Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me!

A/N: These are in no particular order. Well, they are in the order I feel like writing them. I thought I would tackle this one next since it promised to be the most difficult, since both Mike and Fi are happy. It's not that I don't love them being happy, but it is difficult to make the story interesting without conflict. I am pretty content with the results, though. I really only have one more to write, although I would really appreciate suggestions that would not veer from canon. Anyways, without further ado, I submit to you the next chapter in The Morning After series.

Michael's POV

I wake up before sunrise. Gilroy will be calling soon, but right now that doesn't matter. I look at Fi, who is clutching my arm, fast asleep, with a satisfied smile on her face. A feeling of immense wonder rushes over me as my eyes explore the bronze curves of her body, as I listen to her soft breaths which are the only sound I can hear.

I look around the room, all the covers are rumpled at the foot of the bed, Fi's dress is like a puddle on the floor, the sniper rifle she had brought is still leaning on the night stand. I smile to myself, thinking about her rant last night, the angry precursor to an otherwise pleasurable evening. When I called her, asking her to meet me at the hotel, she had sounded very frustrated, but she was willing. Oh Fi, she was always willing to help me. She was always willing to sacrifice her time, her money, and even risk her life for me. Well, almost always.

It is with trepidation that thoughts of Fi's kidnapping and her brush with death fill my mind. And even before, her leaving Miami, her leaving me. Why do I always wait until she is almost gone to realize how much I really want her? How much I really need her? I resist the urge to pull her close to me, to wrap my arms around her, to listen to the precious beating of her heart. Instead I turn my attention the the window, the blinds had been pushed open by a carelessly tossed pillow. I can see the sky turning from a smokey blue to a bruised purple, and I think about how we ended up here.

As a spy you realize that death could come at any minute. You learn that there are some things worth dying for. Its strange though, that it took me so long to realize that loving Fi helped make my life worth living

From the moment she said she was leaving, all I wanted was to be with her. I wanted her to suggest we implode things. I wanted her to eat my yogurt. I wanted her to breath my name.

I thought about chasing her. I thought about begging her to stay. I thought about promising her the sun, the moon, and all the stars, if only she would stay with me. I even thought about sabotaging her plans. But I knew I had to let her go.

Fi has always been a fierce and passionate thing, a force of her own. It's why I feel in love with her. It's why I will never love a woman more. But it also means I could never stop her. It also means she would crush me if I tried.

I can't believe that now, a few weeks later, she is still here in Miami. Not only here, but in my bed. I wanted to kiss her so many times these past few weeks. I wanted to show her how much I needed her. But first she was still recovering, and then there was the whole "leaving me because she hated what I have become" thing. She couldn't go back to Ireland, but that didn't mean she still wanted me.

It was at my meeting with Gilroy that I knew I still had a chance with her. She asked me why we never got a hotel room for anything but surveillance. It reminded me of when I first came to Miami, when we first had rekindled our convoluted relationship. She was always wanting to pick oranges, sunbathe, and go to a nice hotel. And there she was complaining again, just like old times. Such a casual thing, so normal. But normally, Fi loved me, and it seemed that things were going back to normal. It was then that I decided to surprise her

I don't regret the decision at all. The memory of her reaction floats into my mind. My heart skips a beat as I remember the unmingled joy that had enveloped her when she realized why I had brought her to this hotel room. This simple act had made her face light up brighter than a thousand suns. How could she still love me so much after everything we've been through?

All of our other romantic liaisons in Miami had been spontaneous. I needed her to know that I had thought this through, a premeditated act of romance. This wasn't me needing to blow off steam or acting in a moment of desperation. This was my act of commitment. Or at least the closest thing a spy, who is nearly killed every other day, can come to commitment.

My desire for her had waned when Strickler entered the scene. I pushed her into the peripherals of my life, convinced that getting my job back was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that would really satisfy me. I really messed things up. Anger burned in my throat as I thought about the part he had played in Fi's peril. Rarely is Fi's advice to just shoot our problems away profitable, but this is one time that I should have listened.

The sky turned from bruised purple into a burst of grapefruit pink and fiery orange. Day was finally breaking.

As a spy you learn to always have a plan. You have plan A through plan F, and back-up plans too. And here I was lying with a beautiful woman sleeping peacefully next to me, and I had no plan. What happens if I get my job back? I push the though away from my head. There are no easy answers, and for now it doesn't matter. I just know that not being with her is no longer an option.

The shrill ring of the hotel room phone resounded in the comfortable silence, though my reflexes were quick and I pick it up after one ring. Gilroy. Another day, another opportunity to take down an evil force in the world; it is my life's purpose. And as I creep towards the hotel balcony, silently as possible, so that my lover could sleep peacefully, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that she will be fighting along side of me.

*******

Fi's POV

Wow. It was the last thought I'd had last night before I reluctantly surrendered to exhaustion. It's the first thought that fills my head this morning. I am holding his arm, I must have fallen asleep that way. The room is warm and smells like sweat. I flex a little, my body feels sore. I smile to myself. After last night, a few sore muscles are completely worth it.

I hear Michael breathing, but the not the gaspy way he does when he's asleep. I know I could pounce him, but I lie still. I want to revel in this moment. Last night I had not gotten much time to think. How had things gone from so wrong to so wonderfully right? Wow. Wow. Wow.

A few weeks ago I was packed up and ready to go back to Ireland. I was never going to see Michael, Sam, Madeline, or sunny Miami ever again. Michael didn't love me enough, loved his work too much, and was selling his soul to get his job back. That was the last straw. I realized we would never be together, that he had become someone very very different. With a shredded heart I had packed my life away and prepared to retreat. And now, here I am basking in the afterglow.

Since my barring from Ireland, I had resigned myself to a half life here. I would stay in Miami, because I loved him, because I needed him, and because my wretched attempt to leave him had failed more miserably than I could have ever anticipated. Flames of hope had been kindled in my heart by the fact that he had killed his "great hope" for me, that he

had gone half-insane trying to rescue me. But I didn't dare let my mind believe. I usually got burned by those flames of hope.

Sure, we had almost kissed once since my kidnapping, but Michael was always doing things like that. Doing things that crossed the lines of "just friends." This was different, something I could hold on to.

Last night I had been furious. Another bloody mission, and of course he wanted my help. Sure, I was willing to help him, my heart rarely allowed me to say "no" to him. But my help would not come cheap; he would have to suffer. He let me rant and rave. I had been so worried. I still am on some level, but I will leave worrying for another moment.

Since I have been in Miami, never has he shown he is quite so committed to me, to loving me. My heart fluttered with joy at the thought. He loves me. He wants me. And it wasn't just him acting in a moment of lusty weakness or need. He had weighed the pros and cons, thought through the risks and complexities of loving me, and still chose to love me. Made plans to surprise me. It was a premeditated act of romance.

A fresh wave of awe washes over me. His breathing, his body next to mine, the taste of his skin that still lingered on my tongue, these were reminders that all of this was real. A few weeks ago I been convinced that this would never happen again, that he would never look into my eyes with longing again.

This time, I won't try to berate him with questions. I won't try to force what we have into some sort of box titled "relationship." He loves me. And I love him. The implications, the ramifications, the complications that come later, we will deal with them when they come.

The ring of the phone echoing throughout the room distracts me from my thoughts. I feel Michael's arm tugged from my grip and I hear him get up, swiftly moving onto the balcony. As he moves he stirs up the smell of his cologne, and I am filled with longing for him.

All that matters is right now, and right now Michael is all mine. And there is no good reason why he should be on the phone, instead of kissing me. I sit up and pull a crumpled sheet around myself. A devious smile creeps across my face as I get out of bed, and step out onto the balcony to interrupt his phone call.

The sea air and morning sun invigorate me, as I wrap my arms around Michael. He is blathering on about business, giving no indication that he even realizes I am there. I tug him towards the bedroom, to let him know my intentions. He lets me pull him, his speech does not falter, but he delays his meeting and quickly finishes his call. I pull him back on to the bed so that I can ravage him again.