the infuriating man from the pool.
This would be easier said than done however, because after only twenty minutes of making small talk with her new companion, Edmund himself came walking in the bar. He took the stool on the other side of Fiona, sending the chatty man a glare that doubled as a threat.
Fiona's new friend looked at her, as if expecting her to ask him to stay, but had no such luck. He moved away to watch the game, motioning to the bartender for another drink.
"Sorry about earlier," said Edmund, pretending not to notice that she was ignoring him. "Callie is actually the niece of a very important, er...client. She invited me here and the company made me go. We're not actually...together."
Fiona simply shook her head and avoided his gaze. "You don't need to explain anything to me."
"But I do. It wasn't fair of me to make you think I was here alone. I pride myself in being a gentleman, but when I saw you, I- well, I suppose I forgot myself for a moment."
Fiona felt a blush begin to rise up in her cheeks, but tried to control it. She didn't want to give the Brit any satisfaction.
"Well, it's nice of you to apologize," she finally spoke, "but I'm sure Callie is waiting for you."
"Callie's in the spa. Apparently, I bore her."
Hearing this, Fiona finally looked at the man beside her. He was just as handsome as he had been that morning. His sun-kissed cheeks practically glowed, but the Irishwoman supposed that was due to the genuine smile that adorned his face. Despite her attraction to him, Fiona decided to keep the pace slow.
"How could a man like you possibly bore any woman?" It sounded too much like a compliment so she added, "Callie strikes me as someone who is easily amused."
Fiona was satisfied to see a hint of red grace the man's cheeks. "I wouldn't know," he answered stiffly. "I'm a bit...old-fashioned."
Fiona let out a loud guffaw, pleased to see the blush now spreading fully over his cheeks. "Are you?" Fiona's mood had completely changed at that last piece of information. She now looked like a lioness, licking her lips while hunting her prey. "You seemed pretty outgoing down at the pool."
"I'd had a few drinks," he explained. "Besides, I have to keep the company happy somehow."
"Well, then," she smirked, invading his personal space, "let's start drinking."
Fiona couldn't believe how much she had been able to talk her companion into drinking. She had always been able to hold her liquor, but soon decided she'd better not make it a competition. One of them needed to be able to walk in a straight line so they could make it back to the room.
Although she was generally turned off by drunk men, she had to admit that Edmund was a great deal of fun. He laughed more than anyone she'd ever slept with, and although his drunken state resulted in a sloppy rhythm, Fiona was left with no complaints.
They had stumbled up to Fiona's room just after nine, and were half undressed before the door closed behind them. It was a fairly fast coupling, both desperate to finish before they passed out, but quite enjoyable nonetheless.
Fiona slept soundly, feeling more comfortable in her lover's arms than she wanted to admit, and neither moved a muscle until the room began to brighten.
Fiona opened her eyes to see Edmund's sleepy blue ones looking at her, slightly confused. She wasn't sure whether to feel guilty or laugh at his disorientation.
"You were right," Fiona began, "you are way more fun when you drink."
Edmund chuckled, putting a hand to his forehead tenderly, unwilling to move from the soft bed.
"So, Mr. Old-Fashioned," she teased, "was that what you needed?"
He smiled and nodded slowly, looking into her eyes. The man's sudden sincerity was a bit off-putting.
"Well, you can't expect me to come to your rescue every time you're stuck with a brainless bimbo."
"I don't," Edmund assured her. "It's just been a long time since I've been with someone I-" Edmund seemed to rethink his choice of words "-felt a connection to. When I saw you I couldn't help but go with it."
Fiona nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She traced the lines on his face and planted one last kiss on his lips before rising to get dressed, signaling for him to do the same. The two walked over to the door, and just as Fiona was about to open her mouth and suggest that they meet up again the following night, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Edmund peered out the peephole and his face paled. He moved away from the door, dragging her with him.
"It's Callie," he explained in a hushed voice. "She must know I'm in here."
"Oh, I'm sorry," sympathized Fiona. "This is going to destroy your deal, isn't it?"
"Maybe," he said looking anxious, "but I don't regret it for a minute." He lowered his head until his eyes met hers. "Thank you," he said simply.
As he turned to face the music, Fiona blurted out, "I'm moving to New York City. Just so you know if you ever, want to, uh...meet up again." Fiona felt as though maybe she had said too much, but Edmund simply smiled and nodded.
He left her standing in her gorgeous hotel room alone, listening to Callie's shrieks and threats as she cut their vacation short.
Fiona caught a flight back to Ireland the next day.
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Fiona spent the following year and a half in New York City. She drummed up some business as a gunrunner and acquired many useful contacts.
The Irishwoman dated a bit, and even had one semi-serious relationship, but did not find love. The men were nice, interesting, but none of them caused fire to burn inside her heart the way she craved.
As much as she hated to admit it, Fiona was not happy in New York. The apartment she lived in was nice, and the climate was familiar enough for her to feel at home, but there was something or someone, missing.
When Fiona had first made the decision to move to the United States, a part of her had wondered whether she would ever run into Michael Westen, the man she had loved for over five years but never really gotten to know. It was a ridiculous hope, she knew. Even if the spy were in the country, which was unlikely, the odds were highly against her running into him. And yet she lived with that hope every day, until she got the call that cleared the clouds from her life.
Michael Westen was in a motel in Miami, not doing well but alive. And he had had her contact information on him. Without thinking too hard about what she was going to do, Fiona packed up her belongings and was in Miami that same afternoon.
As she sat beside Michael Westen's bed, contemplating for how long they would be together this time, she promised herself that no matter how things ended, it would never really be the end. Because she loved him.
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Seven years later, in a cottage in Ireland, a man named Michael awoke to see Fiona's green eyes watching him from her side of the bed. She seemed lost in thought, and Michael daringly inquired as to what she was pondering.
"I was just wondering with whom I'm sleeping," she said cryptically, causing Michael to wrinkle his brow in confusion. He was unsure what he was supposed to say.
"I mean," Fiona explained, "are you an Irishman named Michael McBride or Colin Reid? Are you the formidable Ralf Steinwig? The short-tempered Roberto or the irresponsible Edmund Talbot? I love you, but sometimes I feel like I barely know you. Or maybe I know more of you than anyone."
She chuckled and shrugged, letting Michael know that she wasn't upset, she was simply voicing her thoughts.
He considered what she said for a moment, grasping her hands between his own, trying to figure out the best way to explain things to the woman he loved more than life. Finally, he remembered her advice to him about what to tell their nephew when he asked tough questions. Michael finally smiled and held her close.
"My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy. And I always have been and always will be the man who loves you."
No more explanation was ever necessary.
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I hope you enjoyed this!
Were you at all surprised by the ending or did you see it coming? Did I do a terrible job keeping things ambiguous? Did it make sense? Let me know!
Thanks for reading either way and please review!