A/N - This takes place immediately before Mike and Fi's reunion in "Company Man." Thanks to everyone for the reviews, fav's and alerts and a shout out to all the utterly awesome ladies in the Padded Cell Club for helping me stay sane up to and through the finale! Mega thanks to the incredibly amazing Amanda for her reviews and encouragement and as always to the equally awesome PSU93Girl for urging me to go deeper and for her eagle eyes.
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There it was again.
A minute ago, she thought she had been lying on her back staring at the ceiling in the loft.
Apparently, she had actually been studying the inside of her eyelids instead.
The phone trilled again and Fiona groaned. Not in a God-Michael-that-feels-so-good-way, but rather in an I'm-going-to-kill-whoever-is-on-this-phone way.
She had a headache and she didn't want to deal with whatever was waiting on the other end of the line.
Unless it was Michael.
She snatched up the phone and was immediately disappointed. She got angry at herself for getting her hopes up. Michael's sole form of communication, except for his extremely infrequent visits these past six months, had been encrypted text messages using their old IRA code phrases.
It actually made her homesick on top of lonely, but she was glad to know from time to time that he was okay.
Fiona thought about not answering it, but she knew that would only prompt a visit from-
"Sam," she groused. "It's too soon for a wake-up call and too late for a chat."
"Hello to you, too, sunshine."
Sam's demeanour told her what she needed to know. At least there was no bad news.
"And," she prompted.
"Well, aren't you little Miss Congeniality tonight? You're going to be sorry you were cranky when I tell you what Sammy's got for you."
She really shouldn't be mean to him. She actually enjoyed their banter most of the time, though it would defeat the purpose of it if she admitted that.
"Fine," she huffed.
"Remember the advance I gave you awhile back to get some clothes for that stakeout job down at the Fontainebleau Hotel? Well, tonight's your night, Cinderella."
"Seriously, Sam? It's almost 11:00 o'clock."
Sam had told her about that job months ago. Fiona had begun to think there wasn't actually a job at all. She'd started to suspect he had made the whole thing up as a way to give her some money for therapy shopping without having to admit it. She'd assumed it was to make up for those first couple of jobs they'd done after Michael left that had gotten more than a little out of hand. Still, she had been grateful for the distraction the work had provided.
"Come on, Fi. Those South Beach types don't even start getting dressed until after 10:00 PM," he chuckled. "Anyway, I just got word that our target should be there right around 1:00 AM. So, you put the tracker on him, I'll take care of his limo and we'll be having Bloody Marys for breakfast. Easy peasy."
Ms. Glenanne hauled herself up off the bed and stretched. "And why are we targeting this guy again?"
"You get to wear a dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe, drink on my tab, go to LIV and you're asking me why? Seriously?'
"Hm, you have a point." It would do her good to get out of the loft and onto the town. And if Sam was going to be footing the bill- "What's he's look like?"
Fiona walked to the area at the back of the loft adjacent to the bathroom where Michael kept his make-shift wardrobe. She ran her fingers wistfully over some of the Armani suits he hadn't taken with him.
"About six foot, dark hair. He'll be wearing a black suit, white shirt. Real classic James Bond-looking-kind-of-stuff, except, you know, Pierce-Brosnan-good-looking-James-Bond, not creepy-old-Roger-Moore–James-Bond." Sam laughed. "Hey, after a couple of drinks, you could probably squint real hard and mistake him for smooth talking Johnny."
"Not funny, Sam," she retorted crossly. She looked over at the ugly green chair across the room and remembered the time she'd been sitting there, watching him undress from his day as Johnny the car theft king, as he spoke to her in the lilting voice of Michael McBride.
We caused a lot of mayhem, you and I. He was your type of guy.
Yes, he was. Where'd he go?
Where, indeed? She had no idea where he was or when he was coming back. It had been so long since she'd seen him. Fiona swallowed thickly.
At least this time she occasionally knew whether he was dead or alive and what he was doing. She supposed that was an improvement.
"I know, Fi," Sam agreed quietly. "I miss having him around, too."
She bit her lower lip and tried to think of something to say. Mr. Axe saved her the trouble.
"Okay, then, we're all set. I'll pick you up in about thirty minutes. Can you be ready that fast?"
"To spend your money, oh yes," she declared as she closed the phone.
The scene was electric. The A-list crowd swayed and stomped to the music that thrummed through the air and the floorboards. The lower floor was at least 30,000 square feet, if she had to guess, and included one of the biggest dance floors Fiona had ever seen. The dual staircases, lit up like the Kodak Theatre on Oscar Night according to the club's PR, led upstairs to a slightly smaller area than the space below. The ceiling overhead was bright neon blue and filled with recessed lights like a star field along with lighting fixtures that projected a multitude of colours into the pervasive darkness as they swirled about: blue, purple and white, with flashes of green and gold intermixed.
She had chosen her attire well. The fabric of her dress shimmered and changed as the various lights throughout the club illuminated it: dark gray, blue, purple, light gray, almost black. Sam had jokingly told her- after he'd put his eyes back in his head that is- that it reminded him of the 'black pearl' paint job on an El Camino he had once owed. He'd earned a smack in the arm for the comment. They'd met briefly at the loft before she'd climbed into the classic black Lincoln stretch limo and they had headed towards Collins Avenue.
Fiona had chosen to wear her hair down since it made hiding her Bluetooth easier. On the other hand, it seemed everyone in Miami Beach these days had one permanently affixed to their ear, not just ex-SEALs, former guerrillas or covert operatives.
Although the air conditioning was running full blast, the amount of heat generated by the bodies around her, particularly when she passed through the dance floor, made her glad she'd chosen a sleeveless number with a loose cowl front. The long dress allowed her to more easily conceal her weapons and the long slit up the side, held together at the moment by something akin to but more expensive than Velcro, ensured she could be ready for action at a moment's notice.
Not that she was expecting trouble, but she'd learned long ago to never go out unprepared; even something as simple as a hairpin could pick a lock, blind an opponent or repair a sabotaged 9mm in the field. That thought brought her back to thinking about Michael, so she shook her head as if trying to clear it and ordered another G&T extra lime. It was her preferred drink when she was working.
She'd attracted a lot of attention when she had arrived and that hadn't changed once she entered the club. Fiona Glenanne was nothing if not heart stopping when she chose to be or virtually invisible if that's what the job called for. Right now, she would have preferred invisible. The next person who grabbed any part of her anatomy while she was passing by was going to lose a thumb or a finger... or both.
"You got the layout of the place, Fi?"
"Yes." She headed towards the DJ booth, which had the best view of most of the nightclub, preparing to chat up whoever was available while choosing her interception point.
"I'll let you know when our man shows," Sam assured her.
The music was infectious, the vibe was energetic and the drinks were free. Well, free to her, anyway. She supposed that was all she could ask for. Well, there was more, but there was no point in asking for it. Perhaps she'd take her target for a couple of turns on the dance floor before the night was over.
She'd half-heartedly complained to Michael the last time she'd seen him, which was months ago, that one day she'd like to be able to go dancing like a normal couple and not worry about who would see them or what they'd do to them.
Mr. Westen had made a joke in response that they went dancing every time he saw her. She'd never heard or heard of that song he referenced, but she'd hit him a couple of times for good measure.
Fiona started to let herself reminisce about what had happened after she'd hit him, but shook it off. Maybe a turn around the dance floor would burn off some of her frustration. She looked down and noticed her glass was empty again. The Irish woman smiled. Mr. Axe had made a serious mistake agreeing to pay the bar bill for a Glenanne.
"Looking for someone?" a well-dressed young man asked. She looked over her right shoulder at source of the voice. He was handsome by most standards: blonde haired, blue-eyed, tan and toned. High cheek bones, like Michael. But he wasn't her type, he wasn't her target, and he certainly wasn't the one she wanted to be with.
Still, a cover was a cover.
"Actually, yes," she informed him, smiling brightly as she turned to face him. So he'd noticed her surveillance. Of course, in a place like this, that didn't mean much. "He's taking for-ev-er." She added a little nasal whine to her comment, perfecting her "club girl" voice.
The man shrugged. "It's early yet."
Fiona groaned inwardly, but laughed outwardly. Only in South Beach would half past midnight be considered early. She sized him up. Years of practice and their recent run-in with Vaughn and company had made her extra vigilant. He seemed too young to have any significant experience, but there was something about the controlled way he held himself that made her suspicious.
"I'm going to get a refill," she announced, pushing past him as politely as possible.
She didn't have to look back to know he was trailing behind her. He was hopefully going to help her kill some time while she was waiting and then clear out quietly when the mark arrived. Fiona sidled up to the bar and nodded towards the woman behind it. "Something for you?" she asked him. She didn't want to get too involved with a cover, but the chance to run up Sam's tab was too good to pass up.
She was surprised when he ordered only a bottle of Fiji water and said so.
He shrugged nonchalantly again. "I come here to dance, not to drink." He held out his hand. "Derek."
Fiona took his hand and shook it.
"Livvy," she declared. Dancer, huh? That explained the posture and that was why Fiona was already on the dance floor when she got the call from Sam.
Derek was a good dancer; she'd have to give him that. Miss Glenanne would never admit to needing to keep up with anyone, but he was enough of a challenge that her competitive side kicked in, telling her professional side to get the hell out of the way. Besides, standing out on the dance floor a little would be a good way to catch her target's attention without being obvious. Besides, she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
That realization in turn made her feel guilty for having a good time while he was gone. That feeling quickly morphed into anger. Michael was the one who wasn't here. What was she supposed to do, sit around the loft and keep it tidy for him until he got back? In some ways, staying there was worse than staying in her condo would have been. It underlined his absence. Fiona determined she would pursue her house hunting with more earnest tomorrow.
"Head's up, Fi," Sam's voice chirped in her ear. "Johnny's on his way."
She didn't have time to be annoyed with him for the 'Johnny' wisecrack. Sam should have known he was going to pay for teasing her like that after she'd already warned him against it earlier. She decided she might just have to start buying rounds for the whole club.
Fiona started subtly manoeuvring their movements so as to take them back toward the front of the club. If she timed it right, she should be able to give the mark a little bit of show to catch his interest before exiting the dance floor on the pretext of getting another drink. That would put her in position at the bar. Her plan seemed to be going as intended.
Derek was still grasping her right hand at the end of a spin when she came into full body contact with someone from behind.
Whoever was behind her put a hand to her right shoulder and one to her left elbow; which she had been prepared to throw back at her potential opponent's solar plexus if needs be.
Someone had training.
In the split second it took for her to think that, familiar cologne wafted up to her nose and Michael's face appeared next to hers just over her left shoulder.
"May I cut in?" his low voice buzzed in her ear.
"Oh," she exhaled, freezing in place. His sudden appearance and his proximity had temporarily scrambled her brain.
"Oh, there you are! This is-" she started to gesture towards the blonde.
"My cue to leave," her dance partner confirmed, his blue eyes bulging. He dropped her hand immediately.
Fiona almost giggled at the stunned expression on the young man's face. She could only just imagine the one on Michael's face that had caused him to retreat so suddenly.
"It was nice to meet you, Livvy," Derek said as he backed away into the sea of gyrating humanity.
"Maybe I'll see you again sometime," she called before turning around.
Michael took her into his arms, squeezing her tight.
"Livvy?" he echoed in her ear, his breath sending chills down her spine.
"L.I.V., Livvy." Fiona shrugged and then whispered back. "Best I could do on short notice."
He released her slowly, sliding his hands down her arms until all he held onto was her hands and then he began dancing with her; never relinquishing his hold on them.
She drank in the sight of him. He was dressed like Johnny, except there was something different about the hair; still slicked back, but more of it somehow. She looked at their joined hands as the flashing lights of club caught the pinkie rings. They moved together and came apart to the salsa rhythms of the blaring music. She was grateful now for the refresher course in Latin dance she'd gotten from Derek just before Michael had arrived.
They were on their third dance when she finally spoke and broke the spell.
"So, Sam set me up," she concluded. Fiona wasn't sure if she was going to hug him or hit him for it the next time she saw him.
"Sam didn't set you up," he responded, drawing out the 'S's in his gravelly, smooth talking voice, "Johnny did."
"This was your idea?" she questioned as he spun her away.
"You said you wanted to go dancing," Michael replied in Johnny's voice. "So, Johnny's taking you out dancing," he pulled her close again, his lips almost brushing her ear, "instead of the CIA's newest civilian intelligence asset." There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Asset, she thought. What the hell did that mean? Was he in or out? Was he staying or was this him just trying to ease the blow before leaving again more permanently?
"I need a drink," she announced. Michael followed her off the dance floor to the nearest open stretch of bar.
"So, Johnny," the Irish woman said softly, leaning in, as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them. "What's going on? How long are you in town for?"
"I can't tell you-"
Fiona huffed loudly and took a long pull of her G&T, wishing now it was something stronger and more familiar. Not a proper drink for an Irishwoman at all. Lord, how Sean would have razzed her for it had he been here.
"- because I don't know yet," he concluded. Part of his mind was still focused on Hector, who was no doubt sitting in a CIA interrogation room somewhere. "My business partners said they'd get back to me."
She wanted to make a crack about shoes and other feet, but she restrained herself. Obviously, Michael had put a good deal of effort into this operation and she was intrigued.
"So, Johnny, my dear, exactly how long have you been planning to surprise me?" she queried, playing along. "I was paid for this job weeks-" she trailed off, staring at him intensely under the shifting lights of the night club. It had been almost exactly as long ago as the last time he was in Miami. Had he really been planning this that long ago? Had he really been listening to her?
"Johnny pays attention," he answered, as if reading her mind. He'd taken the suit and jewellery with him when he'd left the last time. He'd had no idea when he was going to be back, no idea when the manhunt would be over, but he'd determined to be prepared when the time came.
The burnt spy had wanted a reminder to keep himself focused on who, as well as what, he was fighting for and, while he was totally focused on his mission to dismantle the organization that had burned him when he was in the field, he found himself looking at Johnny's suit every time he got out a change of clothes. It pushed him that much harder to end it definitively.
He didn't have much free time, but when he did, Michael had spent it sitting and thinking about Fiona, thinking about her staying at the loft while he was in various motel rooms and operations centres, thinking about what she'd done in that abandoned hotel, all the while slowly rotating Johnny's onyx and gold pinkie ring around his finger. He'd done it often enough for Max to rib him about it, though Max had no idea the significance of the gesture.
Mr. Westen leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear again, "So, when I got a plane ticket for a 22:00 departure, I made a phone call and here we are. I'm sorry, but I don't know when-"
"Well, I guess Sam was right when he set up this job," she cut him off with an impish smile.
Michael pulled back to look at her and chuckled. It sounded dangerous in Johnny's voice. "Never thought I'd hear you use those two words in the same sentence. How much have you had to drink?"
"Apparently, I do need to plant this tracker on you after all," she declared, speaking in a soft, seductive voice as she slid her hand into his front pants pocket. Fiona spread her fingers wide as she released the device, sending fire rushing through that part of his anatomy. "Maybe then I'll have some idea of where you are."
Michael swallowed hard, totally out of character, and freed her hand from its awkward position. He took a long sip of his own drink. "Shall we?"
"I think I'm ready to do that other dance you mentioned." Fiona wrapped her arms around his waist under his jacket and pulled herself tightly against him.
He finished the rest of his drink in one gulp and set it on the bar with clink. "Horizontal bop, it is."
Mr. Westen had let Fiona take point leaving the club. He'd learned over the years that following her had a number of advantages. For one, it pleased his partner that he trusted her enough to let her go first and Miss Glenanne could be very hard to live with if he kept her from having what she considered to be 'her share of the fun,' should any come their way. For another, it was easier to bat clean-up, so to speak, and keep an eye on her from behind her, ensuring that whatever fun she got into didn't get too far out of hand.
Finally, although he would never admit it, Michael got a huge charge out of watching Fiona kick ass. It didn't bother him one bit that she could outshoot him with a sniper rifle or that she had expertise that exceeded his in making things 'go boom'. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and him, if she had to-when he'd let her-and he loved her all the more for it.
He'd told himself for years that he was just bad at relationships, which he was; but, truthfully it was impractical and dangerous for him, as well as for that significant other, to be with someone who couldn't keep up with him or what his life threw at him on a daily basis. Still, he kept a hand to the small of her back as they weaved through the crowd and into the parking lot.
"What happened to the limo?" she asked, as they pulled away from the valet station in the full size rental car the CIA had so thoughtfully provided.
"Did you really want Sam hanging around all night?" Michael asked quizzically.
"No," she agreed thoughtfully, "But I haven't done it in a limo in a while. Might have been fun."
Since he knew they had never done it in a limo, he felt that same surge of jealousy. It was obviously past history and ridiculous that he should feel that way; but it still made him just as unhappy as when he had come into the club and spotted her dancing with her young partner, even though he knew it was part of her cover. At least, he thought he knew.
Fiona scooted over and began massaging his thigh. "Of course, I've never done it in the back seat of a Lincoln Town Car either," she purred.
"Too much like high school," Michael countered, accelerating as her hand crept higher. "I have better options now."
"Did you do this in high school?" she asked as her head drifted towards his lap.
Too many times, he thought. "Uh, Fi, let's not spend our first night together in county lock-up. Put your seat belt back on."
"Fine," she complained as she complied. But she continued to reach over and touch him in ways that drove him to drive even faster.
He opened the door and reached in to turn on the recessed lighting that illuminated the back of the loft. Michael started to go ahead of her to check the room, even though this was his place. The last six months had made him more careful than he had ever been. If he'd been cautious before, he probably qualified for down-right paranoid now.
Still, he'd caught the toe of his boot on a suitcase he hadn't expected to be there, just before he got an even more unexpected shove that sent him stumbling across the room, looking for any purchase his fingers could find.
A circular fan, one of Fi's snow globes and a ceramic mug were all victims of his head long trip towards the bed. As he was falling forward, she came around the back of stairs and met him on the left side of the staircase, slamming him up against the wire mesh that surrounded it and knocking the dartboard off in the process. He flailed, trying to get his balance, and sent a small night lamp crashing to the floor.
"Fiona," he gasped as she hungrily assaulted his neck with her mouth. "—Uh, Fiona. Don't you think we'd be- more comfortable on the bed?"
She started kissing the side of his face and grabbed handfuls of his pressed white shirt.
"What makes you think-" The tigress pulled the shirt open, popping buttons as she went, "that I care-"
She pulled the shirt off his chest with a rough jerk, effectively pinning his upper arms to his sides, "if you're comfortable?"
Fiona kissed him passionately before he could answer. They embraced tightly, as their tongues duelled for dominance. Michael had started to back her towards the bed when she surprised him by pivoting his body across her right hip and dumping him on the floor next to it.
He landed with a thud and grunt. She stood over him for a moment, her arm flung in the air like a matador. Then the Irish woman grinned at him triumphantly and launched herself at him.
She landed on his chest. Michael caught her with long groan as she knocked the air out of his lungs.
Fiona raised herself up on her palms and smiled widely down at him, her hair failing in a cascade over her shoulder. Her look said, "Welcome home."
He smiled back at her broadly and his expression answered, "Happy to be here."
Then he reached up for her, pulling her into a kiss that quickly turned in a deeper one. She ran her right hand through his hair and grasped the back of his neck tightly with her other hand, letting all her weight, such as it was, rest on him. He felt his ribs protest. Her hand drifted from his hair and onto his cheek as they continued to embrace and kiss eagerly.
As they kissed deeper and more aggressively, she ran both her hands through his hair, dragging her nails lightly across his scalp. Michael moaned into her mouth.
"You're not," she said breathlessly, now assaulting his neck again, "going to get that stuff," she bit his earlobe lightly, "on my 800-thread count pillow cases," she concluded, capturing his mouth.
Michael enthusiastically returned the kiss and then pulled back, desperate for air. It was hard to breathe with her lying on top of him and driving him insane at the same time. Something near his lungs complained about the pressure, but he ignored it completely.
"Stuff?" he echoed blankly as his Irish lover restarted her divine torture of his neck and ears.
She licked the length of his collar bone, causing him to shudder, as she ran her right hand repeatedly through his hair again. Then Fiona slid off of him and onto the floor next to him, making a trail of hair gel from his cheek to his chest, swirling the glistening goo onto his nipple, causing him to moan again.
"That stuff," she specified as she used the lubricant to torment him.
"I really haven't had a chance to get a haircut," he ground out. "I had to do something."
"Did you have to raid Barry's bathroom?"
"Why" he started to ask and then gasped as she applied her tongue to the most sensitive part of the other side of his chest, "are we discussing Barry?"
"I think we need to be discussing our bathroom," Fiona stated, as she stopped what she was doing. "I don't think Johnny wants this glop on his suit any more than I want it on my sheets."
"Your sheets?" he repeated stupidly, missing her touch. A minute ago she was ravaging him and now she was having laundry issues? She could be so damned mercurial. Sometimes it amused him, but now wasn't one of those times.
She kissed her way down his rock hard stomach to the waist band of his trousers, scattering his thoughts again.
"You asked me to keep an eye on your place. Did you not think I'd bring over a decent set of linens?"
Michael couldn't have care less what was on the bed at the moment, so long as it was them.
"Come on," she urged, pushing herself up onto her elbows and raising herself off the floor.
Michael groaned at the loss of the contact. Fiona looked at him questioningly.
"I thought the shower was your favourite place," she smiled sweetly. "Hurry up and help me out of my dress."
She sashayed toward the kitchenette, disappearing from his line of sight. He heard the water running as she presumably washed her hands. Her lover pushed up off the floor and kicked off his boots. She smiled at him as she dried her hands and he dropped his shirt on the bed. His slacks joined it a moment later.
Fiona smiled wider as she observed the tented fabric of his boxers. Yes, she was absolutely trying to drive him insane. Part of it was payback for him being gone all the time and part of it was because she knew how good it would be when she'd finally made him completely crazy.
She pulled open the seam of her long dress, revealing her calf, knee and then thigh. Fiona put one leg up on the bed and removed the stiletto and pistol from her leg holsters and then the holsters themselves. Michael felt his whole body ignite just watching her. She started to reach behind for the zipper of the dress.
"Let me," he croaked. She pulled her hair up out of the way and felt his hands linger on her back. A kiss between her shoulder blades made her shudder. Then the fabric blinded her temporarily before it landed on the bed next to his discarded suit.
Michael stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms across her stomach, pressing his hardness into her backside. She hummed with satisfaction as he then teased and massaged her breasts, rubbing his body against hers. He stopped long enough to flick her thong off her hip bones and she stepped out of it.
"Come," she repeated, pulling away from him and moving toward the bathroom.
He almost did so right then at the sight her naked, except for her high heels and her jewellery, walking sinuously toward the back of the loft. She was so incredibly sexy. Why was he always leaving? What the hell was wrong with him?
Oh yeah, burn notice.
Well, something was burning at the moment and it had nothing to do with that and that was all so close to being over with. He spared only a momentary thought for what progress, if any, Raines was having with Hector as he shed his boxers and socks and hurried to the bathroom.
He caught her bent over the heavy, old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub, trying to adjust the water temperature before turning on the shower. Fiona gasped as he pushed into her unexpectedly; arching her back and making him want her even more. Her hands clamped onto the edge of tub, knuckles straining as he continued to thrust hard.
Michael leaned over her, wrapping one arm around her waist to steady her as he plunged deeper. He moved his other hand to touch in her most sensitive spot. It put a strain on something that had been mistreated when Fiona had thrown him onto to floor, but he continued to ignore everything that didn't have to do with what, or more accurately, who he was doing. She was writhing against the divine pressure. It wasn't long before she was screaming his name and seeing stars. The sight, sound and feel of it had him joining her shortly thereafter.
"I'm... not... done... with... you," she declared in between sucking in mouthfuls of air, her chest heaving, as he continued to hold onto her.
"Fine," Michael returned with a silly, satisfied grin. He reached over her to turn the shower on.
Fiona pulled away from him very slowly, her face aglow, and then kicked off her shoes. She climbed into the tub carefully. He resisted the urge to smirk at the jerkiness of her movements.
She drew a deep breath to steady herself and commanded, "Sit," while pointing in front of her.
Michael shrugged and did as he was told.
TO BE CONTINUED.