Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Description: A series of one-shots exploring the dynamic of the Mike/Fi relationship, and what they were thinking during some of their "morning-afters." Rated "T" to be safe, for sexual themes.

A/N: I really enjoy the v. complex relationship that Fi and Mike share. Though I know their love life is not the center of Burn Notice, nor are their love scenes a prominent plot line, I think that those moments make for great character studies. I hope that by exploring their thoughts from afterwards, I will be able properly capture the ebb and flow of their relationship.

Michael's POV

It was the warmth from the sun that made me stir. I could sense that day had broken, though I did not open my eyes. I was half-awake and half-asleep, trying to grasp reality, nothing alarming my senses. I felt peaceful and relaxed, images of Fi, who often graced my dreams, floated though my conscience mind. I began to let myself float back into the sleep that gripped me, back to sweeter dreams, when I heard a soft moan.

My mind immediately snapped awake, and images of reality bombarded my mind. The house in flames. The feeling that my world was falling apart. The searching. The endless searching. I had been running on adrenaline, not letting my mind process what had happened. Pushing back the regret that tainted every thought. Pushing back the thought of her trapped, in terror. Pushing back images of her charred body.

But then she was alive. Living. Breathing. Whole. Just as beautiful and safe as when I had last seen her. I don't know what came over me. I just had to touch her. I had to make sure she was real. And when I knew she was, I can't describe what came over me. As a spy, I have been trained to not let emotion control me and to make sure every decision was calculated, logical, and rational.

But I had felt her soft skin in my wet hands. I had felt the warmth in her cheeks. I had looked into her green eyes, and I had melted. I had held back for way too long. And even in that moment, there was a part of my brain that was reminding me why I had held off. I needed to focus. I had a job, a duty to my country. This would only complicate my life.

In that moment, none of that had mattered. I had spent hours and days imagining this, longing for this, denying myself this. None of those reasons seemed to make sense any more.

She had let me take her. I had needed to touch every inch of her skin. She let me. I had held her so close, wrapped my arms around her. I felt like if I could somehow make sure there was no space between us, she would be safer. And as we lie there, panting, neither of us said a word. I fell asleep listening to her respirations and her heartbeat.

I smiled as I relived that part of the evening. I opened my eyes, and there she was, sprawled across my bed, covered by a sheet. She looked so peaceful, the sunlight from the window spilling over her. I was filled with a longing to protect her, and to touch her. I leaned over to kiss her cheek, and I thought better of it. I did not want to wake her. Instead I ran my fingers through the ends of her hair, and I buried my nose in it. It smelled just faintly like her flowery shampoo.

My stomach rumbled. I had nothing in the loft for breakfast, except for some yogurt. I decided to surprise Fi, and get her favorite breakfast. I wanted her to have something special. If I hurried, I could leave and come back before she woke up.

When you are a spy, you learn how to leave a room quietly. This skill is just as handy when you are stealing secrets from the Russian mafia as when you are trying to let your lover sleep a few more minutes. In almost perfect silence, I found some clothes, and I was out the door.

I decided to walk, since the cafe was just down the street. As I walked, I thought about the implications of last night. Fi would want to talk about what happened. She would want to know what it meant. For the first time in a while, the thought of having a talk with her made me smile. What did it all mean? I let my mind wander to a place where we were a psuedo-couple. We will never be the couple with a white picket fence and a Volvo, but we could be something more. We could spend our days doing jobs, and our nights, well, enjoying each other. Maybe for now, we could let go of everything, and just be together. We would talk. I wasn't sure about the semantics, but I knew one thing: last night I realized what really mattered to me.

With that thought, I picked up my pace a bit. I did not want her to wake up to an empty loft.

*******

Fi's POV

The realization that I wasn't in my own bed startled me awake. The sheets felt different, rougher. It smelled different, like cologne and sweat and the ocean. I was wearing, well, I was wearing nothing. I was at the loft. The events of the night before came rushing back to me.

Michael had come back from the bomber's house. He had been soaking wet. I had been waiting for hours at the loft. And when he came in, he kissed me. I felt a wave of conflicting emotions as I thought of his response to my supposed death. He had thought I was dead. He kissed me. He had taken me, and he hadn't let me go for hours.

Last night had been, wonderful. Being with him was so different than being with Campbell. Michael knew every thing I loved. Everything was familiar and easy and right. Sometimes Michael was passionate, and sometimes he was fierce, but last night he had been gentle and painstakingly slow. Like it was the last time he would ever hold me.

I can't say I hadn't wanted it. My desire for him was always bubbling just below the surface. I hate to admit it, but he could have me any time he wanted me. I was his. There would never be any man I loved more.

I can't say I didn't enjoy it. I enjoyed every minute of it. I found myself craving him and his touch. I felt a lead weight in my stomach at the thought. He wouldn't want me again. I sighed, a soft moan escaping my lips.

The noise made him stir. I kept my eyes closed. I wasn't quite sure what to say to him yet. I felt him lean in towards my face, and then felt him pull away, his warm breath grazing my cheek. That made the weight in my stomach feel even heavier. He was already emotionally distancing himself from me. He wouldn't even kiss my cheek. I felt a gentle tug on my scalp, he was running his fingers through my hair. But the intimacy of his touch just made me feel more confused.

I lay still, breathing steadily, listening to him move as he slowly sat up. He got out of bed, and I imagine he put on some clothes, though he was so quiet I could not hear him. The only indication that he had left was the soft whooshing of the loft door as he closed it. I wondered where he went. To a job maybe, though he hadn't gotten any phone call.

I sifted through my mind, figuring out the implications of last night's events. When he was gone, when the smell of his cologne and the sound of his breathing didn't fill the air, I felt like I could think clearly again.

I knew what would happen. We would eat breakfast, maybe spend the day together if he didn't get some urgent phone call. He would feel guilty maybe, say he would try to work things out with me, say he would do his best. But I know what would eventually happen. Everything would get all tainted again. Every day he was closer to getting his job back, it was his driving passion, his main desire. Last night I was the only thing on his mind, but today, and every other day I knew I wouldn't be.

I wanted to keep last night something beautiful. Maybe it was our last time, though the thought maybe me feel dizzy with fear. I had to be realistic. I had to be strong. He would be relieved when I was gone. It would be less messy for him, less messy for us both.

It was with a bleeding heart that I got out of the bed, let the sheet fall to the ground, and went to the kitchen to fetch my clothes. Flashes of memory filled my mind, as I saw my clothes lying on the floor, remembering the way he had hungrily pulled off each piece. It was with an entirely different mood that I pulled them back on, strengthening my resolve to let this go.

I locked the loft door behind me, and stepped into the sunshine, hoping the familiar brightness of the Miami morning would help me to pretend like last night had never happened.