Not surprisingly, it's still note mine. I always liked Michael's reactions whenever Fiona's in danger, so this is my take on what could happen if she ended up hurt by someone... Enjoy
Take Care of It
Michael was sitting at Carlito's, waiting for Fiona, sipping an iced tea. She was fifteen minutes late, which wasn't much in the real world, but in their world, it usually meant something was wrong. When everyone you know is always early, when they're late, even if it's only a few minutes, you start to worry.
He let out a sigh of relief when he saw her car pull up. However, now that the worry was gone, he felt a little annoyed that she was so late. He watched her walk inside, and started talking before she had even fully sat down.
"Where were you, Fi?" He questioned.
Her eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses, but he could tell she was flustered. "Oh, I, uh, something came up, Michael."
"You couldn't have called?" It was unlike her not to let him know if she was running late. "Was there a shoe sale? Or a gun sale?" Those were the two most likely reasons she'd be late, though not necessarily in that order.
"Um, neither. It was no big thing. I was just running a little late." She was obviously avoiding telling him the real reason, and he wondered why. Usually she had no problem sharing things with him. Over sharing, really. He didn't need to hear every detail about her life, particularly not about her newest boyfriend, Karl or Kale or whatever his name was.
He watched her as she looked at the menu. She seemed a little off, like jumpy or nervous or something. He waited for her to take her sunglasses off, and when she didn't he got suspicious.
"Fi, why are your sunglasses still on?" He questioned, honestly curious.
"This is Miami. It's sunny out, Michael." He glanced up at the cloud-covered sky and raised an eyebrow.
"What's wrong, Fi? There's something going on." Now he was getting genuinely concerned. She didn't usually act like this.
"Nothing is going on, Michael." Still ignoring the question.
"Then what's with the sunglasses?"
"Nothing!" Now she sounded angry, but he wasn't giving up. He reached across the table and swiftly swiped the glasses off her face playfully. However, when her face was revealed, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. She had a nasty looking bruise around her left eye and cheekbone, deep purple in the middle fading out to yellowish around the edges.
She ignored the horrified expression on his face. "What the hell was that for Michael?"
He ignored her question. "What happened?"
"Nothing." She shot him a glare.
His voice rose, "What happened?"
Hers raised right back, "Nothing!"
He blinked at her tone, and realized anger wasn't getting him anywhere. The next thing she knew, he was crouched next to her chair, with a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.
He spoke quietly, "Fiona, what happened?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just concerned.
She felt tears gathering, but answered him again. "Nothing…" However, this time it sounded much less convincing.
He shot her a pleading look, and gently touched the area around her bruise. "Come on, Fi. You can tell me."
She sighed. "Okay, fine. It was, uh… Well, you see… Um, Kyle got sort of angry, and…"
She trailed off when she noticed the look in Michael's eyes. For the first time since she had met him she could see how he could be a ruthless spy. Why some people were frightened by the mere mentioning of his name. He looked… murderous.
"That son of a bitch." His jaw clenched even tighter, and his hands curled into fists. "He hit you?"
She didn't answer. She was afraid to speak.
"He HIT you?" He sounded like he was about ready to kill someone.
She nodded. "But I took care of it."
"Did you castrate him with a piece of barbed wire?"
"No?"
"Then you didn't take care of it." He stood up, reaching for his keys. "Where is he?"
"Michael, don't do anything you'll regret. Just let it go." She tried to reason with him because if the look in his eyes was any indication, he actually might kill her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.
"Oh, I won't regret it, Fi. Where is he?"
"No, Michael, you will. I'm not telling you." She crossed her arms, challenging him.
He didn't back down. "Fiona, if you don't tell me where I can find that lousy, lying son of a bitch, I will knock on every door in Miami until I find him."
Usually she wouldn't take that kind of threat seriously, but he actually looked like he might follow through with it. Oh well. "No."
"Fine." He picked up his keys and phone, dialing as he started to walk away. She got up and followed him, listening to his side of the phone conversation.
"Hey, Sam, it's me… No look, I can't really talk right now… Long story, but I need your help… Can you look up the address of Fi's, uh, friend. Kyle Edwards… Let's just say I need to pay him a little visit… No, nothing I can't handle. But listen, can you come to Carlito's and stay with Fi?… I'll explain later… Thanks Sam." He hung up and turned towards her.
"Stay here."
"No."
"Fiona, can you please just listen to me? I can't handle you getting hurt, and I'm not sure you'll want to see what's going to happen at our buddy Kyle's." He practically spat his name.
"No."
"Fine, then I'll stay here until Sam gets here, and then he can watch you." He crossed his arms, waiting for her to challenge him. If he had to, he'd cable tie her to the damn table.
She scowled, but turned and stomped back to the table, sulking. He followed her, and sat across from her again, watching every car that drove by. His eyes were still narrowed, his jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together, with his hands gripping the side of the table. When Sam's car pulled up he practically jumped out of his chair, quickly walking over to meet him.
"Wow Mikey, anxious much?" His grin vanished when he noticed the look on Michael's face. "Mike, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine Sam," he answered, "But Kyle Edwards won't be." The last part was practically growled.
"Wow, what'd he do to get on your shit list? Got something to do with your burn notice?"
Michael shook his head, and Sam was about to ask again, when he noticed Fi, and more importantly, Fi's bruise. A look of understanding passed on his face.
"He didn't…." He let the question trail off. The look in Michael's eyes answered his question.
Now Sam looked like he was barely containing rage. "You sure you don't need any help, Mike? 'Cause believe me, I'd love to assist."
Fiona sighed. "What is it with you guys?"
Sam and Michael shot her equally incredulous looks. "You're joking, right?" Sam questioned.
"I already told Michael I took care of it, Sam," she explained.
"Is he dead?" Sam questioned. "Bleeding profusely? Missing body parts?" When she shook her head to all three questions, he replied the same way Michael had. "Then you didn't take care of it, Fi."
"What is with you two?" she questioned. "I can take care of myself!" she shouted at the pair of them.
"I'm sure you can," Michael yelled back, "and I'm sure you did what you thought was necessary. Now I'm going to do what I think is necessary." Fiona flinched, slightly scared as to what exactly Michael thought was necessary. "I care about you, Fi. And he hurt you," he said quietly, "So now he's going to learn a new definition of the word pain," he promised, his eyes narrowed.
"Michael," she tried again, but he ignored her, turning instead towards Sam.
"Make sure she stays here," he said. Sam nodded. "Thanks, Sam."
"No problem, brother. Kick him for me," he said. Michael nodded and grabbed his keys again, heading towards the charger, ready to find Kyle Edwards and teach him a lesson he would never forget.
An hour later, Michael was in a condo in South Beach, holding Kyle Edwards by the throat up against the wall. When Michael had first got there, he'd had a black eye, and Michael had smiled, recognizing Fi's handiwork. Now, he had a broken nose, a bruised jaw, and what Michael guessed were a few cracked ribs. He held him against the wall and pulled his gun from the small of his back.
"Look at me," he said quietly, shoving the gun into his mouth. "I don't like people who beat up women. Period. And you didn't beat up any woman, you beat up the woman I'm in love with," he explained. "And now I'm angry. You don't want to make me angry, Kyle," he said. "Trust me," he added, deadly serious. "An angry Michael makes for a dead Kyle. You don't want to die, do you, Kyle?" He shook his head quickly.
"I could kill you," Michael said, unclicking the safety. Kyle's eyes widened, his body shaking with fear.
"You're lucky Fiona'd be pissed if I did," he said. "Otherwise…" He smacked his hand against the wall behind Kyle's head, and he jumped a mile. "Let's get one thing straight though, alright? If you come near her again, if you even think about coming near her again… I'll track you down and I will kill you. I could make it so no one would ever even find your body… Look into my eyes," he said, and the trembling man complied. "Do I look like I'm kidding?" He shook his head slightly, the movement barred by the gun shoved in his mouth.
Michael took the gun out his mouth and let go of his neck. He collapsed onto the floor, still shaking in fear. "I'm gonna go now," Michael said, gesturing towards the door. He turned away, but after a moment he turned back around, pointing the gun at him once more. The startled man let out a yelp of surprise.
"Don't even think about going to the police," he started. "This is between you and me, understand? If I find out anyone else knows about this little visit, well, I'll be very angry, Kyle. And we already talked about what happens when I get angry. So this'll just be our little secret, okay buddy?"
The trembling heap on the floor nodded in agreement and Michael smiled. "Good," he said before turning towards the door. "Oops," he said. "I forgot something." He turned back and kicked the man on the ground once for Sam before turning away again. "Bye, bye now," he threw over his shoulder before exiting the condo and jumping back into the Charger.
Twenty minutes later he was back at Carlito's, barely disheveled at all. He made his way back to the table and found a scowling Fiona being watched by an amused Sam.
"Hey brother," Sam said. "How'd things go in South Beach?"
Michael nodded and let a small smile appear on his face. "Fine," he said. Sam nodded and raised his beer bottle in a toast. Fiona rolled her eyes.
"Are you okay, Fi?" he asked. "Do you want some ice or something for your eye?"
She glared at him. "I'm fine," she snapped, and he threw his hands up in defense.
"Okay," he said quickly. A few moments of silence passed until Fiona spoke again.
"What did you do?" she asked, grabbing his hand in hers. His knuckles were bruised and swollen, and one of them was bloody from its attack on Kyle Edwards' face.
He shrugged. "I took care of it."
She shook her head. "Next time you feel the need to protect me or some other nonsense, can you please be more careful, and not break your hand on some idiot's face?" she asked quietly, cradling his injured hand in hers. "Bring a bat or something."
He let out a small laugh and nodded. "I can do that."