A/N: This is the fourth part of the 3.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 16 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."
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3.01 – The Enemy of My Enemy – Part 4
An alternate for Season Three and beyond following on from 2.11 – Hot Spot
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Miami 2009
No matter how hard she tried to fight it, she couldn't stop crying. Of all the things she expected to bring her pain in her life, not knowing who the father of her baby might be was not something she was prepared to deal with by temperament or experience. How had this happened to her? Then she remembered. She had missed her Depo shot in the craziness when Michael had almost gotten blown up.
While the hormone-fueled misery was passing, she thought about her time with Campbell. He was sweet and cute, as she had told Michael, and he did have some very impressive qualities. Although she really regretted sleeping with him now, at the time it had seemed like the right thing. She'd told herself that she needed to just get over the dark haired ex-spy once and for all. Obviously what they'd had in the past wasn't important enough to him to let go of his other past. Fiona wanted someone who wanted her all the time, not just when they needed a tactical favor or someone to get them through the night.
Campbell had seemed like that someone. Unlike the other men she had dated and sometimes bedded after Michael had disappeared from her life only to drop in again periodically, the paramedic was genuinely kind hearted and caring. He was an EMT because he wanted to help people and when they were together, she was the center of his universe. That kind of dedicated attention had felt so good. Plus, he cooked for her and he really was good in bed, almost as good as her former "Irish" lover.
Fiona swiped a hand over her eyes and turned the tear stained pillow over. As she lie there, she knew what the problem was. She had wanted those things, but she had wanted them from Michael. And what was worse, she had treated her new lover the same way she'd been furious with her old lover for treating her: asking for favors, cancelling on a moment's notice, always putting something else first.
"You and Mike, I know you have a history. But he's your boyfriend. Not me."
"No, he's not. You're –"-
"I'm a guy you fool around with and you borrow ambulances from. He's the most important thing in your life." As if to prove his point, the phone had rung to signal her it was time to proceed with their plans. "That's him, isn't it? You know, it's okay. I know you're always gonna answer when he calls."
How had she not seen it before? She'd been kidding herself all along. She clutched the pillow she'd been hugging to her body even tighter. She'd abandoned Campbell at breakfast to help Michael save Jeannie Anderson. When he'd staggered towards them after the ex-spy had deliberately let the pickup he was driving be rammed by a dump truck to save her life and Jeanne's, she had raced across the black top to gather him into her arms. Fiona remembered being at Michael's place at 3 AM, ostensibly to provide tactical support, but she watched and listened to "Brad" talking to their mark, Lesher, quoting Proverbs 27:17 about iron sharpening iron and so man sharpens another man. He'd said that was them; that he had shown him the way and, although he was talking to the other man, she knew who he meant. Don't you see I'm not afraid? I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of death. I'm not afraid of anything.
But he was hurt and he was afraid of something besides death and it was written all over his face what he couldn't say to her directly. She was dating Campbell, she was sleeping with Campbell, but as she'd walked over to the chair and taken his hands, as she'd led him to the bed and they'd lain down together, while she was comforting her best friend, and truly that's all it was, in her heart she was wishing that there had been a way for there to be more between them. Why was it so hard for them to be together?
No use slaving for me and then saying you want to be cared for: who cares for a slave? If you come back, come back for the sake of good fellowship; for you'll get nothing else.
She remembered the line from Shaw. How Eliza had married Freddie, a pleasant but unremarkable fellow who adored her, but had kept her friendship with Higgins, the man she truly loved, but who would in no way have been marriageable material. Was that their fate? That she loved him vicariously?
Fiona slowly rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom. There was nothing to do until she found out whose child it was. Though she had no idea how she could possibly make a life with Campbell, she knew that she could never ask or expect Michael to raise another man's child. She wasn't even sure she could get Michael to agree to raise his own child, especially if Charlie was in fact his own offspring.
Ms Glenanne pushed all the test strips into the garbage with a sweep of her hand and then disrobed. There was no point in worrying about this any further. She didn't worry, she acted. They had a job to do tomorrow and lying around blubbering about it wasn't going to change a thing! She let the water run over her and wash her concerns away. She'd deal with it when she knew what she was dealing with!
()()()()()()
The next day had not gone as planned. Brennan, the sneaky SOB that he was, had strapped an explosive to the kid and they had had to let the arms dealer go. She had played nice with everyone involved until she'd been tasked with getting the bomb off the little boy. Then she'd had an enormous amount of difficulty in restraining herself from going straight from the park to the bastard's condo and returning the device to him personally. Fiona had taken a detour by the doctor's office on her way back to the loft and was requested to return as soon as convenient for additional blood tests for a basis of comparison.
Ms. Glenanne still had time to get back to the loft and campaign to for an armed assault on Brennen's condo before Michael arrived. The next thing she knew, she was getting part of her wish. They were headed to the man's residence, but sadly she was not going to be allowed to blow him up.
They had ridden in silence for the first few miles before Michiael finally broke the stillness with her name and a short apology and she had told him they would talk about it later, that the job came first. She'd been treated to a set of raised eyebrows for that remark. So Fiona reminded him that it was only because there was a child involved that the job took priority over them settling matters between them.
"Charlie's not mine," he added after another moment of quiet.
"She told you that to begin with," Fiona pointed out reasonably. "Although her trust worthiness is not—
"She was just leaving the possibility out there to make sure we helped her."
"We would have helped her regardless. Guess she didn't know you as well as she thought she did." The Irish woman looked at his profile. How well did she really know him? Every time she thought she knew who he really was, there was another surprise. "What if he had been?"
"Excuse me?" He didn't return her stare.
"What if Charlie had been yours?"
Michael licked his lips and continued to watch the road ahead of him.
"I don't know," he responded at length. "I'm just—"
"Thankful that he's not…?" Fiona finished for him.
"Something like that," the dark haired man agreed. The look on his face as he finally turned to her was soft and gentle, but like he was pleased not to be a father and, even more so, like he was happy not to be Charlie's sire in particular. It confused her and she smiled back out of habit more than sincerity.
Should she tell him? Tell him what? That he might be the Da and then again it might be Campbell's? No, this was not the time for such a discussion. Once Samantha and the chip were gone, once she knew for sure whose child it was she was carrying, then they would talk.
Exchanging barbs with Brennan, while trying to convince him that he needed their help to keep the chip from being stolen back by Ms. Keyes, had been far less painful than the lunch at Carlito's between the three of them. Watching Samantha flirt with Michael had set her teeth on edge. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when Carla showed up to take the ex-spy for another meeting in her long, black limo.
"Oh, Michael's other woman beckons," she sing-songed as he stood up to leave.
"I never actually thought I'd look forward to this. Excuse me…"
"Oh, Michael, you forgot something," Samantha called as he went to pass by her, still seated at the table. The brunette laughed as she handled her former fiancé his wallet back. Then she looked at Ms. Glenanne smugly as the Irishwoman took a long sip of her drink.
"It's just a little game the two of us used to play," she explained as he fled, looking completely uncomfortable with leaving the two of the together, but obviously not wanting to stay and referee.
"It's charming." She had to admit the practicality of keeping up ones skills, but the smirk that went with it made her nauseous. She was starting to wonder if the woman from Mr. Westen's past was actually planning on leaving.
"Are you and Michael-?"
"No," Fiona said flatly and a beat too quick. She had no intention of discussing the actual status of her relationship to Michael with his ex-fiancée. If Samantha wanted to know where she stood, she could take it up with Michael herself.
"Hmmm…" Clearly Ms. Keyes did not believe her. The waitress brought another round of drinks and the redhead preoccupied herself with pretending to decide on what to eat. When the server left, she looked at the one-time premiere thief of Moscow, trying to decide if she really wanted the answer.
"Go ahead," the pale woman said with a shrug. "Ask me. It's all history, anyway."
"Did he tell you goodbye?"
That was evidently not what she was expecting to hear.
"He never actually said those words," Samantha sighed. "But he made it very clear it was over."
Ms. Glenanne's look obviously implied that she would like more details without having to ask for them.
"The CIA brought me in to do a job for them and he was my contact. I did jobs for them for about a year with him. The last job we did together was in 1997, New Years Eve to be exact. I proposed to him that night." The other woman was lost in thought for a moment. "Then he got re-assigned. I saw him on and off for a few months. Then he was hurt, almost killed from what I could gather… The Agency… well, they're not exactly chatty types unless they want something."
Fiona snorted. She'd had more than enough of being lied to and manipulated by the CIA and its agents.
"He was gone for two years after that." And it was evident Samantha was filling in the blanks as to who Michael had been with while he was on assignment. "He came back, told me he was sorry and it was over. He left and I never saw him again after that."
Fiona did the math in her head. Michael must have done more than say sorry and goodbye if a nine year old Charlie, which the boy obviously wasn't that old, could have potentially been his son. That got her thinking about what Mr. Westen had done after leaving her in Ireland and about the encounters she'd had with the spy over the decade in between his leaving her, and Samantha apparently, and meeting up with him again after the urgent phone call from Jack Tracey's wife, Colleen, in that cheap hotel room.
"Did he tell you goodbye?"
Which time? The petite woman thought sadly, but she was spared having to make a reply when she got a text to meet him back at Brennan's place. They were on to "help" him test the chip.
()()()()() .
There were times when being a man was downright uncomfortable.
Having your mother stay at your place was one of them.
Having your ex-fiancé around your ex-girlfriend was another.
Having the two of them within three feet of you and each other with your mother around who was staying at your place was the trifecta of uncomfortable situations. They were standing at the bar reviewing the next phase of their plan to separate Tyler Brennan from the guidance chip at the airport hangar he had chosen to conduct the sale of said stolen technology. They had to get it away from Brennan and back where it belonged or Charlie was facing growing up in a hut in Nicaragua.
"We're going to have a lot of eyes on us, but we might be able to sneak in some special construction materials," he concluded, pleased that this was going so smoothly despite the potential for trouble.
"Like we did in Dublin," she smiled warmly, memories of liberating supplies from the demolition company and other things clearly on her face.
"Yeah…" he agreed with a grin.
"She talking about that thing you and I did in St Peterburg?" Samantha cut in.
"Yeah…" Michael confirmed, his manhood remembered it as well as he did, until the shift in the atmosphere left both of them longing for an exit strategy. This was trouble on the horizon for sure.
"I should take this," he advised before retreating to the balcony. It was one of the rare times he was grateful for a cell phone interruption.
"And I'm gonna leave... now."
Fiona apparently could only take so much of Ms. Keyes' attempts to reintegrate herself into Michael's life. He had noticed it, but did his best to ignore it as much as possible. His mother's presence in the loft, however uncomfortable, had saved him for a far worse fate: Samantha's renewed interest in them.
"Well, you are an enigma wrapped in a schizophrenic, aren't you, sport? First, you don't shoot at me and then you set up a little firing squad." The voice on the phone sounded as though its owner was poolside.
Dealing with Victor was almost a pleasure compared to be caught in the middle of three women, all of whom seemed intent on getting his attention one way or another.
"I needed help selling a cover ID, nothing personal."
The operative laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. "Oh, we do have some fun, don't we? I really do wanna get together. How soon can we do this?"
"If you give me until Friday, I think I've got a way to make sure guns stay out of the equation."
Michael was sure he'd rather have Mr. Steckler-Epps take another shot at him than have to face the estrogen squad. He had half a thought about sneaking off to see Fiona, but realized that he needed to keep an eye on his mother and Samantha. He could already hear them talking about him inside the loft.
How had an operative of his caliber ended up eavesdropping on his mom and ex-fiancé in his own home in order to gather enough intel to know whether or not it was safe to come into the room? He sighed.
()()()()
It was dark by the time he'd gotten back to the loft that next day. Thanks to Sam's quick improvising, they had blown the sale and gotten the chip off Brennan, who had threatened to hunt Michael down and kill him if the ex-spy didn't return said stolen tech before said stuff was discovered missing, and thanks to Samantha's skills in the art of acquisitions, the brains for the UAV drones was back in its place like it had never left home. Ms. Keyes was now on her way back to Chicago to reclaim her son and get out of the high-end burglary business, or so he'd told her to do. Whether she did was another matter.
His attention diverged onto many topics on his drive back to the loft from the airport, but they all had one focal point, or basis for comparison. It had been easy working with Samantha again. They had fallen back into the rhyme established in their prior jobs, even though it had been a decade since he'd worked with her, their banter had changed little over that time. But the scripted nature of their work conversations really stood out now that he'd had a taste of living the life of Riley, as it were, in Ireland.
There was no doubt that as she'd shinnied out of her clothes and into her bunny suit for the clean room that the pale brunette was still attractive, but there was no attraction for him other than the visual any man would appreciate and the vague echoes of relations past. Even when she had kissed him goodbye, the feelings were strictly a slight sense of nostalgia and a moment of being pleased that at least she didn't hate him for what he had done. She would've had every right to do so and he'd accepted that.
But Samantha's attempts to re-engage him had fallen flat. The thief had a child and a life that should no longer involve being in the trade. It was in her, and her son's, best interest to leave that profession and settle down to something more stable, or at least less dangerous. She really needed to put her boy first.
So, as he walked into the loft and he acknowledged his mom asleep on his bed, his attention quickly drawn toward the real reason that Samantha Keyes no longer had any meaning in his life. The petite woman was leaning against the doorframe that led onto the balcony, looking breathtaking underneath the lunar illumination that reflected off her skin as well as her white tank top and shorts.
"Did it go alright?" she called as Michael walked towards her, pausing momentarily to pull the covers up higher over his mother's supposedly slumbering form. He was pretty sure Madeline was awake.
"Yeah, it's over now," he agreed as he came along side her, unbuttoning his sleeves as he went.
"Well, it's late. I should go." Fiona seemed in a hurry to leave.
"Wait."
The Irish woman sighed. "Whatever you're gonna say, it's-it's in the past."
Her tone was dismissive, but her expression plainly was not, even in the low light. It was almost as if she knew what he was going to tell her already.
"It is and it isn't, Fi." He fiddled with the buttons at his wrists and stared out at the moon while he spoke. "Sam and I worked because she was like me. She didn't mind that my job was lying to people. She loved it. She did the same thing. We lied to each other all the time too. It was just another game with her. It made being with her easy. And then I met you."
His voice dropped the light airy tone and became serious. "It was- it was different. It was never easy. You knew a part of me she never did," Michael looked at her then and smiled softly. Her eyes were wide with wonder, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"The part of me that no one knows but you," he admitted. "I wanted to take you with me when I left Ireland." Her lover reached out and laid his large palm along her face. "I wanted you to come with me, but your brothers and CIA wouldn't allow it. I left because I thought if I stayed that you'd be killed."
Those blue green eyes of hers were bright with unshed tears that sparkled in the moonlight.
"And then I left her because you don't marry someone when you love somebody else."
He leaned in to kiss her then and she melted into his embrace. Tiny rivlets of moisture ran along his cheeks falling from hers and her arms snaked up his back and caressed his shoulder blades. The kiss became more demanding and the embrace more ardent as they forgot everything and everyone.
Until Madeline rolled over and coughed, that is.
Fiona laughed lightly and gave him a watery smile. "Come on outside," she urged. "I need to tell you something in private," finishing on a whisper as she leaned in close to his ear.
Curiosity piqued, they slipped out the door and onto the balcony, closing the wooden barriers behind them securely. He gestured towards the recently acquired pair of loungers on the concrete deck. They perched of the ends of each of them, facing each other, knees touching as he took her trembling hands into his own larger ones and laid their entwined digits on top of their legs.
"What's going on, Fi?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you shaking?"
"I'm not sure you're ready to hear what I have to say...and I'm not sure I'm ready to say it."
"Then I'm guessing it doesn't fire, explode or go from zero to a hundred in less than sixty seconds, but I'm sure we can deal with whatever it is."
"Do you remember how you felt when you thought Charlie might be your son?"
Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. He knew she'd noticed Samantha flirting with him, but he assumed she had also seen him ignoring her. He thought the fact that the brunette had gone and he was still here with her said everything that needed to be discussed on that topic.
"Yes, but he wasn't," and Michael let out another breath of relief that he hadn't abandoned a child he'd know nothing about. "She's gone and she's not coming back."
"That's not the point, Michael," she huffed a bit, her nerves making her irritable. "What would you have done if you'd found out that Charlie was yours?"
"Whatever I could, I suppose…" he trailed off. "It would have been too dangerous for me to be around him right now with Victor in the wind and Carla and her organization breathing down my neck."
For a hypothetical situation, Fiona was getting awfully upset. She squeezed his hands firmly and locked her jaw before gritting out through clenched teeth, "So you'd just turn your back on him then?"
"No, Fi, no… I would make sure he was protected, as safe as he could be."
She tried to stand up and pull her hands from his grasp, but he wouldn't allow it. As he got to his feet, it all coalesced in his mind… her fatigue, her wariness around him, the overly emotional, even for her, response to things, her continual questions about his ex-fiancé's child and her jealousy of Samantha.
Her nearly collapsing in front of him in Bayfront Park the day he'd confessed about his engagement.
Michael sucked in a breath between his teeth and asked in a low voice, "How long have you known?"
"For a little while now…" she confessed, staring at their joined hands which were both shaking now.
He released her hands and put his two palms to either side of her face, tilting her head up and forcing their eyes to meet.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he pleaded, a myriad of emotions in his voice.
Tears started to spill from her eyes and onto his fingers.
"Because of the job… because of Samantha… because of Charlie…because I didn't know who…"
It took another minute to hear what she wasn't saying
"oh, Fiona…"
The pain in her voice had been more than he could take. The disappointment that she'd let herself carry the burden all alone, the anger at himself for the grief that he had caused her so that she thought she couldn't be honest with him about something like this because he'd pushed her away, time and again.
But she very plainly had misinterpreted his feelings when she jerked away from him, almost stumbling over the lounge chair as she'd tried to back away from him, angry water now flowing down her face.
"Do you think I wanted to be with him? Do you think I ever wanted to be with any of them? You left me, Michael! You're always leaving me behind. You say you wouldn't marry Samantha because you loved me, but you left without a word and you left her, too. How was I going to tell you about your baby, when I didn't even know if it was your baby? Because I was with him, because you didn't want me for anything but tactical support and because you shove me away every time we get close to—"
The Irish woman stopped talking and crying simultaneously and swung at him as hard as she could.
Fortunately for Michael, he had decades of practice sparring with her and knew what was coming. He captured her flying fist and spun her around into a tight embrace, just as he had the day he'd come back from his first assignment, standing below the stairs and trying to wash up Sam's prized Cadillac.
"Let go of me!" she demanded, struggling against his grip, but not yet lashing out or kicking.
"No, Fi, no…" He held her even tighter. "Fi…Fiona…listen to me, Fi… Fiona Glenanne! Listen to me!"
All the fight went out of her in an instant and she sagged against him. "It's your baby, Michael," she sobbed, "It's your baby and it doesn't matter because you don't want—"
"I don't care whose baby it is. I love you, Fiona Glenanne, and I want to be with you and I'm sorry for what I've put you through over the years. I'm sorry I couldn't just be Michael McBride for you and I'm sorry I couldn't take you with me then. And I'm sorry it took me thinking you had died to realize that."
He used his superior height and strength to pick her up off the ground enough to move back over to the lounger and straddle it before sinking down into the padding with not a lot of grace. As he settled her against his body, he shifted until her legs were laid out on the deck chair between his and her upper body was settled against his chest, her head lay against his shoulder and tucked underneath his chin.
Fiona continued to sniffle quietly while he held her. "What are we going to do now?"
He thought about his lecture earlier in the day to Samantha about putting Charlie's welfare first.
"We'll figure out the rest of it tomorrow," he said quietly. "Tonight is just you and me."
And so it was, as they lie wrapped in each other's embrace underneath the moonlight that bathed the Miami sky until the sun came up.
()()()()()()()
Gulf of Mexico 2009
For all the times that she had berated Michael for wanting to engage Mr. Steckler-Epps instead of putting a bullet in him, Fiona was so very grateful he hadn't listened to her as the other burned spy in her life at the moment had stepped up and pushed her out of harm's way.
And he had taken the bullet, or rather bullets, for her instead.
As she lie trapped under his wounded body, her head aching where the back of her skull had cracked onto the boat deck, she felt assured that Victor would have taken the tradeoff of dying for the opportunity to take out Carla in a blaze of up close and personal gunfire.
"Finally…" he whispered in her ear, a true sense of satisfaction in his last words.
She could hear Mr. Westen's panicked shouts, but she couldn't get the air necessary to answer him and she sort of drifted in a haze while her head swam and the weight of her one-time enemy held her down.
Three days earlier, she had woken up in a similar fog, feeling utterly drained enough to need the sleep, but barely comfortable enough to really get any as she had found herself alone on the couch in the upper landing of the loft. She'd had a vague memory then of Michael carrying her up there sometime in the early morning hours after spending the night with him in an lounger out on the balcony.
She'd heard an electronic buzzing and then heard him yelp in pain. Working on that camera taser…
Madeline's voice and then her son's had washed over her briefly and then on past ...
I have a meeting to get to. If it goes well, you can go home…
I-I know I shouldn't have been eavesdropping last night….
I'm scared, Mom. I don't know what to do….
What you always do, honey, you do the right thing….
Had she been conscious enough at the time to know the ex-spy had left to go to the meeting he had set up with the psychopathic former operative in the men's bathroom of Miami City Hall, she probably would have been outraged that he had gone off without back-up again.
As it was though all the emotional strain she'd been under had rewarded her with an unusually long and deep sleep once she had been relocated to his bed under the watchful eye of Madeline Westen.
When his mother had awoken her favorite daughter to let her know that Sam was waiting for her at an abandoned concrete plant out in the wilds of western Dade County, she had left the loft feeling better than she had in weeks. She was more than ready for her assignment to guard Victor to make sure he stayed inside his improvised prison cell while Mr Westen was off meeting the face of the organization.
And while she had never thought she would have sympathy for the man who had tried to kill Michael repeatedly, she had found herself being drawn in by what had happened to him. Of course, she hadn't believed the story, however plausible, of a bad op, a murdered family and a burn notice, only to discover that Carla's had been responsible for the slaughter of Victor's family as part of her recruiting techniques.
After she had pelted him with a couple bean bag rounds to ensure their captive's compliance, she and Michael had made their way onto his booby-trapped boat at the end of Randall Key and had found the evidence which turned her opinion about the other burned spy and escalated the desire to shoot Carla.
Spies are supposed to travel light with nothing that could identify them. Some do, but most find that staying sane requires staying connected to something that reminds them why they do what they do. Pictures are particularly dangerous to carry unless the people in them are already dead.
"Michael, his little boy was only four. Who knew you could feel this bad for a psychopath on the edge of sanity?" she said as she flipped through the pictures of the Steckler-Epps family who were no more. That and a steady diet of spam and Captain Crunch would be enough to send anyone over the brink…
"People don't get there on their own, Fi," he reminded her gently. "Being under Carla's thumb, it's a strain. Having everyone turn their back on you, treating you like your some kind of monster for—"
"You're not a monster, Michael," she countered, taking his hand firmly. "You've done all right."
"Only because I've had you and Sam to help me, because I -I never lost- everyone I cared about."
He had pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Fiona had enfolded his waist in her arms and laid her cheek over his thudding heart.
"This can't be us, Fi. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you, to the baby…" He squeezed her tighter. "You shouldn't be here. You should take my mom and go—"
"Michael," she said patiently, "Victor's family was killed because they couldn't take care of themselves and he wasn't there to protect them, he was gone on a mission. I can take care of meself and I am better off with you around to watch my back than I am alone with your mom." She reached up and kissed the underside of his jaw near his ear. "And you need me to watch your back, too. That's what Victor didn't have, that's what made him what he is today. Now, no more talk about running away."
And though he'd sent her off to go her meeting instead of sticking together like they had discussed, in the end, she'd had to agree with his tactics. As it turned out, they had needed every bit of the C-4, det cord and extra weapons she had picked up that day. Just a reminder of what happened when people crossed her was all she needed to get better prices on the ordinance than a fire sale at Bloomingdale's.
Mining the road to blow at strategic intervals just as she had done on that driveway past an abandoned factory back in Belfast where they had first met as operatives had her feeling a bit nostalgic as well as super confident. She'd decided she was past accepting Victor and actually starting to like him as he had stared at her in wonder and demanded to know where Michael had met her after that brilliant demonstration of her explosives expertise. She liked a man that could appreciate a quality detonation.
It had been his agreement with Michael over how best to take on their handler and hold the higher up's at bay that'd had her questioning the sanity of both the burned spies as they'd stood in a little patch of woods overlooking Victor's super-secret stash, a false high voltage box on a lonely looking utility pole.
"Blackmail…? That's the idea? We're doing all this so we can throw some paper work at Carla?"
"It's the smart play here. We're outgunned," Mr. Westen pointed out.
"We'll get bigger guns. I can't believe what I'm hearing. I saw what she did to you and your family," she rounded on Victor. "If the file is so great, then why didn't you use it before?
"This isn't just about her. I want the guys who call the shots. The file was just in case, enough to force her to back off. If this was just about putting a bullet in Carla, it would have been over a long time ago.
"Still, putting a bullet in Carla sounds awfully good," Fiona declared.
"I like the way you think," Victor concurred. "But if comes to that, you'll have to get in line."
But it had come to that. As her vision started to clear, she saw the bright blue skies over the Gulf of Mexico and she whispered her thanks to the man who could no longer hear her, the one who had insisted, along with Michael, that she take the only bullet proof vest on the boat and don it underneath one of his shirts, the man who had stood up for her when Michael had tried to leave her for her safety.
"Carla's entire work history…This is pretty damming stuff. You think you can play this card?"
Michael had the file they had succeeded in snatching right out from under the organization's nose, turning the pages he had laid out on the hood of her Saab where they had parked down by the docks.
"When we get back to my boat, I've got the codes and com lines to go above her head," the older man answered the dark haired ex-spy. "If she knows I can get to them with this, she'll have to back off fast."
"Then we get out of town, maybe to Cuba."
"Fabulous… great music…. Lots of sexy unemployed men…" she smiled at the pair of them.
"Fi, can I talk to you for a sec?" He took hold of her arm and started to lead her away.
"I'm not invited to Cuba?" She planted her feet and refused to move, glaring at him and resisting the urge to knock the daylights out of him. "Tell me, Michael, exactly how many contacts do you have in the gun running community? In the black market? In Cuba? How many people can get you a boat with a phone call? How do you plan on calling for back-up in the middle of the Gulf?"
"Fi, please, I need you to—" But the other burned spy had cut him off, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours, sport, but you are crazier than I am to leave this little filly in the barn, especially when Carla's just going to go and blow up the barn."
"They're gonna find us with all they have," Michael protested.
"All the more reason to have her around," Victor countered. "We get Carla to follow us out to sea and she'll spend all her resources trying to run us down before Management gets wind of what's going on."
"Sam's already got your Mom stashed in Orlando, Michael. Do you really want me on the Florida Turnpike by myself chasing after them with Carla's minions running around?"
And Mr. Westen hadn't been able to argue with that logic. After a couple of quick phone calls and some serious firepower loaded onto the boat, they had departed Randall Key in no short amount of time before the murderous woman in question had turned up the assault vehicles and helicopters.
Fiona smiled as she heard Michael's footsteps rushing towards her on the deck upon which she lay.
She smiled at the memory of getting to use an RPG again. It had been a long time and she had never had the opportunity to shoot down a chopper with one, though she had wanted to many times. Watching Carla's only means of tracking go down in a fiery blaze into the ocean had been most gratifying.
"Fi, can you hear me?" Dread had hitched his voice up an octave. "Fi, Fiona, are you alright? Fi…?"
The body of Mr. Steckler-Epps was rolled off of her none-too-gently and Michael had her in his arms.
"Jesus, Fi, at that caliber, you still could have— oh my God," he moaned as he saw all the blood.
"Don't worry. It's his. Victor saved me," she said dreamily, still a little disoriented. "Carla surprised me coming out of the hole, but he got in front of me and he shot her… more than once…"
Fiona turned her head as much as she could in his embrace. The former guerilla could see the mass of blonde hair soaking up the carnage of Carla's ruined head, the rest of the corpse out of view.
She heard him suck in a breath as he was pulling the shirt that covered the vest off. "That was too close. The impact could- I gotta get you outta here now!"
He sat her up and ripped the vest off her and tossed it over board. Fiona didn't hear a splash and shook her head, trying to get her bearings. The two boats that had pursued them were in ruins. One was on fire and the other had blood and bullet holes all over it, which was causing it to slowly take on water.
He loaded her into the Zodiac as carefully as he could before flying away from the scene. The Irish woman remembered admiring the explosion as Victor's boat blew into a million pieces and sent a cloud of flames and smoke into the air. It was a fitting end to the day's efforts.
()()()()()()()
Isla Mujeres 2009
"You're sure she's okay?" he demanded.
"Your wife and child are going to be fine, Mr. Finley… don't worry. As long as she rests properly and has no more excitement, the pregnancy should progress as normal."
"She's gonna be fine, Peter…"
Michael blew out a long breathe and hung his head as Sam's large hand landed on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry about my brother here, Dr. Zedillo. Sometimes he gets excited and forgets his manners."
"No, it is fine. Please, call me Pilar. It is good to see a man so concerned for his family."
She handed a card to Michael as he raised his head and reached out to shake her hand.
"You may call me any time, Mr. Finley, if you have any questions. She will be fine as long as you don't take any more fishing trips." the dark haired beauty smiled at him warmly. "And you, too, Senor Charles, you should be talking your brother into more quiet pursuits."
"I think you can count on that," Sam agreed. "Chuck and Peter Finley, land lubbers."
"Thank you, doctor," the dark haired ex-spy said with complete sincerity and turned to follow her down the corridor to where Fiona was dressing. The slender Mexican woman kept walking and Michael hesitated outside the door, listening for a moment. Then he knocked.
"You decent, Charlotte?" he called out.
"She's never decent," Sam chuckled.
"I heard that!" There was more shuffling in the room and then the door opened. A nurse stood to one side and let them in before departing. Fiona was sitting on the small hospital bed in an over sized blue sundress, her long auburn hair in braids, her feet bare and a pair of sandals on the floor beside the bed.
Michael had never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.
"Charlotte Finely," she snipped as the pair approached the bed. "Really…?"
"You're just lucky I had those on hand and ready to go on short notice, sister. Just imagine what I could come up with if I'd really had time to work on it," he laughed at her pique.
"Is my mom okay?" Michael queried, moving to stand next to 'Mrs. Finely' and then laying an arm around her shoulder. "Did she get off to South Carolina okay?"
"Your ma's in the happy embrace of her sister, Jill. She should be fine. Her nephew made federal marshal last month. I don't think they're gonna wanna risk that kind of exposure just for revenge, especially now that Carla's sleepin' with the fishes and they've gotten a look at her play book. I mean, hell, they blew up your mom's house for chris' sakes; there's not a lot of damage left to do. "
"With a little help from her friends," Fiona smirked.
"Yeah, well," Mr Axe laughed. "Who knew you could get so much mileage out of gun powder and non-dairy creamer? She was pissed at you about having to replace everything until her sister reminded her of all the shopping she gets to do now. The insurance money should keep her in cigarettes for a while."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Michael asked softly, rubbing her arm as he inquired about her health. "You could have had a miscarriage from the impact of falling on the boat deck and someone falling on you and then the gunfire that-"
"I'm fine. The doctor says I just have to take it easy and let my body heal." She petted his hand. "We have tough DNA… It'll be fine."
"So, you two… about to be married and a kid on the way… man, that calls for a mojito, or ten actually!"
"Did your Coast Guard buddies verify the wreckage?" Michael asked, never quite taking his eyes off her.
"Yep, as much as they could, that is. Victor's boat sank on its own. Carla's clean-up crew made sure the other two joined it at the bottom of ocean. Made sure none of the bodies were going to come floating up again either. No, I'd say you were in the clear. Even if they think you're alive, I don't think they're going to come nosing around looking for ya, brother. You were just too much damned trouble. But I'd stay outta Miami, well, actually the States period, for now. "
Mr Westen extended his hand. "Thanks for letting me join the Finley family,"
"Hey, any time, easy peasy. Maybe we can have a Finley family reunion when the little one comes along. Whatcha say, Charlotte? That work for you?"
"You're not staying?" she asked.
"Naw, thought I might spend a couple weeks fishing in Cancun and see what my retired FBI buddies know and then maybe pay a visit to Virge in the Bahamas."
Then Sam saw the look on Michael's face.
"Of course, I might have to hang out around here for awhile and make sure Little Miss Commando here stays out of trouble and follows doctor's orders."
"Hrmph," she grumbled, but Fiona didn't tell him to get lost either. "Great, just what I need. My new house smelling like Old Spice and cheap cigars."
"Yeah, why don't we go take a look?" Sam suggested. "Let's see what Peter Finley's trust fund bought!"
Michael helped Fiona to her feet and held her hand while she slipped her shoes on. He held onto her hand, kissing her lightly on the lips and then on the forehead before turning to go.
"She's made of tougher stuff than that, Petey. She's not gonna break."
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Michael remarked, but happy that his best friend would be around awhile longer to help him try.
Jojo and Trini Delaney were waiting for them outside the clinc. The dark woman wasted no time in rushing to Fiona's side and giving her a big hug. Michael and Sam both shook Jojo's hand and then they all turned towards that large Land Rover parked next to the Zedillo's clinic.
"Thanks for everything, both of you," Mr. Westen said gratefully as he gave his lady a leg up into the SUV, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary.
"Save that for the honeymoon, Mr. Finley," Sam teased.
"Anything for you, Charlotte," Trini chimed in with a smile. "Isn't that right, Jojo?"
"Anything she needs," Mr. Delaney agreed.
It wasn't long before the five of them were standing at the gate of the hacienda which Jojo had sold to the nearly-wed's through multiple shell companies and much financial magic on the part of their friend in creative finance, Mr. Barry Burkowski. The place was in reasonable shape for having an absentee owner up to that point. It stood on the cliff, a stone's throw from the Delaney household off Isla Muejers. The land behind the house looked fertile and the out structures behind the place could double for a barn, a workshop or both.
"Do ya like it, girl?" her gunrunner friend asked with a broad smile.
"I do," she breathed and then turned to the man holding her hand. "Do you like it?"
She urged him forward, tugging on his arm until they were standing a short distance away from the others in front of the threshold of their new home.
"I was expecting something more like your farm back home," he smiled, clearly teasing her. He pressed a kiss on top of her head. "But as long as you're happy, you can fill it with all the livestock you like…"
"Careful, Peter Finley," the redhead warned. "I can see a yard full of puppies and kittens and geese and chickens and maybe a horse or two." She leaned into his ear and whispered, "And then we'll teach the children to ride and shoot at the same time. It takes real skill to shoot on the move, you know."
"A whole brood of little Celtic warriors on horseback with P90's on their backs?" he whispered back. "I'm not sure I'm ready for more than one gun toting baby, Mrs. Finley…"
"One day at a time, Mr. Finley. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"