Peace
After Strickler, before season four, Michael and Fiona enjoy one night of quiet peace, a night full of things they can never have. Just some Miona fluff, with mild cheese on top
A/N: A little melancholy fanfic… sorta sappy… cavity giving… eh, just a drabble-ish thing. Review for my birthday yesterday?
He felt her arms encircle him as he breathed in her sweet scent, a smile decorating his lips as she shifted against him. They lay there, sprawled on the loft's floor, not moving, but instead just relishing the comfort of the other's presence.
"Fiona," he murmured, her name like sweet taffy on his lips, but she shook her head and laid a finger on them.
"Shh," she whispered, then laid her hand over his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat. "No words, no apologies. Just let it be us."
He granted her wish, and they lay there as the sun sank below its horizon and they relaxed in the steady companionship that the other granted.
Strickler was gone, Fiona had stayed. Apologies and sorry, regrets and forgiveness could wait until the sun appeared, but this time, this darkness, this night was theirs to lie in. The darkness was fitting indeed, for the spy and his IRA love, because the light would never be fit to pull them in.
In the morning, she would go back to her guns and him back to his search for the job, but this was not the morning. This was the night, where done actions could remain hidden and steady comforts accepted for the value they were given at.
"Fiona," Michael began again, but she glared at him this time, her eyes narrowing. Fiona was like a brash, out of control wildfire, yes, but Michael was too close to be afraid of her tonight.
"Michael," she mocked him and he gave a low laugh at her annoyance before quieting again, closing his eyes and feeling her move to lay her head against his chest.
Will it be this way in the morning? He longed to ask, but didn't let the words fall. He knew what she would say, knew she would look at her with eyes that lived in the moment and disregarded the coming tides.
No, would be her response. Things change, always change. She'd told him that before, in Ireland, just before they drove each other away with cruel words and taunting blows. And you will go back to your hunt for answers.
He didn't ask the question, because he didn't want her to answer with her strand of brutal honestly. He just wanted it to be the two of them, like it should have been- a normal couple, working odd jobs between paychecks, seeing old family friends, and seeing family members.
Normal- a word that could never be affixed to the two of them. She was too brash, too wild to settle to the life of a content housewife, and he could never be able to stand aside when someone else might need help. They were matched for each other, two constantly wandering nomads that could never settle down.
He had never thought she would stay as long as she did, and now he was beginning to wonder if she might in fact remain with him. It was an odd thought, but a comforting one.
He wasn't aware of the passing of time, only of the restful silence that crept unobtrusively in on them. In some ways, the silence was what made their relationship- silence in anger, silence in the closing door, silence in the pain filled look in their eyes as the other's name was brought up. But that was not entirely correct, for it was other things. It was silence in their shared smiles, silence in the hands that wrapped around the other's waist in a plea for forgiveness, and it was the silence held in the pause before the other said to be careful.
Fiona shifted restlessly against Michael and he gave a small smile, allowing her to turn over carefully, avoiding the graze on her shoulder. She watched him carefully, her gaze weighing his and at last she nodded, opening her mouth to say something that would not be able to be unsaid.
He would never find out what she meant to say, even when he asked her later, because just as she began to form words a phone rang, startling them both. Fiona's mouth closed and she glanced away, uncharacteristically unsure. Not taking his eyes from her, Michael picked up the phone.
"Sam," the burned spy greeted his friend, a sour note in his voice, and he wasn't surprised that Sam picked it up instantly.
"Sorry Mikey, know you're probably asleep," Sam deliberately misunderstood the weighted annoyance in the only word Michael had said. "But I think I found a job, good paying, a little below your standards though. It seems as though some old guy that works at Disney's being harassed by the gangs and he's afraid his family's going to be next…"
Michael paused, his attention still on Fiona as his mind caught up with Sam's words. "Yeah Sam, that job's fine. I'll meet you at my mom's."
He noticed the disappointment flicker in Fiona's eyes, but he doubted that he would have caught it if the own feeling wasn't stirring in him. Michael hung up the phone a little more vindictively than usual, and climbed to his feet, wondering why the movement seemed so weighty. Without saying a word, he held out his hand to Fiona and she took it gingerly and used it to pull herself up.
"Sam has a job," Michael repeated, his own words sounding lame to his ears.
"I know," was her response, none of the usual sarcasm or fire in her words. Michael was aware that he hadn't released her hand, but he instead held it for a second longer.
"Fiona, what were you going to say?" he asked her, and she blinked innocently at him.
"Nothing," was the too-quick response, but he didn't call her on it, instead he just led her out of the loft, leaving behind a night of unsaid words and unlived feelings.
But that was okay too, because he knew what she was going to say anyway.