Still not mine. Oh well. After the first episode, I was thinking about how badly it would suck to have everything you own blown up, and this idea popped into mind. Enjoy.

Irreplaceable

Michael groaned in pain as he swung open the door to the loft, prepared to lie down and sleep for at least the next eight hours. His chest was killing him after his run in with the police at Fi's new place. Well, old place now. However, when he stepped into the loft and found Fi, he knew he wasn't going to get to rest any time soon.

When he opened the door, she glanced up and hastily wiped her face, trying to hide the tears that had been streaming down her face moments before. She couldn't hide them from Michael, though, and he was at her side as quickly as his injury would allow him to move.

"What's wrong?" he questioned quietly, reaching up with his good hand to wipe away some of the tears she had missed.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "I'm fine."

He gave a look that clearly said he didn't believe her, and she sighed loudly. He waited silently, knowing she would tell him when she was ready. She leaned into his side, and he automatically wrapped an arm around her, thankful she was resting her head on his good side. She mumbled something into his chest.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," he teased, and she lightly knocked him with her shoulder.

"I had just finished moving all my stuff this morning," she said.

"Okay…" he said slowly, unsure what that had to do with the tears.

"The only picture I had left of Claire was in the house when Jesse…" her voice broke on her sister's name and she didn't finish the sentence, but Michael knew how it ended, and he finally understood what was going on.

"Fi…" he said softly, which brought on a fresh wave of tears. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried while he rubbed slow circles on her back to try to offer her some sort of comfort. Unfortunately, he knew that there wasn't much else he could do.

Eventually her sobs quieted, but he continued to rub circles on her back. After a while, he realized she had fallen asleep, so he gently moved her completely onto his bed, his chest screaming in agony. He kept himself from groaning in pain, covered her with a blanket, and quietly crept out on the balcony, pulling out his cell phone on the way.

"Hello?" he said when the person on the other end answered.

"McBride?" the voice questioned. "I mean, Westen?"

"Hey, Sean," he answered.

"What's wrong? Is Fiona okay?" his voice was sharp, worried something else was going wrong in Miami, something he wouldn't be able to help with.

"Not exactly," he started.

"What's wrong? Is she hurt?" Sean's voice was panicked at the thought of his only sister in trouble.

"No," he said quickly. "Well, not physically anyway."

"Oh," Sean's voice was slightly calmer now, but still had an edge of concern. "What happened?"

"There was an incident… and Fi's new place got blown up," he started. Sean stayed silent, waiting for Michael to elaborate, since an explosion wouldn't usually warrant a long distance call to Ireland.

"Do you have any pictures of Claire?" Michael questioned.

Sean inhaled sharply, understanding the reason for the call. "Hold on," he said, followed by rustling noises, something falling, and a muffled swear before he came back onto the line. "I have three," he started. "Two copies of a family portrait, and one of Fiona and Claire. I'm not sure where the second copy of that one is."

Michael let out a relieved sigh. "That's probably the picture she had," he said excitedly. "Could you FedEx it?" he practically begged.

"Of course," he said. "Anything for Fiona."

"Thank you, Sean! You're a lifesaver. I'll try to make a few copies so this doesn't happen again, and I'll send one back to you," he offered.

"Good idea," Sean answered. "I'll overnight it, so it should get there by tomorrow, the day after at the latest."

"Thanks, Sean. I owe you one," Michael said.

"Don't worry about it," Sean said. "It's for Fiona."

Michael didn't argue, just thanked him again and promised he'd let him know when he received the picture. He hung up the phone and turned back to the loft to check on Fiona. She was still asleep, so he quietly moved into the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt before sinking into his chair with a sigh.

His chest was killing him, but he didn't want to admit defeat so he continued to act like he was fine in front of Fi, Sam, his mom, and Jesse. Now that he was alone, though, he grimaced at the throbbing of the hole in his chest.

A loud knock sounded at the door and he swore, glancing at Fiona, who was still asleep, a testament to how exhausted she must be. He got up as quickly as he could, stifling a groan of pain as he tried to get to the door before they knocked again.

He smoothed out his features, erasing the look of pain on his face, and swung open the door. His gaze narrowed when he saw Jesse on the other side.

Jesse opened his mouth and started to move into the loft, but Michael glared at him and pushed him back onto the stairs, swinging the door closed quietly before he turned to Jesse.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he whispered harshly.

"What?" Jesse answered loudly.

"Shh!" Michael glared and explained, "When you blew up Fi's place! What the hell were you thinking?"

Jesse looked at him, confused. "Uh, it was the right thing to do," he answered.

"Maybe it was. But that wasn't the right way to handle the situation, Jesse." Michael continued to whisper loudly.

"Why are we talking about this now?" Jesse questioned.

"Because Fi has been in tears for the past half hour over losing the last picture she had of Claire," he hissed.

"Who's Claire?" Jesse asked, confused, but still not whispering.

Michael shushed him again before answering. "Her sister," he finally said. "She's dead."

A look of understanding passed over Jesse's face. "Sorry," he offered weakly.

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer to Jesse, whispering harshly. "Not good enough," he growled. "If I hadn't been able to track down another copy…" he threatened. "The only reason you're still here is because I know you didn't know about the picture. But so help me Jesse, if you hurt her again, trust me when I say you won't live to tell about it. Understand?"

Jesse opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced by the glare Michael shot in his direction. He settled for a nod.

"Good," Michael responded before turning on his heel and heading quietly back into the loft. Jesse took the hint and left, praying he never crossed Michael again.

Fiona watched as Michael came back into the loft, and he shot her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" he questioned.

She shook her head. "No, I just woke up like thirty seconds ago," she answered. In actuality, she had been awake ever since the first knock had sounded, but had feigned sleep in order to listen to their conversation.

As she watched Michael return to the kitchen to finish the yogurt he had started earlier, she realized that some things couldn't be replaced or substituted. And, unlike the picture of Claire he had somehow managed to track down, Michael was, in fact, irreplaceable.