My first posted Fanfic, be gentle, R&R, no proceeds made, no ownership of characters that arent my own and such. Enjoy! Wrote this in about an hour and a half, all errors are mine, may update and flesh out more. Let me know what you think!
Something wasn't right. Fi slowly came around, her head drumming with the sound of her own heartbeat. She opened her eyes and it took a few times to blink them into clarity. He head hummed and she couldn't quite catch her breath. Her muscles ached as if she had just carried someone while running a mile. Cautiously, she flexed her muscles to make sure nothing was severely out of sorts and scanned her surroundings. She was in a dark warehouse, muggy sunlight was the only source of light, finding its way through the age stained windows. Rain snuck in through the structural damage in the old worn roof. As she was more focused on discerning where the hell she had found herself, she didn't immediately realize she was lying in a pool of blood and water.
Her hair, her clothes everything on her was soaking and she couldn't remember how the hell she had gotten there. The bottom portion of her shirt was torn ragged and blood covered her hip and down most of her leg but she wasn't bleeding. Even through the musk of the old warehouse she could smell Michael's scent on her, she would recognize it anywhere. She looked to her left; her gun was sitting beneath a pile of discarded pallets. To her right the blood that had mixed with the puddle she currently called home made a shaky trail out to the side door. She rolled to her knees and scrambled for the gun before anyone managed to break the silence.
She clawed frantically at it for a moment before resorting to reaching for the weapon with her foot. She snagged it and clutched it like the lifeline it was. She struggled with the straps on her heels and tossed them aside. She'd rather be barefoot and able to run then stuck in those. It took a moment for her to calm her breathing; she was so close to visceral panic that she could taste its metallic taste in the back of her throat.
Where was she?
Michael and Sam had been here. Or had they? Michael at the very least. She remembered being with them. Then again she was with them more than not now-a-days. She remembered having a meal at that dinky little bistro Sam liked so much. She could smell him on her dammit. Michael was going on about some new client and she was more concerned about a deal she had been brokering with a few old acquaintances out of New York. Everything was disjointed and she couldn't get a hold on the order of things.
What was the client's name? Where had Michael said the meet would be? Where was Michael?
She wiped the blood off of her face with the front of her shirt. Her hair was caked in it but it wasn't hers. She had a deep bruise forming on her hip and it hurt like hell even before she stood up, the hem of her jeans was digging into it deeply. She ignored the heat from the bruise and managed to take a semi-confident stance without shaking too badly.
The warehouse had been abandoned long ago. It was in disrepair but also had a thick film of dust over anything that wasn't ruined by water. There was an acrid taste in her mouth that made her immediately think something chemical was at fault for her recent discordance of events, but she couldn't immediately call what it was.
The ground was as cold as she was; it sapped what little heat she had left from her bare feet. She was definitely not dressed for the occasion, and she had really liked this top. She crept silently along the huge machinery covered with tarps surrounding her. Images flashed through her head, she wasn't thinking clearly. It wasn't just jumbled events from today, but more haunting than that. Charred remains, dead loved ones left in the rubble of their homes. Enemies who deserved their fates and others who met early ends spoke to her, as clearly as if they were lying in wait behind the many crates. Memories of Chechnya, Basque and Istanbul all careened through her skull. She jumped violently at a blast that had happened nearly a decade ago. She shook her head and threw her wet hair aside. She needed to calm down, regulate herself. She ran a checklist through her head, exit to the left, weak point in the wall behind her and ahead. The inner office door and the blood trail lay just ahead of her.
The small Irish lilt rang in her head, run, get out and fight when she had her bearings. Something was pulling her to that office though. There was no way to tell whose blood she was bathed in, no way to say that whoever had left the trail was someone she wanted to risk going into the unknown for either. Though, the heavy pang in her stomach told her otherwise.
She ignored the door leading to the outside world, and the incessant drumming of guns and bombs ringing in her mind's eye. Rain began to beat heavily against the weak roofing, nearly leaving her deaf. She waited for a moment at the door, saying a silent prayer before twisting the knob. Fi kept herself securely out of the frame, in case anyone inhabiting the small room decided to add a hole to her person. No shots rang out and she ventured a peek into the darkness of the room.
The dim light that managed to creep into the darkness was gray at best, but enough for her to make out the overturned desk and the man's loafers and light tan slacks peaking around the side. Her heart managed to outdo the memories of explosions passed and swelled in her ears. She kept focus on her breathing, denying herself the scream she felt well in her throat, she scanned the office, the back door was knocked off its hinges and rain fell heavily outside. She jumped as phantom flames poured through the door, but never felt the heat. It led directly to a metal staircase. There was no one in the office besides the man behind the desk. She scrambled over the shattered glass ignoring the sting in her feet, before she rounded the desk she knew it wasn't Michael, the shoes were not his style. She settled to a knee next to Sam.
He was breathing. He had a good lump developing on the side of his cheek, but he wasn't bleeding and he wasn't dead. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook him a little harder than she probably should have, "Sam!" She hissed as loudly as she dared.
His face turned into a cringe and he grumbled.
"Sam, this isn't time for a nap. I need your help here, now." She slapped him.
The ex-SEAL grunted and shook his head, "Hey, Fi! I got it, I got it." He swiped at her hand and rose himself to his elbows, still squinting hard, "Feel like I tied one off harder than normal last night." He scanned the room, "Where the hell are we, Fi?"
She brushed the bits of glass from her feet as best she could without relaxing her position watching the door, "I was hoping you coulda told me that, Sam."
He grumbled, "Where's Mikey?"
"I don't know." She said more forcefully.
"What'd they give us?" He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva to the floor.
"Not sure, all I know is there's a trail of blood out there that isn't mine, isn't yours and Michael isn't here." She kept an eye on the door, "Find your gun and let's get a move on."
"Ya, ya, alright." Sam scrambled to his feet and stumbled around until he found his sidearm. Fiona waited for him to get a better handle on his bearings then slowly crept to the door. It was storming even harder and the sound of it was deafening. They crept out onto the stairway.
Michael sat up gasping, then immediately fell back to the asphalt. His body was shaking violently, he wasn't sure if it was from the nightmares or the cold but it took him longer than he would've liked to calm himself. He had been reliving a horror of his past that was better left dead. He knew the pain in his leg was a knife wound even before he looked down. They hurt worse than a bullet, felt like the flesh was halving every time the limb was moved but it had been bound up and most of the blood had started to dry. His hands were bound in a zip tie and his wrists were bloody from struggling.
He had been soaked to the bone and his clothes stuck to him. He was hidden behind a dumpster; not the first time he had found himself in such a position, as a spy it seemed that sometimes the best hiding spots were those frequented by the homeless and destitute. There was a door a ways down the alley and the flood light above the door had been broken.
Had he done that?
He was stripped down to his undershirt and slacks. His belt had been used to tourniquet his leg, along what looked to have been a piece bright flowery shirt. It was the shirt Fi had been wearing that morning, or a length of it.
That meant Fi had been with him but where? And when? His head was swimming and he heard only echoes of his past. Long since silenced screams and firefights rang in his ears over the drumming of the rain. He couldn't tell from the overcast if it was very late in the day or very early, and he didn't remember coming to wherever he was. He couldn't think straight over the pounding of his heart and the remembered cries of his past. His pulse drummed in his throat and the coppery taste of adrenaline stung his throat.
In this line of work it was more than unsettling to not have one's bearings, it was downright deadly. A spy's first defense and offense comes down to information. Information is what keeps you breathing and information is often what can turn the tables on the bad guys.
He hadn't moved from his position, flat on his back in the runoff of the rain gutter, more than to glance at his leg. The world still tilted much too readily, but he managed to search all the normal spots for a weapon and found he was unarmed. He carefully looked around him, no gun, no knife. Where ever he had been injured it hadn't been here. His legs burned and ached like he had run a good ways and his hands still shook from the rush of a fight.
His ribs felt as if someone had danced a samba on chest. As he sat up a hiss escaped him. He had to wriggle awkwardly to pull himself from his safe hold. He managed to open up his wound again, and it bled sluggishly in the cold. He gracelessly sawed through the zip tie and a good portion of his wrist on the questionable corner of the red dumpster that had shielded him from whatever had chased him into this hidey-hole. He used the wall to help him up and balanced precariously on his left leg, his stomach rolled and he retched what little he had in his stomach behind the dumpster. It took another moment for him to spit the taste from his mouth and steady himself again. He had no idea where he was but for the moment he was alone and no one had found him. He carefully checked his thigh, the tourniquet was doing its job, the wound looked as bad as it felt and it looked like someone had tried to cut his leg off with a serrated blade. The jagged edge of the wound was angry and red, the ache of it traveled the length of his leg and back up into him. He tested putting weight on it and nearly collapsed back to the puddled alley floor. He managed to brace himself against the wall and hobble down the way. He tried to listen for sounds of anyone near him, but he kept hearing voices of long dead assets and others better left forgotten. His name whispered from the empty shadows around him.
He shook his head and nearly lost his equilibrium, decided against trying to shake his sanity back again and crept the rest of the way down the alley. He checked the door but it was padlocked and so he continued on down, leaving a trail of blood behind him in the rain water. The alleyway opened up into a concrete clearing. He was in some sort of stock yard; there were an assortment of crates and shipping containers, forklifts waited silently beneath a protective awning. Besides that there were a handful of buildings, a couple of large warehouses at the far end, a few smaller buildings that seemed more like office buildings a few others beyond those. The fence surrounding the area was impressive, but an equally impressive hole had been made in the side of it, though it was charred the flames from its destruction were long since doused by the rain.
There were a few bodies splayed out at the foot of one of the trailers that graced what Michael assumed was the main gate. He could tell they were bodies and not current threats by the damage done to them even from his distance. It started to rain, a heavy bone chilling rain.
Michael's head was swimming and he doubled over at a sudden stab of pain. When he opened his eyes he was back in the cradle of the Earth. The rain poured all around him, a hot heady scent of burning diesel and charred human flesh assaulted him. The red earth at his feet looked like a thick lake of blood all around him. The steel in his hand was still hot from being fired and it stung his side as he tossed it around his back. He picked up the child; it took a moment for him to pry her tiny hands from the rags shrouding her mother's body.
He mumbled to the girl in her language, trying to calm her as he settled her onto his hip. She was still shaking violently against him as he scanned the landscape. It was so dark, he couldn't see ten feet ahead of him, but he knew they were there; the men who did this were still there. The pain of the bullet ripping into him dropped him to his knees.
Thunder boomed above him and he opened his eyes, his face stung and it took him a moment to realize that someone was slapping him. His head was so muddled from whatever he had been hit with and whatever blood he had lost.
"Michael?! You need to listen to me, we need to move!" A young woman, at least ten years his junior was crouched next to him. It took him longer than he would have liked to be able to bring her face into focus. She shook him again, said something but he still couldn't focus on her voice. She cupped his chin and forced his head up, looking into his eyes, "Dammit, you've been exposed." She tucked a gun into her waistband, he was amazed he hadn't seen it before, it was in his job description to notice things like that, "Michael, stay with me here. My name Freddy, I'm a friend. I know your head is all hazy but I need you to trust me."
Michael looked at her for a moment. It wasn't the first time he had placed his life in the hands of another, but this young woman was barely out of her teens. His first reaction was to listen, there wasn't that sharp twist in his gut that often signaled danger, and he didn't have much choice seeing as he couldn't put weight on his leg, "Where are we?" he yelled over the rain.
"In the Glades. You and your friends came to help me. We need to get you out of the open." She rose and offered him her hand.
She was a Client? He couldn't remember anything from that day; in fact he couldn't pull up any clear memory at will.
"Michael, you need to trust me. We need to find your friends and get the hell out of here before more men get here."
He grabbed her hand and climbed painfully to his feet.
"You'd do well to keep your hands where I can see them." Fi growled. The man reminded her of a weasel. She wasn't in any mood to deal with his bleating; in fact Sam was the only thing stopping her from disabling him and continuing her search for Michael. He was thin and wiry and soaked to the bone. He was dressed in a slightly better than off the rack suit that didn't fit him quiet right and had a deeply blackened right eye.
"I'm unarmed!" He spat as he wiped the blood out of his eye, "That bitch…"
"Hey, pal, mind telling us where the hell we are?" Sam was facing down the other side of the alley but chanced a glance back at them. He obviously didn't take the man as a threat to Fi and was more concerned with whatever might be lurking in the storm.
"We're in the Glades, you two and your slick friend were supposed to help me not make a mess of this!"
"Michael? Where is he?" Fi scowled.
"How should I know?! I just woke up out here in the rain, that little bitch knocked me over the head and took off. You were supposed to take care of her."
"I don't care about you or your lady friend buddy, just want Michael and a way out of here. I don't like this one bit Fi." Sam yelled over the storm, "We're too exposed out here, we need to keep moving. Bring him with." Sam hissed and pinched the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. Whatever was messing with Fi had obviously been doing a number on him as well.
"You were exposed to the chemicals in that warehouse. I can help you get your heads cleared up and then we can find that girl and your friend."
Fiona growled under her breath and pulled the man to his feet. He attempted to twist out of her grasp, she easily tripped him and dumped him back to the floor, "I am not in the mood to deal with you, you'd do well to play nice." She aimed at his throat.
"Don't- don't shoot!" He shielded himself with his hands, "I just want to get out of here too, but I need that case!" He scrambled back, "Look if she has the case she probably has your friend too! She gassed you all, this is a chemical weapons facility, no telling where she is or if he's alive!"
Sam stepped between the weasel and Fiona, "Hold on, Fi. If we help you find your case you help us find Michael and we go our separate ways."
"Sam?!" Fi grumbled.
"Fiona I don't know where the hell we are and the way this guy is dressed I'm sure he knows this place better than us. We need to get Michael and figure out what's going on." Sam hissed at her, "I don't like it either but from the look of where we woke up Michael probably isn't well off and this is our best chance to get to him quickly."
"Ugh! Fine."
The weasel smiled wolfishly, "Alright, let's finds your friend."
The girl was up to her elbows in the guts of the security control panel, cursing worse than he had heard from most men twice her age. Michael waited patiently trying to deal with the fuzziness in his head. He wasn't used to this, not being able to control his emotions and temper, it was exhausting. His leg felt like it was on fire.
The girl, Freddy, wasn't petite, more scrappy than anything. She was dressed casually in well fitted jeans and a t-shirt that had some sort of zombie movie advertised on it. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a wet bun and her lips had a blue tinge to them from the cold outside. The trailer they had taken shelter in appeared to have been the main gate security. It held a few screens that showed fuzzy white noise and a few others staring down at the entrance gate, left unmanned save the couple of corpses Michael assumed had been the men who had separated him from his friends.
"There isn't anything here. Communications are down, no lines out, can't tap into the main security grid from here. We'll have to look for your friends the old fashioned way." She chanced a look at his leg, it was still bleeding sluggishly, "Unless you want to wait here, that leg doesn't look so good."
"I'll be fine." Even as he said it he felt another wave of dizziness hit him hard.
"That stuff you got hit with isn't fun. If we can get into my lab I can get you a counteragent but it'll only take the edge off. It's one of those things that you just kinda have to work out of your system." She was rambling slightly.
"What were we doing here exactly?" He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to steady his vision.
"Getting that." She motioned to the steel case she had set next to the desk, "Its information that will tie the manufacturer to production of illegal weaponized gases. Much nastier stuff than what you tried out."
"And what are you doing tied up in this stuff? You can't hardly be into your twenties."
She blushed and laughed lightly, "I have four PhD's, Mr. Westen, my first when I was fifteen, and a laundry list of people who'd both die to hire and kill me. I've been working for the government and military operations for the better part of a decade." She rubbed her neck, "This stuff is what I do, I research this crap that the bad guys push out, find ways to combat and fix what they make, but I do not help make worse stuff."
Michael sighed softly, "They used you to manufacture that worse stuff?"
"Much like you, Mr. Westen, I can't allow my life's work to be sullied by the discretion of a few money grubbing assholes." She took a steadying breath, "Sam and I have a mutual friend, and we met a couple days ago. This all happened very fast." She propped herself on the desk adjacent to his perch, "If we hadn't of moved today it would have all been gone, I didn't think they would be stupid enough to start an all-out fire fight. And then when Marsden's goons cornered us you boosted me out a window with the case. I squirreled away until the firing stopped then looked for you all. Only found you though."
"Alright, and you said they had more people coming?"
"The company hires an outside 'security firm' and by that they mean mercenaries. Fiona made short order of the men at the gate, there should be more meandering around here though, but if you got dosed with that gas, it's no doubt that most of the other guys did too. Means we have some other goons wandering around here just as muddle headed as you are, no offense." She spoke fast and her sentences nearly ran into one continuous thought, "There's a big storm hitting us right now, that should give us enough time to find Fiona and Sam and get the hell out of here before they get their heads on straight, but there's no telling where any of the other men are."
Michael shook off the chill creeping through him, "Alright, we find Sam and Fi and find a way out of here."
"My thoughts exactly."
Fiona stared at the puddle at her feet. Gavin spoke in a steady sullen tone to her, "There wasn't anything to be done about it, Fiona. They were cornered and they made a choice, they'll be remembered for their bravery and their sacrifice won't be forgotten."
Hot tears rolled down her face, "Don't give a damn about bravery or honor, this shouldn't have happened." Her accent was heavy and thick in her throat.
"What Fi?" Sam asked worried.
She whipped the tears away with the heel of her palm, luckily she was still soaked and there was no telling what was rain water, "We should have found him by now."
Marsden paced, "If he took in the same amount of FK-12 as you dear there's no telling how confused or disoriented he could be. Hell he could be hold up in a closet screaming at his long lost puppy if it was a traumatic enough experience."
"What the hell is this stuff?" Sam growled.
"Its similar to truth serum. FK-12 makes the subject remember a trauma or incident in total clarity, so real that they talk to shadows in the room like long lost loved ones. It was made for interrogations and debriefings if certain events don't line up."
"How long does it last? Cause I gotta tell you buddy I'm getting a little tired arguing with my dead Sergeant over weekend leave." Sam rubbed his brow.
"Depends on how much you took in. If we go into the lab I can get something that will burn it off faster, but it's in the next warehouse." He grumbled, "I think our best bet is to make it into the security office and see where that little rat has gotten to. I have a feeling she'll know where your friend is."
"You think this woman has Michael subdued?"
"He was wounded last I saw, and if he was hit with what you two got all she'd have to do is convince him that she is the damsel in distress."
Sam scowled at the man. He didn't rightly trust him and it was plain on his face. Fiona still couldn't get her head around what was warring with her senses but even she could see the distaste from the normally jovial ex-SEAL.
"Lead on then."
Freddy continued through the maze of hallways. There wasn't a soul in sight, which was good because Michael wasn't sure he had the strength to fight off his mother's latest paramour, let alone take on these 'goons'. He was leaning much too much weight onto the young woman who he had at least a foot and a hundred pounds on.
"Its dead here."
"They were moving their facility. Seems they had plans to 'encourage' my cooperation or cut ties all together, if you catch my drift." She smiled, resituating the case in her right hand.
Michael stepped a bit too heavily on his wounded leg, and he lost his traction on the linoleum floor in his own blood that had managed to coat his shoe. He gasped loudly and slipped to the floor. Freddy did her level best to steady him in his dissent but she was much too small to take on all his weight.
"You're white as a sheet. We need to get that leg taken care of."
Michael took a moment to steady his breathing, black spots played across his vision, "How much further?" his voice was weak and far away.
"Just a few more corners to my lab, I'll have stuff there to take care of that leg. I can go ahead if you can't make it."
He swallowed hard, "I'll be alright, let's go."
Freddy looked at him a moment, as if trying to find an answer in his face, then stood and helped him climb up the wall. She steadied his weight again and the started walking, albeit a bit slower than before.
"Talk to me." Michael said shakily.
"About what?
"Anything. Where are you from?"
She hesitated, "Um, my family was from the mid-west. I was born in Arizona, but I've lived just about everywhere at one time or another. You?"
"Florida born and raised." He smiled, "But I'm well-traveled also. Any family?"
"None living, not much of a socialite with my job you don't get out much. So no not really."
"Friends?"
She scoffed, "Professional ones, ones that owe me favors mostly."
He nodded.
"Sam and Fiona seem nice. Type of friends everyone should have, but few are lucky enough to come by."
"Ya, that's me, Mr. Lucky."
"Here we are." She tried the keypad, it flashed a red light and refused her access, "Stupid...Friggin…" She growled a few curses.
Michael smiled a genuine grin, his face protested the strain, he must have bruises galore.
She helped him sit and pried the panel back with a pocket knife. In a moment she had the door open, "Isn't gonna shut so we should hurry." She hesitated, "You with me?"
"Yeah."
"Gotcha!" Marsden smiled brightly, "And there goes a few of our boys."
Fiona felt her neck prickle at that. She saw a small girl tying off a new bandage on Michael's leg. The silent black and white security camera offered no dialog, but the girl helped Michael steady and pull his trousers back up over the bandage.
Another camera showed a pair of very large security type men quickly progressing through the halls.
"That's the girl who caused all of this? She doesn't even look like she's out of college." Sam muttered.
"She's a lot more formidable than she looks." Marsden pulled a walkie from his coat that he hadn't shown before, "They're in the Doctors lab, apprehend them, assume all hostile, detain our guests."
"Michael's not a hostile! He's hurt, tell them to stand down." Fiona growled.
"There's no telling what the girl has made him believe." Marsden argued.
The girl on the screen gave Michael a shot in his inner elbow and pocketed a few more syringes. She dug through a drawer and started at an unheard noise. Michael was stock straight and positioned himself in front of the girl. The first man came at him and Michael held up his hands then threw a punch into the man's throat. The guard went down hard, the second man all but pushed his associate aside and full bodily tackled Michael. Michael rolled with the man and caught him with a few solid blows before rolling free. The girl booted the first man in the jaw, a solid kick and the big man folded over, the girl leapt for him. The second man caught Michael before he could scramble away, wrapped his hand around his knee, and hit him squarely in the center of the wounded leg. Michael's body tried to curl around his leg but he fell back limply to the floor. The guard took a knee and turned his attention to the girl, who in the commotion had wrangled a stun gun from the first man, and shot the second in the chest, the man convulsed and fell back. The girl kicked him in the head, and grabbed Michael by the arms, dragging him out of frame.
Fiona cried out when she saw Michael fall, and wrapped her hands around the little weasel's neck, only to hear the distinct sound of a semi-auto pistol cocking. She froze in a growl.
"Fi, don't." Sam warned her.
Marsden pried himself from her fingers and cleared his throat, he turned to the four men who had crowded into the doorway, "Took you long enough. Detain them." Two men stepped forward and zip tied Sam and Fi securely, then lowered them to their knees. Marsden hit a button on the control panel and one of the screens changed to a small supply closet. Michael lay on the girl's lap his face slack. Marsden hit a button, "Seems you've backed yourself into a corner, my dear."
Freddy pulled Michael into the supply closet and hit the panel until there was little left but wires. The door sealed. She sat back down behind Michael, cradling him against her, "Don't leave me here, stay awake."
Michael was breathing shakily, "Trying my best here." His leg was bleeding freely, and had already soaked through the heavy bandage. There was no telling how much he had already lost before.
The comm crackled, "Seems you've backed yourself into a corner, my dear."
She wiggled free of Michael gently and hit the link, "Looks like it."
"You're much too valuable to trough away because of one little lapse in judgment Miss Stander. Open the door, give us the case and leave the rest to us."
She laughed and began tearing through the inventory. She found a medical kit like the one she had used before. It had a few clotting bandages but even those weren't meant for a wound as bad as the one on Michael's thigh. She took out her pocket knife and cut away his pant leg, then the sopping bandage. He hissed and contorted his face again, but didn't fight her. She ripped each of the packets with her teeth and used all three bandages, the grabbed a roll of gauze and tried her best to keep the pressure on the wound.
"Think logically here, you're a smart girl, this doesn't have to be the end of a bright future."
She heard men outside the door. Michael was motionless. She stood and hit the comm link again, "I'd rot in hell before I'd help the likes of you, come and get me you idiot."
She heard a crackle on the radios outside the door.
The comm hit again, "-like this?" It was Sam Axe's voice, "Hey there missy, just hang tight, Marsden and Fiona had a little talk and seems she just can't play nice with his kind. We'll be down there in a minute. Mikey hang on."
"Hell hath no fury, Mikey." Sam smiled brightly, concluding, "Just remind me that I never want to make Fiona mad at me like that."
Michael was laid out in his bed at the loft. He was all sown up and settled in. He still looked about a few shades too pale and a lot greyer than was healthy, but he was alive and kicking. Well not quite kicking yet, but alive.
Fiona settled next to him and curled her lithe frame around his side, a spoon hanging from her mouth and a cup of yogurt in her hand.
Freddy uncapped a beer and settled onto the stool, "And seems that the entire Mersk Corporation has suddenly fallen into investigation. A few of their higher ups are already disappeared from what I've heard." She smiled brightly, "I owe you one guys, and don't be afraid to call in that favor, I don't shirk my debts." She took a heavy swig and smiled sweetly.
"Would never take you as the kind to take a debt lightly." Michael took the bite of yogurt Fiona offered him.
"You clean up nice kid." Sam smiled finishing off his beer, "Don't think that wet and bloodied look fits most anybody though."
Freddy smiled mischievously, "Oh you'd be surprised, I can pull off wet quite well." She winked at Sam.
Michael smirked at Fiona, who raised a brow and smiled into his collarbone.
Freddy tossed her hair over her shoulder and finished off her beer, "Michael, Fi I'll see you around." She walked to the door, "Sam." And left.
Sam smiled, "If I was ten years younger-"
"Sam!" Michael chastised him.
"Just saying, Mike, that girl has a way about her."
Fiona snickered into Michael's chest, "You'd be surprised, she is mature beyond her years."
"Fi!" Michael snapped.
Fiona gave him a shocked look, "You're a few years my senior Michael, and you are definitely not the oldest man I've been with." She smirked mischievously, playing her fingers along his chest, "An older man has his advantages, especially for an intelligent young woman." She shrugged.
Sam looked at his feet a moment, "I- um, I'm gonna go take a walk. See who I might bump into."
Michael started to protest but was subdued rather effectively by Fiona. He hardly heard the door shut and Sam Axe make a hasty exit.