My first Burn Notice story. I've only just started watching, but I find myself fascinated with the dynamic that is Michael and Fiona. This is a oneshot, with a possible sequel to follow. A major character death is mentioned, and there is some foul language. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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She was angry.

No, anger couldn't even begin to describe it. She was livid, infuriated, ready to scream until her lungs exploded. Her leg delivered another solid kick to the punching bag Michael had purchased and set up close to the kitchen.

Some would say she got mad too easily. She was Irish, and she had the temper to prove it. Growing up with five brothers made her grow up mean. Losing her only sister made her mean. Falling in love with a man who would always leave her…that made her mean.

Her entire body was lathered with sweat, and the hot moisture burned her eyes, but she continued her vicious assault on the punching bag. With every punch, she was righting a wrong in her mind. Every problem could be solved physically. She just had to keep pushing herself.

But the anger was still there. Rage bubbled up in her chest, threatening to devour her from the inside out. She hit harder, kicked with more power.

Sam in particular liked to tease her about her anger control issues, and usually Michael was the one she took it out on. Not necessarily fair, but then again, when was life ever fair?

Outside, the air was hot and muggy, and the sky threatened to erupt with rain at any second. The windows in Michael's apartment were wide open, but she didn't care. She continued her session, letting the punching bag absorb her emotions.

She was so caught up in what she was doing, she didn't hear the door creak open. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, and her own grunts as she delivered each brutal kick and savage punch.

The visitor crept along the floor, watching her warily until he was brave enough to speak.

"Fiona?"

Fiona continued to kick. "What?"

Sam approached her slowly. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're trying to kill that punching bag."

"And if I am?"

"I might say it's an unhealthy way of dealing."

"It's a perfectly healthy way of…" She grunted and delivered a vicious kick. "Of dealing. I'm dealing."

He carefully stood behind the punching bag and watched her. "You don't look like you're dealing."

"Fuck you, Sam."

"Fi, stop."

She ignored him and continued. Her body begged her to comply, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. If she stopped… No. She wouldn't stop.

He eased around and came up behind her, doing the only thing he knew to do. Praying he wouldn't get killed for his efforts, he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side and holding her tightly against his chest.

For a moment, she froze, sweaty and out of breath.

He took that moment and charged ahead. "Fiona, you can't do this. Sooner or later…you have to face reality." And he knew that the longer she waited, the worse it would be. "Please, Fi."

"Face reality?" she scoffed. "Michael's dead. What's there to face? He's dead and he's never coming back!"

But the moment those very words passed Fiona's lips, hot tears filled her blue eyes. Michael was dead. She knew he was dead, because she had held him in her arms and tried so damn hard to keep him alive. His blood had stained her clothing, and no matter how many times she showered and scrubbed her skin raw, she could still see his blood on her hands. She had been with his mother when she was told, and she had laid in their bed for the past two nights, almost waiting for him to come home.

Her knees buckled, and Sam sank to the floor with her, still holding her tightly. His best friend was dead, and Fiona was the only link to Michael he had. He felt uncomfortable around Maddie, because she blamed both of them for Michael's death. In time, he knew she would come around, but by then, he wasn't even sure he'd still be in Miami.

Fiona struggled against him for a moment, but when Sam didn't relax his grip, she finally gave up and cried into his chest.

Every day, they knew there was always that chance. One bullet, one match, one psycho with a score to settle…but Michael always seemed to walk away mostly unscathed. He seemed to be untouchable, but no one escaped death.

Sam held Fiona as she cried, but he could feel her rage just as well as he could feel her tears. He knew that, although Michael's killer got away, he wouldn't be alive for much longer if Fiona had anything to say about it. He had taken Michael's life, leaving Fiona a broken woman. Broken was not something Fiona did well. She would find whoever Michael's murderer was, and she would make them pay.

And despite his own feelings, Sam also felt some pity for the son of a bitch who'd taken Michael's life. Because without Michael, Fiona had nothing to lose.

And a woman who had nothing to lose was a woman to be feared.

The End.

A/N: Well, there you have it. I simply love Michael and Fiona, and I think that if Michael was ever killed (or at least if Fiona thought he was) she would go on a murderous rampage with lots of firepower. I've only seen a few episodes, so I hope I've done the characters justice. Thank you for reading, and please review and let me know how I did!