Author's Note: I do not owe Burn Notice or its characters. They belong to Matt Nix and USA Network. Chapters will be told in alternating points of view. Unless stated otherwise, a chapter will have the same POV as the one before it.

Michael.

"You really owe me this time, Westen." Agent Pierce sighed and pulled off her glasses. "It took a lot of strings to get your girlfriend out of the FBI's clutches. They don't like just handing over someone with her file even to the CIA."

"Thank you." I replied automatically.

"Seriously, Michael. The CIA isn't happy that I claimed an ex-IRA guerilla as an asset. So you better keep her on a tight leash for the next couple of months, for my sake."

I gave her my best smile. "Thank you, Agent Pierce."

"Go. She's in the lobby." She waved her hand at me and picked back up her glasses again.

I nodded once and swept out of the room. Fiona was in the lobby with a man in a dark suit. A covert operative of some type, I assumed, considering he was holding Fi's elbow tightly. She was staring at the white marble floor in front of her feet and not trying to pull her arm free. Pausing for a moment just outside of the elevator, I sighed.

"Fi." I said softly as I approached them.

She lifted her head to gaze at me, still silent. The agent let go of her elbow, and I wrapped an arm around Fi's shoulder, guiding her out of the building and into the summer heat. Fi didn't slide an arm around my waist, something that she would have readily done six months earlier when she had turned herself into the FBI for what Ansem had framed her for.

I opened the passenger door to the Charger, and Fi slid in. She still hadn't said a word, not even when I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. As I directed the charger back towards my loft, I studied her carefully. Fi was thinner than she had been when I had last seen her, and her hair hung limply around her shoulders. It's usual gloss and shine was gone, as was the makeup that she normally wore. Not that I expected the CIA to have given her access to a makeup kit after they got her out of federal prison, but for Fi not even to look in her purse for a lipstick, it was enough to cause some worry.

"Fi," I started, waiting for a light to turn green.

She didn't look up from where her hands were folded in her lap. "Michael…" Her voice came as a whisper.

"Are you alright, Fi?" The light changed, and I pressed on the gas pedal.

"I spent the last six months in federal prison, Michael." She responded, the usual fire gone from her voice.

I sighed and turned a corner. A minute later, I pulled up outside the gate to where my loft was and hopped out to undo the chain. Fi stayed in the car even after I turned it off and moved to the fencing to lock it shut again. With a frown, I opened the passenger side door and held out my hand. She took it hesitantly and let me help her out of the charger.

She walked ahead of me up to the loft and sank onto the bed once we were inside, looking around with the same half-dead look on her face that she had been wearing all morning.

"Fi…" I started and sat down next to her.

She turned towards me and punched me in the stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled over, not expecting her to hit so hard this early.

"Why did you leave me there so long?" Fi snapped.

"Because, Fi," I said, straightening with another groan. "Agent Pierce needed time to get things arranged. She had to first look into Ansem."

"So?" Fi scowled at me.

"So, after she looked into him, we had to pull the framework he was setting up loose again. Which took some time. Then she had to get paperwork together to prove that you weren't even in Miami at the time of the explosion at the consulate. And get that to the FBI, and convince them to release you, and that you weren't a terrorist."

Fi reach for me again, and I tightened my muscles in anticipation for another blow. Instead she wrapped her arms around my neck and tucked her face against my shoulder. I reached up to run my fingers through her hair and pulled her closer to me with the other arm. She slid into my lap and held on tighter. Twin spots of dampness sprouted on my shoulder. Not saying anything, I pulled Fi closer and buried my own face into her hair.