Hi everyone! Thanks for the positive feedback. As soon as I have time I'll try to figure out how to respond to the reviews, but I hope you know I appreciate all the reviews and readers.

I've decided to update a little less often, because some readers may not check the site every day. Since I'm scared about how BN will end, I will try to post the complete story by next week. I'm going to be really depressed after that :-(

Reviews, follows, and favorites cheer me up! Enjoy!

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Michael drifted off to sleep somewhat contentedly, knowing that although he had tough times ahead of him, Fiona was nearer than she had been in years.

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Michael awoke the next morning feeling as if someone had tied knots in his stomach during the night. He was anxious about talking with Fiona. He couldn't remember ever having been able to change her mind once she had set it, and feared this would be no different. After eating a yogurt and trying to ignore his mother, who was giving him useless advice on how to approach Fiona, he headed towards her apartment.

Michael paused when he got to the front door, once again considering his next move. He had never knocked on Fiona's door, nor had she knocked on his. They had always been close to each other, regardless of their official relationship status. Now however, he was unsure whether barging in would be an invasion of privacy. He was saved from having to decide when he heard a faint retching sound coming from beyond the door, followed by a loud thud. He barged in and nearly tripped over Fiona, who was lying on the floor in a puddle of vomit, curled into a ball as if in pain. Michael immediately crouched down beside her, ignoring the acidic smell that was beginning to permeate the room.

"Fiona!" He turned her head to face him, relieved to see that she seemed to be regaining consciousness.

"Michael," she croaked, putting her hand to her head and squinting up at him. "What happened?"

"I don't know Fi. I just got here and found you lying on the floor. You're burning up; maybe you should see a doctor."

Michael always tried to avoid doctors whenever possible, as they asked too many questions. On this occasion however, he was prepared to answer the questions of anyone who could cool Fiona's scalding, feverish skin.

"No doctors," Fiona groaned, "I'll be - fine just - help me to the bathroom so - I can get - cleaned up."

Michael looked skeptical, but decided not to argue just yet. He didn't want to take chances with her health, but he also didn't want to hand her over to MI6 agents on a silver platter, or gurney as the case may be.

Grabbing Fiona's outstretched arm, he hoisted her up to her feet, holding on to the back of her sleep shirt - which he recognized as his - to keep her upright.

She wobbled slowly alongside him into the bathroom where he drew a lukewarm bath, hoping to cool her body. He helped her out of his shirt and into the tub, where she lay back and immediately closed her eyes.

"I'm just going to go clean up Fi. Give a yell if you need anything," he whispered.

Michael entered the living room, leaving the bathroom door open so he could keep an eye on Fiona. He found a mop and some cleaning solution and began scouring the floor, removing all traces of the mess. This was not what he had expected to find when he had decided to visit Fiona. He wasn't sure if he was more relieved or frustrated to have to put off his conversation with Fiona. He assumed it was a 24-hour bug, and wondered briefly whether this would give him an extra day before she insisted he arrest her. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Fiona moving about in the tub. Hurrying in, he saw a now clean Fiona struggling to get out of the bath. Grabbing her hand and a towel, he helped her over the edge.

"I should help you clean up, Michael," she said.

"I already took care of it Fi, now let me help you get into bed."

Fiona was both embarrassed and grateful. Michael thought she looked a tad healthier than she had when he walked in, but the fact that she was accepting his help made him sure that she was sicker than she was letting on.

The two walked slowly into Fiona's room and Fiona wasted no time sitting on her bed, looking exhausted. Michael grabbed the first shirt he could find, which happened to be another one of his. He decided he should find out exactly how many of his shirts Fiona had stolen. Not that he minded, but he wondered how Fiona's other boyfriends had felt about her fondness for his pilfered pajamas.

As soon as Michael had buttoned the shirt, Fiona collapsed back into her pillows. She was asleep within seconds. Michael sat there for a moment, wondering whether she would be angry if he stayed. He decided that he couldn't leave her alone in this state, no matter how mad she might be, and so he grabbed an issue of Guns and Ammo and settled next to her on the bed, waiting for her to awake.

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A few hours later, Michael decided to give in to the rumbling of his stomach and find some lunch for himself and Fiona. He rummaged through the fridge, pleased and a bit surprised to find a week's worth of yogurt on the shelf. He grabbed two blueberry cups, two spoons, and a bottle of water. He put the food on Fiona's bedside table and gently shook her awake, concerned when she didn't acknowledge him. He rolled her over so he could see her face and felt her forehead again; it was still hot. He tried once more to wake her, and was relieved when her eyes blinked open groggily.

"Hey Fi," he whispered.

"Hi," she whispered back, seeming confused. "What are you doing here?"

"You're sick, remember? I got you some yogurt. Do you think you can sit up to eat?"

Fiona nodded then winced, putting her hand to her head. "It hurts," she explained softly.

"I'll get you some ibuprofen."

He found some in a kitchen cabinet and hurried back to Fiona's side. She seemed too weak to sit by herself, so he propped her up on some pillows and handed her the pills. She took them and with Michael's help, lifted the water bottle to her lips for a sip. Then Michael opened the yogurt and held the spoon out to Fiona, but she simply closed her eyes and settled back against the pillows.

"Fi? Fiona? You need to eat something, please."

"Too tired," she mumbled.

"How about if I feed it to you? All you'd have to do is swallow?"

Fiona simply nodded, keeping her eyes closed.

Michael was unaccustomed to Fiona admitting she needed help, so with every bite she let him feed her he became more and more anxious.

When Fiona had swallowed the last of the yogurt, Michael sneaked away, leaving her to hopefully sleep off whatever illness her body was fighting.

He decided to check his messages...there was no reason why he couldn't keep up with his work while Fiona was sleeping, he reasoned. He kept an eye open for news of any MI6 movement, relieved when he found none. He wasn't sure why agents hadn't stormed into the apartment yet, but he was grateful.

Michael's thoughts turned back to how he could save Fiona from being extradited. He soon decided his best bet would be to weasel some information out of his coworker, Robert Granger. He took out his phone, noticing that Granger would just be coming back from his lunch break. Realizing that his friend would be more likely to give up information when he was well-fed, Michael immediately dialed the number. He listened to the phone ring three times before Robert picked up.

"Hey Mike!" He answered cheerily.

"Robert! How are you?"

"Good, and yourself? I heard you're taking some vacation time...didn't realize you had anything planned."

"I didn't, I'm actually in Miami, taking care of a sick family member." Michael thought it best to stick as close to the truth as possible. He didn't want to make Robert suspicious.

"You're a good man Mike."

"Thanks Robert. Listen, I'm calling because I'm working on some cases while I'm down here and I need some information."

"Sure, how can I help?"

"Well, it's about an Irishwoman, Glenanne, I believe." Michael was expecting a confirmation, but instead heard only silence.

"Robert, you still there?" He tried.

"I'm here," Robert's voice sounded flat. "Do you think I'm stupid?" He continued. "Do you think I don't know your connection to Glenanne? I did my homework."

Michael could have kicked himself. Of course Robert was aware that he had been close to Fi, his name was probably all over her file.

"Of course not Robert, I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure she gets a fair deal."

"A fair deal?" Robert repeated incredulously. "A fair deal for Glenanne is 20 years in prison followed by a lethal injection." Michael let out a noise that sounded like the cross between a sob and a growl. Robert simply went on.

"She blew up the British consulate for crying out loud! And don't get me started on her time in Europe!"

Michael was beginning to see that this phone call was going to do more harm than good, and was about to hang up when he heard Robert sigh.

"I know how you feel about her, Westen."

"I don't - it's just -" Michael tried to deny it.

"If half of what's in that file is true, then you must be going crazy right now, knowing there's nothing you can do to save her this time." Robert let out a long sigh. "I'll tell you what; I'll misplace the extradition orders. It'll take a week to get a new copy signed by all the right people. Will that be enough time to say goodbye?"

Michael could hardly believe his luck. With a few extra days, he was sure he could come up with a plan to thwart MI6. He was thankful, though a bit offended, that Agent Granger had so thoroughly underestimated him.

"Thanks Rob, that means a lot to me."

"No problem Mike. I'll see you when you get back."

Michael hung up the phone, sighing in relief. He once again settled into the chair by Fiona's bed, hoping that she would be well enough by the next day to discuss their options.

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