Family Man
Chapter One
Langley, Virginia
2016
It didn't really matter if he was leading an attack on a covert terrorist group or just trying not to wake up his wife and daughter—Michael Westen was one of the CIA's best assets when it came to breaching a perimeter without detection.
He shed his heavy coat and briefcase in the entryway, slipping out of his shoes so he could make his way up the staircase quietly. Michael let out a long breath, wearily ascending the staircase and thinking for the millionth time that this house was too damn big for just three people. He had grown up in a small one-story house and spent six years living comfortably in a shitty loft, so it still felt very strange to come home to a gated community.
But with his newly reinstated job with the government came a pay increase so steep that Michael had choked on his spoonful of yogurt the first time he checked his newly unfrozen bank account. He had felt bad enough about moving his pregnant wife to Virginia in the middle of a freezing cold winter, so he might have overcompensated a little by getting them a really nice—and roomy— place.
"Daddy?"
Michael jumped slightly, turning towards his daughter Maddy's bedroom to see her standing there in her pajamas, trailing her stuffed Elmo behind her. Michael shook his head. What would his CIA bosses think? He had just been made by a four year old.
"Hey, sweetheart." Michael crossed to her, bending down to her eye level. "Sorry I woke you up. I was trying to be real quiet."
She shrugged. "S'okay."
"Is your mom asleep?"
Maddy nodded, an oddly thoughtful and mature expression on her young features. "She sleeps a lot when you're gone, daddy."
Michael's brow furrowed slightly with concern. "What do you mean? Is she sick?"
"I dunno." Maddy yawned hugely. "Now that you're home, can we move your mission tracker?"
Michael smiled. "Sure."
Maddy led the way back into her jungle-themed bedroom, taking her father's hand and leading him over to the painted map of the world that took up one whole wall of her room.
"Do you remember where I was this time?" Michael asked, lifting her up into his arms.
"You were in Shanghai. The capitol of the People's Republic of China." Maddy said, reaching out for the push-pin she and her father used to mark where he was in the world he went away on missions.
Michael smiled proudly. "You and mom have been reading about China, huh?"
"Yeah." Maddy pulled out the pin, Michael carrying her back over to the map of North America so she could stick the pin back into the well-worn hole in the wall that marked their home in Virginia. "I'm glad you're home, dad."
"Me too, sweetheart." Michael gently set her back down on her bed, kissing the top of her head. "Now, it's late. Try to get some sleep, okay?"
"Okay." Maddy climbed under her purple zebra print comforter, looking up at him with the incisively bright blue-green eyes that were so much like her mother's. "Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"How long will you be home this time?"
Michael's heart twisted slightly. She sounded so resigned to the fact that her father would always come home only to be preparing for his next trip. But he didn't know what else to do—the CIA had finally taken him back, and he couldn't lose this job and still be able to provide for his family.
"I have another job coming up, Maddy. I'm sorry."
"How long?" she persisted.
"I leave in a week."
Maddy turned on her side, closing her eyes and snuggling under her covers. "I thought so."
Michael wanted to say more, wanted to apologize for being gone so much, but he wasn't quite sure what to say. He just stood there, overwhelmed with the now-familiar sinking feeling that he was way too emotionally stunted to ever be a good father, watching over Maddy until his daughter fell asleep. Or at least pretended to.
When Michael entered the master bedroom, the TV was on, but when he turned towards the dresser to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, the TV was suddenly switched off.
"Home at last." Her voice was raspy from sleep.
Michael turned back towards the bed with a small smile, still unbuttoning his shirt. "Hey, Fi."
Fiona ran a hand through her long dark hair, sitting up in bed. Michael noticed with a shiver of arousal she was wearing nothing but one of his old Army t-shirts. Before they'd gotten married and become parents, Fiona usually slept in nothing at all. And while Michael definitely didn't have a problem with that, he personally thought she looked ridiculously sexy like this too, but he knew she would never believe him.
"How was Shanghai?" she asked, taking a sip of water from the cup she kept on her bedside table.
"Exhausting." Michael shed his shirt and pants, gratefully climbing under the covers beside her in his boxers and socks. He turned on his side to look at her. "How have things been here?"
Fiona opened her mouth to say "fine," but was surprised when the lie died on her lips. Suddenly she couldn't look at him, falling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling instead.
"Fi?" Michael prodded.
"Do you remember what it used to be like when you got back from missions? In the beginning, in Belfast?" Fiona licked her lips thoughtfully. "We couldn't get enough of each other. Sometimes we didn't even make it out of the airport parking lot. And now, what? We exchange pleasantries and go to sleep?"
"I was much younger then, Fi." Michael said, making an admittedly weak stab at humor.
"What does that have to do with anything? Do you even want to fuck me anymore?" Fiona glared at him.
"Fiona, what the hell are you talking—"
"I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Michael." She fell on her back against the pillows.
"Cut out for what?"
"Waiting. For you. Forever." Fiona snapped, turning to look at him. "I feel like I've spent my entire adult life waiting for you. And when I see Maddy doing the same thing, it makes me so angry at you that I can't even…" Fiona took in a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Michael, I don't care what you do to me. I can take it. God knows I'm used to it. But I can't watch you do this to her."
"You act like I have a choice." Michael sighed.
"You do have a choice!"
"Oh, really, Fi? And what choice is that? Quit my job? Lose our house? Start Maddy a college fund with money we make from odd jobs in Miami?" Michael's voice came out harsher than he intended.
"It's not about the money. I don't care about money." Fiona spat. "I never wanted to have to say this, but I have enough money stored in safe houses around the world for my daughter to never want for anything." She took a deep breath, really expending effort to control her temper. "I supported you taking this job and uprooting our entire life because I knew it was what you wanted, and because I knew you needed some time away from Miami after your mother died." She reached out, her hand over his. "But now that we're here…I feel like I've lost you. Like we all have. You and I are practically strangers. You barely know your own daughter. You hardly even talk to Sam and Jesse anymore because you're so busy working."
Michael groaned with frustration. "I am so tired of all of you crucifying me for having a job! I'm sorry I can't bust open a safe buried in the Mohave desert somewhere and be set for life like you! I'm sorry I can't live off my wife's money and still respect myself like Sam! I serve my country because that's who I am, Fi—"
"No, Michael. That's what you do. That's not who you are." Fiona took his face in her hands, looking right at him, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen in years. Even her Irish accent crept back into her speech as it always did when she was really impassioned about something. "I know who you are. I know every part of you. And the Michael I know is so much more than just some nameless drone in a suit blindly following orders. The Michael I know helps people that can't help themselves. He puts his life on the line for his friends without a second thought. He's the best man I've ever known."
"Fi—" Michael shook his head, clearly touched but also clearly uncomfortable with someone saying so many nice things about him.
But Fiona cut him off with her hand over his mouth, needing him to listen. "But every day you work for these soulless cretins who stole your life away just because they felt like it, I see that Michael, the real Michael, dying in front of my eyes. And I love you too much to just stand by and watch any longer." Fi dropped her hand from his mouth, looking at him so intently it made Michael heart speed up with adrenaline and anticipation. He knew that particular expression well, but hadn't seen it in far too long.
Michael leaned forward and kissed her, Fiona's anger cooling as she eventually relaxed into the embrace when Michael wrapped his arms around her. They broke apart after a long moment, Fiona's moment of candor making them both feel a little more like themselves. Michael brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as he looked down at her. "I'm so sorry, Fi. I had no idea you felt like this."
Fiona shrugged. "How would you know? We never see each other."
Michael sighed, pausing to think for a moment. "Well, I have a job coming up in Monaco. It'd be nice to have some company."
"You and me in the Riviera?" Fiona raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips.
"What do you think? Sam could take Maddy while we were gone. He's been telling me all year that his family wants to come up and see Maddy, maybe take the kids to Washington."
"A real vacation," Fiona considered this. "We could even think of it like the honeymoon we never had."
"Whatever you want. I'll just have a few boring business meetings, and one easy reconnaissance, and then I'll be all yours. We can figure all of this out. Decide what to do next, together."
"What kind of reconnaissance?" Fiona apparently hadn't heard anything after that word.
"That's what you want to do on our vacation? Provide tactical support?" Michael grinned, his hand gently stroking Fiona's back as she rested her chin on his chest to look up at him.
"Michael, I've been absolutely dying to do a job. Any job. Just because we have Maddy doesn't mean we have to give up that part of our relationship completely, right?"
"Of course it doesn't. Or at least, I don't think so," Michael said. "I trust you more than anyone in the world, Fi. There's no one I'd rather have backing me up."
Fiona pushed herself up slightly, kissing him, pleased when Michael's hand tangled in her hair as he initiated the kiss growing deeper and open-mouthed. When they parted for breath, he practically threw her onto her back on the mattress, tugging the t-shirt she was wearing over her head with his usual efficiency. Michael had always been like this—one moment, it seemed like sex was the last thing on his mind, but then something— Fiona unfortunately could never quite figure out what exactly— flipped his internal switch, and he could go all night.
And while Fiona begrudgingly forced herself to acknowledge they were both either too old or too tired to pull an all-night shag session like they'd done (often) during their initial relationship in their twenties, they still managed quite the explosive reunion. Michael fell asleep immediately after, his arm slung carelessly over her stomach as Fiona stared up at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling rapidly from the rush of an orgasm. She had almost convinced herself she didn't miss all of this—sex, falling asleep beside him, waking up and seeing him there— all that much while he was gone, but that lie was shot to hell now. Of course she did.
But trying not to miss him—and the way he made her feel—was nothing new for Fiona. The first time they'd slept together, she knew immediately afterwards, looking up at the crappy hotel room ceiling, that it was one of those nights she'd always remember as one of the best of her life.
She could never really sort out all the reasons why sex was so much better with Michael than it had ever been with anyone else, and she didn't really care. It just was. And even though she knew time had passed and everything was different now from their first night together in Belfast, sometimes it felt like nothing had really changed. Like no matter where they went or what they did or what pain they caused each other, they'd always find their way back home. Like some things never changed.
Belfast, Ireland
1999
Michael Westen flipped through the newspaper someone had left behind at the bus station bench, trying to force himself not to check his watch again. Finally, just when he was about to give up, the phone rang.
He looked around furtively. No suspicious cars parked, no good surveillance perches, no tails. He was here alone. She really had picked a good place for them to talk, even though it had been a bitch to find. He hurried to his feet, embarrassed to feel a little high school rush of excitement at the idea of talking to her again.
Michael picked up the phone, speaking in the Irish accent that was finally becoming comfortable after a month of living as Michael McBride. "I think you've got the wrong number."
"You're finding your way around town quickly, McBride," Fiona said. "Tonight. The Taphouse. Nine o'clock."
"It's a date." Michael said, instantly feeling like an idiot.
"It's a hand-off." Fiona corrected him, but it sounded like she was smiling. "But you're still buying me a drink." She hung up before Michael could say anything else, and he let out a long breath, leaning his forehead against the glass wall of the telephone booth.
This was bad. This was very bad. He was undercover with the IRA to take down a particularly extremist faction of their organization, and things had been going well until he met one of the IRA's most formidable explosives experts, Fiona Glenanne. From the moment they met, the chemistry between them had been instant. It had been two weeks of working together, and neither of them had acted on anything yet. It was becoming almost unbearable for Michael to be around her without pulling her into a back room to work out their tension. He was cautiously hopeful that she was feeling something between them too, but she was a very hard person to read. She always seemed happy to see him, and all of their conversations inevitably became laden with innuendo, but Michael didn't know enough about her to know whether or not that was just the way she talked to everyone.
Thinking about Fiona was proving much more interesting than doing his job for the CIA, and for the first time in his life, Michael knew he was prioritizing a personal relationship over duty to his country. And not only that, but a relationship with a very dangerous criminal whose record was roughly the size of a phone book.
But it was the strangest thing. He knew all the reasons it was a terrible idea, and he just didn't care. Before Fiona, Michael had never understood why so many of his friends did such stupid things for girls—usually in pursuit of sleeping with them. He used to think maybe he just wasn't that sexual of a person. He'd had girlfriends in high school, and lost his virginity at a party sophomore year to a cheerleader that he'd dated for a few months after. The first few times they'd had sex, it had mostly just been awkward and over very quickly, but then one night in her parent's garage, they'd gotten it right and it had been admittedly awesome. But a few weeks after that, Michael had left for the army, and she had cried and he hugged her, but he hadn't felt much of anything about leaving except relief that he would finally be away from his miserable family.
During his years in the Army and then Special Forces, there'd been the odd girl here and there, but honestly, Michael didn't really have much time or energy to devote to anyone else. Then he had joined the CIA, and the work and training had basically taken over his life until he met Samantha, a professional thief and his now-fiancee who just made him feel very guilty every time he thought about her.
He had met Samantha four months before he was assigned to Ireland, and their relationship had moved very quickly, always been completely dictated by Samantha. She had initiated their first kiss, and after he had helped her out with a job, she'd fucked him practically the moment they'd walked through the door of her apartment. She had even proposed to him. At first, Michael thought it was a good arrangement for him because their relationship was easy and never emotionally demanding. She controlled everything and asked nothing but that he do what she wanted. But the more it had gone on, the more he had started to resent her.
And for someone so aggressive and liberated, sex with Samantha was oddly clinical and emotionless. She was always instructing him during sex—put-your-hand-here-now-to-the-left-use-two-fingers, etc. etc. It was exhausting, and almost impossible to get anything out of it except relief when it was over. The only upside Michael could find is that he had learned more about sex in the past four months with Samantha than he had learned in his previous decade of being a sexually active adult. He now knew more than three positions. He had gotten so good at giving oral sex that he could practically teach a seminar. But he also had a bad feeling that sexual expertise shouldn't be the only good thing he could say about his future wife.
He knew he should just break it off with her, but he was a little scared of what her reaction would be. From what he had gathered, Samantha had gotten her way her entire life, and Michael had no clue what havoc she would wreak on the life of the first person to ever tell her no. But he also didn't want to cheat on her. Michael had suspected his father of running around on his mom for years, and he refused to be that guy. But he also knew if he spent much more time around Fiona, cheating was a distinct possibility.
Michael rubbed his forehead wearily. This was exhausting. Maybe he'd had the right idea just avoiding the whole emotional nightmare of trying to navigate any kind of relationship while lying for a living.
"Drinking alone?" Michael approached Fiona at the bar.
She turned to look at him with a small smile. "Not anymore." Fiona spun around on her stool, leaning back with her elbows on the bar. "You're right on time, McBride."
"Man of my word." Michael shrugged, trying not to notice that Fiona had a very distracting habit of wearing white tank tops with no bra underneath.
Fiona took the final sip of her Guiness, slamming down the glass on the bar with her usual intensity. "Shall we find somewhere a bit more quiet? To…talk?" She raised a suggestive eyebrow, and he got her meaning.
Michael forced down a rush of nervous energy, taking her hand, helping her up before slinging an arm over her shoulders. They made their way across the bar, playing parts to justify needing to step out in the back alley, doing a very good impression of a couple who really needed to get a room, Fiona sliding her hand across his chest and under his jacket as she started to kiss the side of his neck. Michael felt like he was about to pass out, knowing they should wrap this up quickly. He didn't trust himself to drop this particular part of the cover once they got outside if it went any further.
"Come on, Michael." Fiona's lips were against his ear. "We need to sell this."
At the sound of her voice in his ear, Michael didn't stop to think or second-guess himself. He barely even had to turn his head to kiss her, Fiona responding hungrily, letting Michael back her up into a table where, at the beginning of their charade, they had both noticed an older couple not subtly giving them judgmental glares. When Michael and Fiona hit the table, hard enough to shake the beer glasses, the older (very Irish) man slammed his fist down on the table. "Oi, you two!"
Fiona broke the kiss, looking over her shoulder at the older couple, wiping off her mouth with a little laugh. "S-Sorry."
Michael shrugged at their annoyed expressions, his hand still unapologetically on Fiona's ass. "It's our anniversary."
"What anniversary? The first time you paid her for it?" The man grumbled.
"You watch your fucking mouth." Michael growled, Fiona holding him back.
"Come on, baby. Not tonight. We have better things to do," her voice was soft, her lips against his cheek.
"You're damn lucky." Michael pointed at the man, letting Fiona drag him away and out into the back alley.
They stepped outside, still all over each other until they were through the door and Fiona released him to make sure the door was closed securely behind them. Michael was still right behind her, his hand on her waist, unable to make himself step away. Her long dark hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder, and the citrusy scent of her shampoo flooded Michael's nostrils when he was this close to her. Fiona had a remarkable talent of always smelling like she had just stepped out of the shower, even in the back alley of a rundown bar.
She turned around to face him, finding Michael close enough to smell her hair. Fiona looked up at him, her bright green eyes hard to read but almost, if he had to guess…nervous?
"We don't have to pretend out here," she reminded him.
"Who's pretending?" Michael brushed her hair back behind her ear, leaning down to kiss her again. After a moment of hesitation, Fiona kissed him back, her hands sliding up over his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him until there was no space between them anymore. Michael pushed her back up against the brick wall, Fiona letting out a small sigh of pleasure as their lips parted and his tongue began to work against hers. She was powerful and passionate, but for a moment, she let him take charge, and Michael felt a rush of arousal at the idea of finally deciding something for himself. And then, as they kissed, Fiona raising up slightly to get closer to him, her nipples hard and erect against his chest, the only sound their frenzied breathing, Michael's mind finally went quiet. He wasn't trying to think two steps ahead, or complete a mission, or outmaneuver a target…he was just here, with her, in this moment.
But then, the door to the back alley swung open. "What the hell, Fiona?"
Fiona reluctantly tore herself away from Michael, looking towards their new visitor, a handsome but slightly wild-eyed Irishman. Her face fell into an expression of annoyance. "Sean. What are you doing here?"
"They told me I could find you out here. I wanted to make sure the hand-off had gone all right. But apparently, it's going just fine." Sean glared at Michael, who still felt and looked slightly dazed.
"Michael, this is my brother, Sean. He's part of the group as well." Fiona smoothed down her braid, her cheeks bright red, feeling about thirteen years old again. "Sean, this is Michael McBride. He's the one running the package for us."
"I've never seen you around before. And I know everyone in this town." Sean looked Michael up and down suspiciously.
"My family's from Kilkenney."
Sean's brow furrowed. "Ah. And how do you two know each other?"
"I trust him, Sean. That's all you need to know." Fiona stepped in front of Michael.
"Didn't know you were the type to bring your boyfriends into the family business, Fiona."
"He's not my boyfriend," Fiona said defensively. "And we have work to do. So unless you have anything else to contribute, I'll see you when I get home."
"Fine." Sean turned from his sister to Michael. "But just so you know, McBride…there's five of us Glenanne brothers. And you really don't want any of us for an enemy."
"Got it. Loud and clear." Michael gave him a little salute, stepping well away from his sister.
"Good." Sean jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling a bit awkward now that he'd given his little speech. "See you at home, sis."
Fiona waved him off, and after Sean left the alleyway, she and Michael fell into an uneasy silence.
"So." Michael turned back to her with a smile. "Five brothers. That's fun."
"That's one word for it." Fiona smiled back. They looked at each other for a long moment before she cleared a throat and retrieved a manila packing envelope from the inside pocket of her jacket. She held it out to Michael. "The package."
Michael took it from her, their hands brushing. Fiona closed her eyes briefly at his touch, taking in a sharp breath. It was the first time Michael had ever seen behind her cool, collected façade, and he found he liked this Fiona even better. She always had a raw, animalistic way about her, especially when she let her guard down, and Michael couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to really feel her against him, nothing between them, nothing held back…
Fiona leaned back against the wall, as if suddenly exhausted. "Tomorrow night. I'll meet you in Dublin at ten for the job. Make sure everything's ready when I get there."
"I will." Michael nodded. "And maybe after the job…we can finally get that drink."
Fiona laughed softly. "It's a date."
Michael put his hand on her cheek, leaning in, his lips brushing the skin right next to her mouth, not letting himself fully kiss her again until he could do it without reservations. Fiona didn't reach out for him, but leaned her forehead against his when he pulled back slightly. Neither of them had been expecting a moment of such tenderness, and they suddenly both felt much more naked and exposed than when they had been about to rip off each other's clothes moments before.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Fiona." Michael dropped his hand from her cheek, walking away quickly before he could change his mind.
He took a cab home, and the moment he walked into his crappy hotel room, he pulled his current burner cell out of his jacket pocket, hastily dialing a well-known number.
"Yes?" Samantha answered the call with her usual brisk tone.
"Hey, Sam. It's Michael." He took a deep breath. "We need to talk."
A/N- More to come soon!