A/N: Thank you all for your appreciation and enthusiasm for the first REPOST of the 7.01 AU, "We'll Always Have Paris." Thank you to all the wonderful Burners for the reads and reviews. We're glad that you're enjoying reading these chapters as one continuous storyline.
This is a REPOST of Chapters 4-6 of Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies and Chapters 2, 11 & 14 of Reconnecting. This is our reimagining the Anson arc. It starts with Fiona and Jesse are late getting back from the Cayman Islands after blackmailing Anson's banker, George Anders.
We begin several hours after Michael (now sitting alone in the cafe) has taken Sam's call explaining that he never got to see the FBI deputy director because Commander Sam Axe was now being investigated as a possible Russian agent.
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6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 1
An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception
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Miami 2012
Running a hand over his chin, Sam Axe peered out of the window and up the metal staircase to the reinforced steel door at the top. The last time he had spoken with his friend, it had been to inform him that Anson Fullerton had outplayed them yet again. Now, the conniving evil genius not only had his money, he had also managed to neutralize Sam's buddy network within the FBI.
He sighed again, the anger over how skillfully he had been manipulated now buried under a layer of distaste laced with trepidation.
"You ready for this?" He turned to his passenger, his voice flat and emotionless.
"Me? I thought -" Jesse Porter's eyes went wide and he paled as he realized he wasn't going to get any help from his friend.
"Well, you thought wrong, this is on you-- and her, but as she's—gone… it's all on you. I'm here for Mikey."
Swallowing thickly, Mr. Porter nodded. He had honestly thought Sam was going to flatten him when he'd met him at Opa Locka Airport earlier. Fresh back from DC, still trying to assimilate the news he was now being investigated as a possible Russian spy, the former SEAL had been in no mood for the bombshell dropped on him by the former CIFA agent.
"I didn't have much say in it, Sam. She just––" Jesse muttered, his words fading away as he climbed out of the car. There was nothing he could say which would make him feel better about what they were about to do. "Let's get this over with."
Knocking on the door and calling out, Sam slipped his key into the door and let them both inside. Unsurprisingly, Michael was still up. Sitting at what passed as a kitchen counter top, he had been staring at the screen of his laptop, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the trap they found themselves caught up in.
"You're back." The spy breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought-" He was on his feet, a welcoming smile on his lips as his eyes skimmed over his friends in his search for his girlfriend.
"Where's Fi?" he asked when he realized Fiona hadn't followed them in. "Guys?"
The temperature in the loft seemed to drop several degrees as Michael, sensing something had gone very wrong, looked from one man to the other, waiting impatiently for somebody to tell him what was going on. Sam, refusing to make eye contact, had managed to find something very interesting on the floor, while Jesse shifted uneasily from foot to foot, gulped, licked his lips and gulped again.
"Jesse, where's Fiona?" Mr. Westen asked again, a little firmer this time.
"Er, look, I…" The words dried in Jesse's throat. Now that he was here, standing in front of Michael, he was finding nearly impossible to do what he had to. Then in a rush, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, man. She's gone." Jesse forced himself to make eye contact. He owed Michael at least that much. "She's dead. There was a-"
"NO!" Michael shook his head in denial. "You're wrong." Tears filled his eyes and his chest heaved as if he was having trouble breathing. Jesse watched as Sam silently moved between them, the older man's eyes fixed on his best friend.
Once he had uttered the heart-breaking news, Jesse found he couldn't stop talking as he tried to explain what had happened. "We met up with Anson's banker, just like we planned. But just after he transferred the money, these guys with heavy artillery and bad attitudes turned up. They said George owed them major bucks... I'm sorry, Mike, she didn't stand a chance, man."
"Where is she? I want to see her." Michael swiped at the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was moving back and forth, pacing like a caged animal.
"I don't know. I had to leave..."
The younger man wasn't sure how it happened. But all of a sudden, Sam was picking himself up from the floor and Jesse found himself pressed back against the wall, staring into red rimmed, moisture filled eyes with an arm pressing into his throat.
"The banker dude had tried to rip off some of his clients and they found out," Jesse choked out the words. "Fi got caught in the crossfire... There was nothing- I couldn't get to her..."
"Couldn't get to her? You left her? You left Fiona? What if – how do you know she's dead?" Jesse flinched as a fist punched into the wall beside his head while Michael continued to rant.
"I saw her go down," Jesse gasped. "There were too many- OOOF!" Michael's fist buried itself in the tall man's ribs, driving the air from his lungs and that was only the first of many blows that rained down on him.
He didn't want to hit back at Michael. The guy had just had his world ripped apart. But even using his longer reach, Jesse was finding it hard to hold off the grief-stricken spy.
"Okay, brother, that's enough." Sam had managed to come up behind Michael while the other's attention was fixed on Jesse. Not wanting to risk getting hit himself, he wrapped an arm around his best friend's throat and secured him in a head lock.
It was a risky move. If Michael had truly lost all control and struggled, the hold could possibly break his neck. "Stand down, Mikey... Stand down, brother... Easy, take it easy." He kept up a soothing chatter as his friend stopped fighting and sagged back against him.
"What the hell happened, Jess? Where the hell were you? You should have saved her. Why aren't you hurt? You should have done more..." As the accusations flowed faster, once again Sam had to tighten his hold when Michael's hands came up to try to break his grip.
"Hey, easy, Mike!" Sam grunted as he sucked up the pain of getting his foot stamped on and several elbow strikes to his ribs. "I don't want to have to choke you out. But I will."
Breathing deeply, Jesse moved back, keeping a wary eye on his assailant. He made one last attempt to reach out. "Mike -"
"Get the hell out! GO! Get outta my sight before I do something you'll regret," Michael snarled, finally twisting out of Sam's grip.
"Mike, I'm sorry, man-" Jesse had known it was going to be bad. He had dreaded this moment and had thought about nothing else all the way back from the Caymans. But what he hadn't expected was such unbridled rage. The look in Michael Westen's eyes told him that the spy would like nothing more than to rip him apart.
"I told you to leave..." The quietly spoken words were far worse than the shouting. "You too, Sam. I don't need you hanging around. Go home to Elsa."
"Mike…" Sam spoke softly and took half a step forward. But the look in his best-friend's eyes made him back up. "Okay, Mikey, I'm gonna give you some space. But I'm not goin' home 'til I know you're alright."
Jesse opened his mouth to speak and then quickly thought better of it; After all, what else was there for him to say? Stepping outside, he sighed heavily and walked silently down the steps with Sam trailing after him.
"Jesse, take my car." Sam dug into his pants pocket and brought out his keys. "Go home, try to sleep. I'll take it from here."
"You sure, man? Do you think we should call Maddy?"
"I'm not involving any more people in this than I have to. Besides, Maddy's gone off to Daytona to stay with Nate for a while, so let's keep it like that. Go home, Jess. We both knew this wasn't gonna be a walk in the park." He cuffed the bald man on the shoulder and turned him towards Big Mama's car.
"I'll bring him round, but you might have to stay outta his way for a while," Sam advised, casting a glance back to the door at the top of the stairs. "See if you can get a face to face with Pearce in the morning, prep the ground for when I send Mikey there in to talk to her. That's if I can talk him into it." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin. "I wish you'd had sense enough to call me before lettin' things get this far outta hand."
Jesse nodded sadly. He just hoped when all this was over that Michael could find it in his heart to forgive him. Letting out a long sigh, he climbed into Sam's Cadillac and drove away from the loft to his own place in downtown Miami.
As he drove out onto the causeway, he wiped a hand over his eyes. He felt like a total bastard.
His mind filled with his last vision of Fiona, her body covered in blood and some of her long hair blowing in the breeze from where it caught in a nearby bush. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered dragging her limp body to the river and then returning to set light to the banker's car. He banged a tightly wound fist down on the steering wheel.
He should have said no to doing things her way.
()()()()()
Sam waited until Jesse drove off and then pulled the tall metal gates shut. Wrapping the thick chain through the gaps in the gate, he pulled out a new padlock he had purchased on the way from the airport to the loft. With the entrance secured, the older man looked around for a safe place to hide the key where hopefully his buddy wouldn't find it right away. Finally, he dropped it into one of the containers of assorted screws sitting on a shelf against the wall where the drug dealer Sugar had once lived.
Satisfied that the padlocked gates would at least slow the spy down should he attempt to run off in the middle of the night, Sam turned back to the stairs. He could guess what was waiting for him back inside the loft. After all, he had been there for the aftermath of Michael's forced extraction from Ireland by Tom Card. He had seen the depths the young agent had sunk to then and he'd been there to pick up the pieces that time, too.
Pursing his lips, Sam took the stairs one at a time. What the hell had Jesse and Fiona been doing in the Caymans to bring things down to this?
Just as he reached for the handle to let himself in, the door flew open and Michael stood there, his face set in grim lines, his eyes red raw and filled with unshed tears. In his left hand, he gripped a long canvas bag and, from the way the handles strained, Sam guessed it was full of enough guns and ammunition to start a small war.
"Get outta my way, Sam." The cold dead tone in Michael's voice sent a chill through the older man.
"Where are you gonna go, Mike? It's after midnight. You can't do anything until the morning." Sam remained in place, barring his descent.
"I'm gonna find Anson and I'm going to kill him. Then I'm going to find out what happened to– to..." Unable to say the words, the spy shook his head and reached behind his back with his free hand. "Move, Sam. I'm not telling you again."
In a flash, Sam found himself staring into the barrel of his best friend's gun. But he could see the anguish and desperation in the younger man's eyes and the way the barrel wavered in his shaky hand. Moving slowly and very cautiously, Sam eased the weapon from Michael's hand and made it safe before slipping it into the back of his waistband.
Michael's breath caught and his expression started to crumble. "He left her, Sam. I can't believe-"
"Mike, you know Jesse wouldn't have done that unless there was no choice."
And, at Sam's words, the light of anger and hatred returned. The punch that came at him nearly landed, but the former SEAL half expected violence and just managed to block the blow.
"There's always a choice and he chose to leave her," the younger man spat back.
"Mikey, you're not thinking straight and nobody expects you to be, not right now. Going off and killing Anson won't end this. You don't even know where to look. He has all his money now, he could be anywhere in the world." Sam was relieved to see some of the tension leave his friend; thankfully the younger man hadn't completely lost the ability to reason.
"So, what do I do, Sam? What do I do? She's gone... I can't do this on my own."
The desperation in Michael's tone tore at Sam and he silently cursed Fiona Glenanne wherever she might be. All she'd had to do was get Anson his money and find a way to track it. But instead she'd had to-
He stopped the thought there. Getting angry at somebody who wasn't around to argue back was a waste of time. Instead, he cautiously reached out and directed his best friend back inside the loft. Once he had the door closed and locked, he followed Michael over to the counter top where the devastated man dropped his bag filled with weaponry and slumped down on one of the chairs.
"You're not alone. You have friends and, if you want something to do, you can do what Fiona wanted you to in the first place." Sam walked around and collected two glasses and a bottle of Scotch from under the sink.
"Fiona wanted to put a bullet in that bastard's head," came the immediate reply.
"Yeah – yeah, she did." Sam bit down on his lip and poured out two measures of the spirit, making sure his friend took the larger of the two. Screwing the lid back on to the bottle, he took a moment to think about how to word his next sentence. "But she also wanted you to spill the beans to Pearce about what's going on and make things right."
"You want me to go to the CIA with this? Fiona hated me working-"
The spy crumbled and abruptly turned away. "I was doing this all for her. I could have made things right... I just needed more time. One way or another, I woulda..." He shook his head and then swiped at his eyes before emptying the glass of Scotch in one go. "I woulda found a way to end it."
Sam wiped at his own face, hating that this was happening, and there was nothing he could do but try to push his friend in the right direction.
"You have to finish this," he replied, keeping his tone even and business like. "You have to forgive Jesse. We need him, Mikey... Look, I know it's not the same thing, but he forgave you for burning him. It took a while, but he forgave you."
Michael looked up at this. "Jesse shot me and, believe me when I say, I'd happily return that favor." He snatched up the bottle and poured himself another glassful.
"Okay…" Sam nodded his head in agreement. "But promise me you'll wait. I'm right about you needing him to talk to Pearce and you know I am. I don't know why, but she certainly prefers the company of tall, bald and urban to the rest of us. We need her in on this, on our side, Mike, not trying to arrest your ass for lying to her again. Only Jesse can talk her through that and, with her on our side, we can set up Anson... He doesn't know he's lost his leverage." Sam leaned forward. "You do this right and he could be getting his in a coupla days."
Michael at least appeared to be listening. The younger man nodded sadly and then, without warning, abruptly stood up and snatched up the bottle. He walked unsteadily towards the bed. Michael looked down at the mattress he had shared with Fiona and took a long pull straight from the bottle, before turning away to almost fall down into the old green, padded chair.
When he next spoke, it came out flat and lifeless. "She was never leverage. She was..." He swallowed hard and then found his voice again. "Go home, Sam. I'll still be here in the morning."
To the former Naval commander, his best friend getting drunk wasn't the worst thing he could do, so Sam said nothing and settled down to remain on vigil while Michael drunk himself in to a stupor. Once the spy passed out, the older man lifted up his friend's limp body and placed him on top of the covers on the bed. After removing the younger man's shoes, he made sure the inebriated man was lying on his side with a trash can nearby in case he woke up and needed to throw up.
Sam contemplated the shot that Michael had left unfinished on the table for a moment. Then he tossed it back quickly before heading over to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. With his beverage in his hand, he sat down at the counter and switched the laptop back on.
"Thanks a lot, Tinkerbell," he muttered. With a press of a key, he turned his attention to trying to make sense of Anson Fullerton's finances.
()()()()()
It was one o'clock in the morning and Jesse was still stuck on the causeway while the emergency services cleared up the aftermath of an accident which had left the whole road blocked. He was trapped with nowhere to go. He couldn't get around the mess and he couldn't back up. Sorta like…. Staring out at the traffic ahead of him and the bright city lights in the distance, all he could think about was the previous forty-eight hours and what had brought him to this point.
"You know breaking into a hospital blood bank in order to help a blood sucking leech get his millions out of a flagged account has to be one of my least favorite assignments ever," he had complained as he'd opened one of the large refrigeration units at the Saint Georges community hospital. "B negative, right?"
He had glanced around and noticed she wasn't listening to him nor was she standing by the door, watching out for guards. Instead, she was closing another fridge door and holding two bags of O positive in her hands. "Er, Fi… What are you doing? I thought the plan was two bags of B neg and the equipment to draw off some donor blood."
He remembered how she had pursed her lips and stared at him. Then, all of a sudden, she had started to come out with what could only be described as the most crazy assed plan in the history of crazy assed plans.
"You know this isn't the end of it, don't you? Anson will keep forcing Michael to do his bidding. All we're doing here is giving the bastard a helping hand." She had been sharing her opinion about what her boyfriend was doing for Anson Fullerton ever since they had arrived in the capital of the largest of the Cayman Islands." Michael is on the edge of doing something very, very bad and you know it," she continued, her speech increasing in speed and venom. "He's already destroyed CIA records for that parasite and, once we get him his money, do you really think he'll just disappear?"
"So, what do you wanna do about it, Fi? You got any other ideas, apart from the whole 'putting a bullet in Anson's head' plan? Cuz you know that won't fix anything. You try it and the evidence against you will be dropped into the cops' laps and you'll end up in the slammer or worse. I think for now–" He had tried to make her see sense.
"Anson is never going to let us go. Michael doesn't get it. He's so busy trying save me, to be my white knight, to be everyone's white knight, that he keeps playing right into that slimeball's hands... So, it's up to me to find a way to break the sonuvbitch's hold on us."
"Okay, I'll give ya that, but what's left, Fi? Cuz, the way I see it, we're all outta moves. If you plan on running, it still comes down to the same thing. You'll either end up locked up or on the run for the rest of your life."
Then she had smiled at him and lifted the bags of O negative blood up to frame her smiling face. "It's just as easy to fake two deaths as it is to fake one."
He had walked towards her, shaking his head and determined to stop her before she had a chance to do something she and he would both regret. But she had dodged around him and continued talking about her insane idea and like a fool he had ended up listening.
"Yes, don't you see? You're right. If I run, Anson will just out me. There's only one clear way to get out from the sonuvabitch's clutches and that's to hand everything over to the CIA and make them understand." She had taken a breath, her face a mask of anguish before speaking again. "If Michael believes I'm gone, if he quits trying to save me, then he'll be free to act. All you and Sam will have to do is make sure he does the right thing."
"Seriously? All I've gotta do–?" He had laughed at her, at the sheer absurdity of her plan. "Are you crazy, woman? You want me to go back to Miami and tell your boyfriend, the Michael Westen, that you're dead and I came back without you? Oh, no, no, no, no, no…." She had to be joking.
But he had been wrong; she was deadly serious.
"Speak to Sam first then. Let him in on what we're doing. He doesn't like where Michael is going any more than the rest of us, but he's just too lily-livered to call him out on it. Anson is too clever and he knows Michael too well. We can't risk that bastard working out that I'm still alive. This our only chance to neutralize the hold he has over Michael."
He'd tried to reach out to her, understanding completely where she was coming from. But to make Michael believe she had been killed was wrong on so many levels. Couldn't she see that now she was the one roping them all into doing a bad thing even if it was for a good reason, it sure as hell didn't make it right.
It was then she had looked at him with a strange melancholy look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something painful. When she spoke, her tone was so soft that he'd had to strain to hear her clearly.
"When I asked Michael how far he was prepared to go ... He told me there were no limits to what he would do to protect me. D'ya have any idea what it feels like to have somebody tell you that?"
She'd paused, blinking slowly as she searched for the right words.
"I've never told you about my family back in Ireland, have I?... I have a brother." She smiled sadly. "He loves us all deeply. There is nothing, no line he wouldn't cross to keep us all safe." She paused again, swallowing thickly. "He has no limits. He has nobody to tell him when to stop- to make him see what he's doing when he goes too far. I never believed all the stories about him, until I wit - until I actually saw what he is capable of doing..."
Jesse remembered being sucked in by her haunted expression and, for a moment, his blood ran cold wondering just what she had seen, just what her brother had been capable of and remembering what he already knew Michael Westen was capable of.
"I love my brother with all my heart, but I will not let Michael become that same sort of monster because of me."
And that was when the craziness began.
The blast of a car horn jerked Mr. Porter back to the present and he put the Cadillac into drive, happy for the chance to get into his own bed and to try to make sense of what the hell he had got himself into in the small comfort of his own bed.
()()()()()
The early morning sun streaming in through the loft windows caused Sam to wake from where he had finally fallen asleep, slumped over the kitchen counter top with Michael's laptop still open next to him. Slowly straightening up, he yawned and then groaned as he stretched his back and then rolled his shoulders, easing out all the kinks from his aching muscles.
Turning, he glanced over to the bed and the figure curled up on top of the covers. Michael was still on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried into Fiona's pillow. Rubbing a hand over his chin and jaw, Sam searched for the strength to carry on with what he considered to be a gross breach of trust.
He understood why they were torturing his best friend, but it didn't mean he had to like it. If he had been there when Fiona had come up with this hare-brained scheme, he would have done his best to put a stop to it. She was no better than Mikey when it came to finding a strategy to fight Anson Fullerton. They were both so desperate to break the hold the sociopathic psychologist had on them, neither one of them was thinking about where their actions were leading them.
Michael had already stepped over the line so many times Sam was afraid it was becoming a habit. He had lied to his agency contact, again, a woman they all considered a friend to get his top-secret clearance reinstated. He had then used that clearance to break into the CIA computers and hide Anson's identity. And now he had given that man access to enough money to do anything he wanted. Each time he did one of these jobs, Michael couldn't seem to grasp the fact that he was just placing himself further under Anson's thumb.
However, Fiona was no better. She veered from wanting to shoot Anson and then go on the run, to wanting to take her chances and hand herself in to the FBI. This latest attempt, convincing Michael that the love of his life was dead in order to free him to act, was even more foolish than her other plans and way more chancy.
Sam could admit he was just as frustrated as she was. He hated to see his best friend being manipulated into becoming traitor. But he dreaded the day coming when Michael Westen finally lost his soul... No, this, this was a dangerous path they were all on. He knew what Michael was capable of doing or rather becoming. There was a very good reason why Larry Sizemore had kept trying to renew his association with his former protégé.
And if Michael's old persona, the man who had cut a bloody path through large parts of Russia and the Republic of Serbia in the early nineties, was let out of the box and left free to act, what would happen when he discovered the very people he should have been able to trust had manipulated him so cruelly?
At that moment, Michael let out a soft whimper and began to shift in his sleep. Pushing back his concerns, Sam got to his feet and started preparing for the moment his friend finally opened his eyes. Switching the laptop back on, he made a quick trip to the bathroom and then went to see what Michael had in the way of breakfast foods in the refrigerator.
He wanted this whole sorry mess to be over and done with as soon as possible and he was silently praying to God that this time the good guys could catch a lucky break.
()()()()()
Pain, mind numbing thumping pain, tore Michael from his restless sleep and, when he raised his head off the pillow, a wave of nausea inducing dizziness sent his stomach into full-fledged rebellion. All of a sudden, he was running desperately for the bathroom with a hand over his mouth, hoping he was going to make it in time.
Collapsing down in front of the toilet, he emptied nearly a full bottle of scotch from his protesting stomach. All the while shudders ran up and down his spine and his head continued to pound away as if there was somebody with a jack hammer trying to break out of his skull.
When he finally stopped retching, he pulled himself wearily up on to his feet and moved over to the sink to wash his mouth out. Standing up, he stared straight ahead and caught sight of his reflection in the small shaving mirror attached to the wall in front of him. A cold chill ran through his body as he stared into the lifeless eyes of a stranger and at that moment it all came flooding back.
She was gone.
The last time he had seen her, she had still been angry with him for not letting her kill Anson... And now she was dead. He dropped his head down, watching the water from the tap circle the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain.
"When is this going to end, Michael?"
His head jerked up and the same cold-eyed man with the blank expression stared back at him.
"Fi…" Her name tumbled from his throat in a strangled whisper and tears welled in his eyes.
Gulping, sniffing and wiping furiously at his eyes, Michael pushed down the crush of emotions trying to tear him down. Slowly everything stilled, he breathed deeply through his nose as he stored away all the pain and grief. Letting his eyelids close, he resisted the urge to scream as he let go of the image of his girlfriend, his Fiona, lying dead and bloody all alone in a foreign country.
When he opened his eyes and stared at the reflection of the man staring back at him, his fingers curled into tight hard fists and then with an animalistic snarl one of those fists flew and the mirror shattered.
NO!
He couldn't let himself fall into grief. He had to maintain control, he owed it to her. An icy cold cloak settled around him, seeping through his skin and into his veins, cooling the burning desire to kill. Now, he felt nothing. Last night, his heart had been ripped out and now all that was left was an empty shell. He stared at his blood covered knuckles and felt absolutely nothing at all.
"Mikey?" A hand pounded on the bathroom door and, a second later, the cheap piece of wood was jerked open. "Hey, brother, what are you doin'?"
He saw Sam Axe standing in the doorway and stared straight through him, ignoring his best friend as if he wasn't there. Wrapping a cold wash cloth over his already swelling hand, Michael pushed by the older man and walked towards the kitchen.
"Mike? C'mon, Mikey, talk to me."
Michael reached down to the cupboard under the sink and he came up with the remaining bottle of scotch. He needed something to keep him numb, to stop him from getting lost in a sea of emotions he wasn't trained to handle. If he could just stop himself flying apart until…
"How many lives are ya willing ta destroy, Michael? How many people will ya leave bleedin' at tha side o' tha road ta save me?"
He twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips. He needed to numb his brain. There was nothing to think about; he knew what he had to do. A quick glance at his watch told him he had plenty of time to finish his drink and then prepare to end it all.
"Ah-ah, fella not going to happen..." Without any more warning, Sam snatched the booze from his friend's hand and hurled the alcohol into the sink. "Look, I know you feel like crap and I'm sorry. But you have a meeting with Pearce in a coupla hours and turning up drunk and bloody ain't gonna fly."
"And I told you to leave." The ice in his veins was filling up the dark space where is heart had been. Everything around him felt wrong, flat and disconnected.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm not taking orders right now... Sit down and let me clean up that hand and then I'll tell you all about Anson's warehouse in Tampa." This was no-nonsense Commander Axe speaking and, to make his point, he pulled out one of the stools in front of the counter and pushed his friend down onto it.
"I'm not goin' anywhere near Pearce or the CIA," Michael declared, staring across at the sink and the remains of the empty bottle laying in a pool of amber liquid. "And unless you can promise me Anson is in Tampa, I'm not interested in any warehouse." His lips thinned in barely suppressed anger, yet he remained where Sam had pushed him and didn't fight the older man as he carefully started to pull splinters of glass out of his blood-soaked hand,
"I can't promise you we'll find Anson in Tampa. But will you at least listen to what I have to say?" Sam wiped away the blood and, once he was sure he had got all the glass, he slapped a dressing over his friend's knuckles and frowned when he got no reaction. "Mike, c'mon, don't zone out on me here. Listen, I promise you won't be disappointed."
"Fine, get on with it," Michael snapped back.
"Alrighty then, I hadda look at the account details F - Jes- We got from Anson's Cayman Island accounts. And I tell ya, brother, I couldn't make any headway... So, in the end, I thought who do we know sneaky enough to work it out for us? And a couple of hours ago, our spiky haired friend Barry sent me this."
He held out a thin manila file, but when Michael showed no interest, he sighed and opened it himself. "Barry worked on this all night. He managed to trace a few mil through half a dozen shells corporations to a Chinese brokerage account and finally, while most of it went to a DC law firm, several smaller chunks were used to pay for the rent on a large warehouse in Tampa and have it rigged with some very high end electronic security set ups. So, before running off to break into that lawyers' office, I'm thinking the place in Tampa might be worth a look see. What do you think?"
Michael let out a long drawn out sigh. He knew from experience Sam was not going to leave him alone or let him sit and get drunk.
"I'll go to Tampa," he agreed, but then fixed the former SEAL with his cold stare. "But Pearce, and the CIA – forget it... I'm going to take care of Anson myself and then I'm done."
"You can't do this by yourself, Mikey. This bastard… I spent most of the night going through everything you've got on him and, I tell ya, he's got angles like I've never seen. Just when you think you've gotta handle on him, he slips away... I mean, what are you gonna do? Just go by his office? The security at the DIA is pretty tight."
"I'm gonna do whatever it takes," Michael replied coldly. "I'm not going to let a couple of security guards stop me."
Sam frowned and shifted forward until he was almost nose to nose with his friend. This was precisely what he had been dreading. "This is what I'm saying, brother. You're not thinking clearly. Can you hear yourself? You're talkin' about shootin' a couple of guys for just doing their job. There are smarter ways of getting' this done."
"You always do the right thing... Do the right thing for me."
Her voice rang softly in his ear, pleading with him, and it brought a lump to his throat. He wanted to shout at her, make her understand that everything he had done had all been for her, to keep her safe. But it was too late.
"So, what's your plan, Mikey? You kill Anson and then what? Fiona's reputation is still damaged and you're being hunted down as a murderer, a criminal. How does that help anyone? Your mom's gonna get dragged in for questioning. She'll have news vans on the front lawn twenty-four seven with them all wanting to know about her son, the traitor. Is that what you want?"
Sam's voice was slowly chipping away at the ice wall Michael had put up around his heart and, all of a sudden, it was more than he could bear.
"What I want? You think I wanted any of this?" He was on his feet, the stool he had been sitting on flung half way across the room. "I want her back... I don't care about the rest."
He turned away, making his way out onto the balcony. Whether it was the morning humidity, the raging hangover or just pure and simple grief, he had no idea. But he just felt the need to get out, get away from everyone and everything.
"Aye, yer good at leavin' aren't ya?" The accusation had sounded so clear and so full of the same bitterness that he thought she was there.
A wave of grief washed over him, tearing through his whole body, leaving every nerve raw. He wanted to scream out that he wasn't leaving, not this time. Then, out of the blue, his mother's face came to him, her anger at what had happened to her family, what Anson and Management, had done to her, taken from her.
"You think what we've got is enough?" He turned, standing framed in the double doors which led outside, his arms folded defensively across his chest. "There's nothing there that ties Anson solidly to a crime."
"It will give Pearce a good place to start," Sam replied carefully. "And while she's going through all that, it frees you up to check out the leads we've got. We're about the change the game on him, brother." He smiled. "He's not going to know what's hit him."
"If Pearce will listen to me. I mean, when she finds out what I've done, that I lied to her, Sam..."
"She'll listen. I've made sure she'll listen, but it's gonna be up to you to convince her you're on the level this time."
()()()()()
Senior Agent Dani Pearce sat at her desk, her long slim fingers idly tapping a beat on the wood veneer top of her desk. Staring out through the horizontal blinds which covered the large interior window in front of her, she could see the figure of the man she was waiting for stride into the outer office.
She could see how tired he looked and the usual confident toothy smile he liked to flash at the office staff was absent. She knew she should be angry with him, that she should have arranged to have a tactical team on standby to arrest him as soon as he stepped into the building. But instead she was going to listen to what he had to say and try to understand his explanation for his actions.
As he neared her door, she got up and pulled the blinds all the way down and altered the angle of the slats to ensure they had some privacy. The box he was carrying in his hands looked full and rather heavy, but it was nothing compared to the files she had dug up after her early morning conversation with Jesse Porter.
The former CIFA officer had approached mid-way through her early morning run, stepping out onto the dirt pathway in front of her just after she had rounded a tight corner. Coming to an abrupt halt, her hand had automatically reached for the handle of her government issue side-arm concealed under her loose-fitting top.
"Jesse? You should know better than to come up on somebody out here! What do you want? What's happened?" At the time, she had known it had to do with Michael Westen, only it wasn't the news she had expected to hear.
"We have to talk." He had taken hold of her arm and urged her to step off the trail and into a secluded spot amongst the trees and bushes which lined the path.
Only the intensity in his dark brown eyes and the look of desperation etched into his features had stopped her from telling him if he wanted to talk, he should call her first. Placing her hands on her hips, she'd stared back at him, trying to ignore the line of sweat she could feel running down her back.
"Well, spill it, Jesse. What can't wait until after breakfast?"
He had sighed, looked down at his feet and then, just as she had been about to make a comment about him wasting her time, he had spoken in a voice so quiet that she hadn't been sure if she heard him correctly.
"Fiona Glenanne is dead."
"What? How? Did Michael send you?" The words had spilled from her mouth as she took in the news that her newest CIA asset had lost probably the most important person in his life.
"It's– complicated." He'd bit down on his bottom lip, mirroring her own stance with his hands on his hips. "Look, I came to find you, because Mike is gonna come into see you this morning and I wanted to give you a heads up, so you'll understand where he's coming from."
"Jesse, why would you think I wouldn't understand? He should take time off-" She had been reaching for her cell phone, intent on calling the man in question and tell him to take as much time as he needed when Jesse's hand had closed about her wrist.
"No, like I said, it's complicated. I have something to tell you before you talk to him... It's important." At the time, she had thought it strange the way he kept looking around as if he was scared he was being watched.
By the time he had told her what had been going on under her nose, she had been furious.
The sharp knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts and she moved back round to her seat. She needed to be sitting down for this meeting. "Come in, Westen," she called out.
When he entered, she withheld a gasp. She had thought he looked tired when she had seen him from a distance, but close up Michael Westen looked dreadful. Even with his sunglasses on, it was possible to see his grief and the sense of loss etched into his features. Closing the door behind him, he carefully placed the box he was carrying on her desk next to the files she had already stacked up there.
"Take a seat, Michael." At the sight of him looking so broken, Dani found her anger diminishing. She remembered what it felt like to lose a loved one to a violent act and she knew Fiona Glenanne had been a big part of his life for over a decade and half.
"You've spoken to Je—" he swallowed and looked away. "Porter." He spoke as if his friend's name left a bad taste in his mouth.
His inability to speak Jesse's name caused her to pause and frown, wondering what had happened between the two men. Jesse had been vague about how Fiona had lost her life and now Michael's reaction was leading her think there was more than met the eye to the whole situation.
"Yes, he told me what happened. I'm sorry for your loss, she -"
"I don't want your sympathy, Agent Pearce." His attitude changed in an instant as he leaned towards her. "I want to know if you're going to help me bring down Anson Fullerton."
She could feel his anger. If he was an official employee, she would have ordered him to take compassion leave. But not only was Westen a private contractor, she knew he would not listen any way. Now that Jesse had given her all the details and, from what she had already been able to confirm herself, she had no choice. She had to go along and do her best to keep him acting within the law.
"Mike only did what he did because he was trying to keep Fiona out of jail. You have to believe me. Fiona would not have planted a bomb and killed innocent people. You've checked her out, you know how good she is. She used one bomb to take out this guy Larry. He was Michael's partner back in the day. He had already killed an innocent woman and he was threatening to kill Mike. If you read the FBI file, you'll see two completely different bombs were used, different explosives and triggers. What bomb-maker uses two different chemical signatures and different wiring techniques?"
Jesse's argument had convinced her that Fullerton needed looking into, but she had still been furious. Westen had sat in front of her and lied, he had lied every time they spoke, he had breached CIA security and used a virus to wipe out data on a dangerous criminal. And now Jesse had admitted to helping Fiona Glenanne circumvent a flagged account to release the man's money.
"You should all be locked up for the rest of your lives." The slap which had landed on Jesse's cheek had left a hand print and rocked his head to the side. But instead of backing away, he had moved closer, his large hands cupping her shoulders with just enough grip to keep her still. He was right inside her personal space and her heart rate was rocketing as she looked up at him.
"So, we've made mistakes." He'd looked down at her, sincerity glowing in his eyes as he pleaded with her to understand. "He loves her and was only trying to protect her, we all were. She doesn't deserve jail for killing a man like Larry Sizemore. I never knew him, but I know he strapped a bomb to a woman's neck and blew her head off just to make a point."
As she had listened to him, she had flash-backed to the murder of her fiancée, murdered because some CIA officers wanted to close a case as quickly as possible. She knew if she ever found out who had killed him, even after all these years, she would do whatever she could to get justice for her dead lover.
"Please, Dani. You're our only hope. Mike needs to know if he brings Anson in, the guy will pay for what he has done. He needs somebody in the CIA to listen to him."
Agent Dani Pearce sat up straight in her chair and looked straight into her asset's eyes, her features set in deadly serious lines. Speaking in a coldly authoritative tone, she gave him her answer.
"One last chance, Westen, and from now on I'm running things. We do this by book or not at all."
Michael nodded grimly. One last chance, that's all he needed.