A/N:

Here's Chapter 2, as promised. I'm so glad Flames has received such a positive response; many thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Spoilers: For the conclusion of Good Soldier (these are mostly my ideas as to what should happen next). Haven't seen it … don't read. Simple as that.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making any monetary profit whatsoever. Sorry to disappoint. I really wish Michael Westen belonged to me

Michael's POV

That explosion was something; I think I could actually feel my eardrums rupture from the blast as I was flipping over the railing. Definitely not something you want to encounter on a day-to-day basis.

I don't think it actually registered in my brain that the cement was coming up as fast as it was until I actually made impact with it. I can't remember much except for blacking out the moment my skull connected with the ground.

Well, if I'm dead, it sure isn't as bad as everyone says it is.

I can't feel any pain, I can hardly hear what going on around me, and I can't see anything at all. Wait ... my eyes are closed ... hmmm ...

As I try to open them, I'm immediatly greeted with a blinding white glare. I proceed to squint my eyes as tightly as I possibly can, and try again. There, I can actually make out some random shapes.

Then, my sense of touch and feeling returns. And what exactly is that weight on my chest? It feels like some debris or something fell on me. I tilt my head forward so that I can look down along my body and am greeted with a lancing pain down my spinal cord ... Ouch, wrenched neck.

Finally, I manage to focus on the slightly blurry shape and realize that it is moving? I blink several times in succession and realize that the moving shape is definitely a person ... it's ... Fiona?!

What the hell is she doing here?! She was supposed to be over sometime around 4:30; it wasn't even 4:15 when I accidentally set off my personalized death trap. She could've been killed! How long has she been here? And wait ... she's buried her face in my shirt and she's crying?! Fiona ... crying?! Why isn't anything making sense right now?

Fiona, myFiona, doesn't cry. Even when she sees me come back to my warehouse/apartment beaten half to hell, she's always been able to get over any feminine reservations regarding injuries and help me out. She's not exactly the delicate and sensitive type, although she's actually been a bit more nervous during these past few months than usual. Now, she's sobbing into my shirt and gripping it as though it's the only thing preventing her from drowning in some storm-tossed ocean.

I try to move my right arm to place it gently on her shoulder, but grimace as a bolt of pain shoots up the length of my arm. Yep, definitely fractured or broken. Well, I won't be moving that one, I'll try the other one. I lift my left hand and gently touch her shoulder:

"Fi ..." I manage, my voice slightly raw from having inhaled the scorched air from the explosion.

She surpises even me with her reaction.

She lets out a sharp squeal of fright and surprise, and quite literally jumps out of her own shoes as she tumbles gracefully backwards.

I can't help but chuckle quietly as she recovers enough to send me a glare powerful enough to torch a hole straight through a brick wall.

"Michael! Don't you ever pull something like that again! You scared the living daylights out of me!" She admonishes, frustratedly trying to pull her composure back together.

"I'm sorry, Fi. I didn't really mean to do anything. Did you really think I was dead?" I asked, cocking my head slightly out of habit.

"I checked your vitals and figured that out for myself. You weren't coming around though; I didn't know what was wrong with you. I thought that maybe ..." She turns away for a moment as her thought trails off.

"You though what, Fi?" I prod, gently touching her shoulder with my good hand.

"I thought that maybe ... I'd lost you. I thought you'd suffered some sort of brain damage from the fall and you weren't going to wake up." She finishes quietly, still refusing to meet my gaze.

"You were really worried about me." I state, trying to figure out what she still wants to say.

"Of course I was worried about you! You go and almost get yourself blown up, how could I not be?!" She responds almost irritably, meeting my gaze for a brief moment before returning to stare at the horizon.

As I process her response, something manages to penetrate my slightly sluggish and pain-fogged brain: she still cares. I've tried to figure out if we could still salvage something from what we had for the longest time, but it's really been right in front of me the whole time. I decide to take a risk and reach out.

"Fi ..." My voice is soft but commanding.

"Yes, Michael?" She turns to meet my gaze, her features slightly hard.

"You're all I've got ... I just wanted you to know that." I reply, making sure to maintain eye contact with her.

Suddenly, her face softens and I can see tears shining in her eyes.

"You're all I have too, you know." She responds, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

I smile slightly, then grimace as my right arm gives as particularly painful throb.

"The paramedics are on their way ... don't worry." Fiona immediately catches the slip in my normally unreadable features.

"With you and Sam as back-up, I never have to worry, Fi." I reply, tiredly closing my eyes as I hear tires screeching to a halt in the drive and the slapping of approaching feet.


To Be Continued ...