A/N - I hoped everyone enjoyed the cameo in Part I - Thanks again to the amazing Amanda, the awesome PSU93Girl and a shout-out to the utterly incredible DaisyDay, Purdy's Pal, StoryFan101, Haunted-Eternity and Coolaquariun - you guys are the best! Happy New Year to everyone out in Burn Notice FanFictionLand!

Company Man - Part 2

He sat down cross legged, the water beading on his disheveled hair. Taking a moment to doff her jewellery into the sink, Fiona climbed in behind and then reached over the top of him, grabbing his shampoo bottle off the small metal rack hanging from the front of the tub. Moving back, she saw a series of small new scars decorating his damp skin just above and below his left elbow that she hadn't noticed before; shot gun blast or shrapnel by the look of it. Suddenly, she stopped and set the bottle down between his legs. Fiona threw one arm over his shoulder and wrapped the other across his chest from underneath his arm, hugging him as tightly as she could.

"I was so-" she choked on the word, "-worried about you," she finished, pressing her cheek to his shoulder blade and trying not to let her voice crack.

"Fi..." Michael didn't know what to say. He settled for covering her hands with his and squeezing back.

"How long..."

"I honestly don't know. Could be tomorrow, could be next week."

"Not tomorrow," she whispered plaintively.

It seemed like she did all of her crying in the shower these days; that is, when she'd let herself do it at all. She cursed herself for wasting time doing it now while he was here with her, not knowing how long this would last. When did she get to be such an emotional mess? She continued to hold him close as the warm water cascaded around them, all the while knowing that this moment too would have to end regardless.

"I'm sorry, Fi," he said quietly.

"Me, too,"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mrs. Glenanne's eldest daughter pushed away the bad feelings, just as she had done with every other bad thing that had ever happened in her life. They would talk later. It was time to have fun.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she declared, putting on a cheerful voice, "and then we'll see about letting you near the bed."

Michael started to open the shampoo, but she snatched the bottle from him.

"I can wash my own hair," he informed her dryly.

"Of course you can, but where's the fun in that?"

Fiona pulled him towards the back of the tub where the spray was less direct and poured an enormous puddle of shampoo onto her hands. Then she spread it liberally across his head.

"Hmm, I may have to get the Gojo off the workbench. I'm not sure if this stuff is up to the job."

He laughed lightly, struck again by her ability to change emotional direction with such agility.

"Maybe an industrial degreaser," she mused. Her fingernails scraped lightly across his scalp as she worked in the soap.

"This is really..." Michael started to say, 'not necessary,' but what came out instead was, "... nice."

"Oh, but it gets better," she assured him.

And it did.

When she was done with his hair, Fiona insisted on washing him down with a body wash. Michael had protested that he liked his Irish Spring just fine, which had caused her to laugh out loud. He was pleased to see her good humour return, so he didn't give her too much more grief when she produced a bottle that promised a clean, woodsy smell- rich mahogany so it claimed- as the result of its application.

And apply it she did.

Fiona took the task of getting him cleaned up and turned it into a full body massage. She worked from his neck, down his shoulders and into his back and he felt the months of tension come undone, as he gave himself permission to relax for whatever time he had with her, knowing as she did that it could end- no, would end- with a phone call.

She moved from her position at the back of him and then pushed on his chest until he was reclining against the back of the tub. Michael found himself chuckling. She was even more beautiful soaking wet and just as persistent. Fiona twisted around and turned the water off, as it was getting cooler.

"We're wet enough for now." He let the implications of her statement slide for the moment.

His wild Irish rose turned back to face him with a dazzling smile, settling on her knees between his legs, and then started working her way down each arm, from his shoulder to his wrist, first the right and then the left. Fiona drew a shaky breath as she ran her hand over his newly discovered scars, but made no other comment.

Michael took her face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her softly.

"I'm okay, Fi. It's nothing," he promised her.

Fiona nodded mutely and turned her face to place a kiss of her own on each of his palms. Then the Irish woman drew back and captured his left foot; her dripping hair making a curtain that hid her face.

He gave silent thanks that he was not overly sensitive in that part of his body; too many years of being the boots on the ground. She could have- no, would have- had a field day with that; but as soon as she probed his instep with her thumb, Michael jerked back.

Fiona's head snapped up and her eyes bore into his. "I know you're not ticklish. What did you do?"

"It's nothing," he maintained.

However, she would not be deterred; working through the kinks in both feet and his calves. They hit another bumpy spot momentarily when she started in on his knees. The covert operative refused to even think about, much less discuss, the building he had jumped off of that had caused that particular issue. He tried to pass it off as soreness from his ungraceful entrance into the loft, which he reminded her was her fault. Fiona wasn't buying it, but she wasn't calling him on it either, as she began massaging the large muscle groups on the back side of his thighs.

Michael felt a little guilty, lying there and letting her do all the work. At the same time, he was enjoying it far too much to argue and it was apparently pleasing her too, so... what the hell. He closed his eyes and let her have her way. Sometimes, giving in to Fiona had its perks.

But he had refused to get rid of this old cast iron bathtub, despite her badgering that it took up too much space in an already tiny bathroom. After losing the argument over the ugly green chair and the workbench, Ms. Glenanne had mostly given up and learned to tolerate the 'garage sale chic' decor of the loft, except for the tub.

While Mr. Westen was possibly the world's most unsentimental person, there was something about the tub to which he was attached. It was big enough that he could actually almost lie prone in it. He had already re-porcelained it twice in the last four years. This muscle therapy session would have been impossible otherwise, even in the garden tub of her now-destroyed former condo.

Besides, there was no way to remove the thing without a crane or shoving it out the door and that would have left a four foot crater.

While Fiona was working her way up the top of his thighs, he found that almost every part of his body was relaxed. She skipped over that and began working her way down his chest with her hands while she ministered to his throat with her mouth. .

"I think that's cheating," Michael offered mildly.

"Are you going to punish me for it?" she snickered.

"I might," he murmured.

He jerked again when she hit the spot on his ribs that had impacted the floor, but she knew what had caused that. She apologized with a long, deep kiss, humming happily when she drew back..

"Am I forgiven?"

"Maybe."

He leaned in for another kiss, tracing her lips with his tongue before pushing gently into her mouth. As the kiss became more demanding, she let the now empty bottle slip from her fingers. It impacted the wooden floor with a hollow sound that startled her, breaking their lip lock..

She swallowed hard. "I think I can turn the water back on."

"And when do you get cleaned up?" he teased.

"Now," she said, standing up and turning the spray back on. It was still a little cold and now it was his turn to jump.

"You get to sit there and watch," she declared as she reached for her preferred brand of body wash.

However, Michael demanded that he return the favour, although Fiona refused to lie down in the tub. Soon she had copious amounts of Irish Spring lathered on her on top of her body wash as he had decided that there was extra washing required on the 'dirty' bits. By the time he'd finished washing his wild Irish rose inside as well as out, she was clinging to him, seemingly unable to hold herself upright without some assistance.

Michael took that as his cue, slowly lowering both of them down to the floor of tub. Before long, they were facing one another, doing his favourite thing in his favourite position in his favourite place with his favourite person. Not that she was complaining. The water was growing colder again, but there was enough body heat as they embraced and kissed and moved against one another to create steam. Fiona had came back to life, riding him in alternating strokes, first long and languid and then quick and hard bursts.

Then it was Michael's turn to groan out her name. She was already past talking, breathing in ragged pants. They held onto each other, content to stay where they were. Somewhere, distantly in the back of her mind, Fiona was happy that there hadn't been any interruptions yet. Of course, it was only a few hours until dawn. She didn't know what tomorrow- well, later today- would bring, but she was determined to hold onto happiness, hold onto him for as long as she could. It brought a smile to her face as she wondered how many more times they could please one another before they were disturbed.

She noticed he was watching her, blinking water droplets from his long eyelashes. He had such beautiful eyes. They could be so hard and so cold, but right this moment they were filled with such affection that it warmed her soul, despite the fact that the water had turned down right frigid.

"I think we need to move before we catch pneumonia," he commented.

"Hmm, does that mean you'll call in sick?"

"Fiona," he chided with more laughter than censure. She reached behind him and turned the water off with a resigned sound.

"If we stayed here, how long do you think it would take before someone came looking?" Fiona asked, pressing her forehead to his.

"Do you really want Sam or my mom to find us like this?" he chuckled.

"Point taken," she agreed, gingerly climbing off of him and out of the tub.

The lithe woman bent over the tub and began wringing out her hair while Michael toweled off his hair and back, then wrapped it around his waist.

"You're spoiling the view," his lover complained.

He smiled and then kissed her as she straightened up. She guided him backwards towards the lavatory, which he ended up sitting on as the cold porcelain impacted the back of his knees.

"I didn't say I was done with you yet," Fiona advised him.

Michael blinked. "Do I get to leave the bathroom before dawn?"

"Maybe." She leaned in and kissed him softly. "Don't go anywhere," she admonished.

Making no move to cover herself, Fiona gathered up a comb, a brush and the hair dryer. She laid the implements across his lap and plugged in the dryer.

Soon she was straddling his thighs and dragging the comb through his hair.

"My, this has gotten long. Won't the CIA pay for a haircut?" she joked.

"You know, I could do that myself," he pointed out.

She scooted closer. "You could. But it wouldn't be nearly as much fun." She turned the dryer on and he quit arguing again.

Michael couldn't understand how she could tolerate being naked like that. Not that he minded "the view" as she put it. He supposed he should be grateful that Fiona was something of an exhibitionist. But he found it hard not to cover himself. It made him feel vulnerable, something he avoided whenever possible, except those times that he had already let his guard down, usually with her.

Fiona was smiling and humming some lilting Irish melody as she continued to dry and style his hair.

It felt odd to Michael, all the attention. He was used to taking care of himself from a young age and he was far more accustomed to people trying to kill him than doting on him. He supposed when he was around more often- and he would be around more often- he'd get underfoot enough that her temper would take over and she wouldn't be quite so attentive. He told himself that he should enjoy the moment because when Hector cracked-

If Hector cracked-

"That's better," she announced. "Now you're allowed on the bed."

"What about you?" he returned, taking the hair dryer from her and picking up the brush.

Michael tried to brush her hair, but the angle he was working from and the thickness of her hair soon demonstrated that it would be impossible to do an adequate job. So he gave up and embraced her instead; kissing and hugging her, relishing the feel of her bare skin on his. After a protracted session of old school making out, she straightened up and sighed again, happily this time.

"I'll have to do something with this or it'll be unmanageable." She stood up and went to the mirror. Michael came up behind her and started applying the brush and the dryer again. It worked much better from that position. After a short while it was dry enough that Fiona declared herself satisfied with the results.

"Thank you, Michael." She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

He hugged her tightly to his chest, basking in the feel of her again; content for the moment until his stomach decided to complain.

"Are we done now?" he asked.

Fiona reached into the sink and clapped her bracelets back into place.

"I think so," she agreed.

"Good," he scooped her up into his arms, surprising her and causing her to squeal with a delighted laugh.

Michael carried her from the bathroom to the bed. It was still mostly dark in the loft, though there was the moonlight from the windows and the recessed lighting in the back was still on. He sat her on the end of bed and shook this finger at her.

"Don't go anywhere," he repeated sternly.

"Maybe," she responded impishly, but her curiosity outweighed her rebelliousness.

Fiona watched him intently as he took their clothes and laid them on the ugly green chair next to the bed. Then he moved to the refrigerator, the large white towel around his waist standing out in the darkness. He retrieved two cups of the yogurt and two spoons and then returned to the bed. Sitting down next to her, he peeled open one of the cups and offered it to her.

"I'm really not hungry yet. Maybe later."

Michael's middle announced that it was hungry even if she wasn't.

Fiona giggled and then gasped as he pushed her onto her back down on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating," he responded.

He took the spoon and dipped it into the mass of blueberry flavoured dairy product. Then he spread it in a line across her clavicle. The cold food made her break out in goose bumps. Even though she knew what was coming next, she couldn't stop herself from shivering as he licked the yogurt off her skin.

"Are you sure you don't want some?" he inquired, putting a dollop on each nipple.

"You go right ahead," she said blissfully as he proceeded to remove the fluffy white substance from her breasts. This was going to be a night to remember; a night to hold onto when the lonely ones inexorably came. The night they'd spent in that un-wasted hotel room waiting for Gilroy to call flashed through her mind. Something was changing between them tonight, just as it had then.

Michael gave her his thousand mega-watt smile and then proceeded to apply and lick the contents of both cartons off various parts of her anatomy, alternating between layering the treat on more mundane locations and then on more sensitive areas, certain of which he attended to repeatedly. He offered her spoonful's at random intervals, which she refused. Fiona accepted the times he let her taste it directly on his tongue.

Her lover was careful to avoid getting it in her hair as he snacked around her neck. He was less careful when he dumped the remainder of the second carton on the vee between her legs, causing her to shout his name in startled protest.

"Don't worry. You won't need another shower," he promised.

And he was as good as his word.

By the time he was finished cleaning up 'the mess,' Fiona was bucking and moaning so loudly he was sure they could have actually heard her all the way down in the nightclub if it had still been open. Michael paused to look down at his woman: hair fanned out, limbs sprawled, beautifully flushed. He was grateful that there was at least one area in their lives where he was absolutely certain he knew how to please her. It made the guilt from continually hurting her, unintentionally or otherwise, a little less painful.

He wondered absently as he moved in again if he could convince Publix or Dannon to make Fiona-flavored yogurt. That thought had him chuckling in spite of himself. He shook his head and tried to stop, but another laugh came out.

Fiona raised her head up and fixed him with deathly glare. "That is not what a woman wants to hear from a man in your position."

"I'm sorry," he apologized with utter sincerity. "I just don't think I'll ever be able to eat yogurt again without thinking of you."

"Good." The Irish woman cuffed both of his ears with her knees.

Michael took the hint. "I think there's still some yogurt in the fridge."

She gave him a look of desperation that held a small promise of violence.

Okay, so pleasing her was more fun, and safer, than teasing her after all.

Besides, he loved it when she screamed his name, so he went to work making sure she did that several times in the next few minutes, as she got progressively louder as it went.

"Get... up... here," she tried to order, but it lost most of its effectiveness due to the fact that she could barely talk.

"Are you sure?"

"Only if ...you want... to live... to see the... dawn," she panted.

Michael looked out the window and determined he didn't have much time to comply. He mounted her quickly and she wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning herself just so. He gave it to her hard and fast, which was what they both wanted. Fiona was making more noise than he'd ever heard from her now and part of him was very smugly pleased by that. She felt like she was on the verge of passing out, each stroke building to an explosion she knew would be epic.

And it was for both of them.

Michael might have had time to be worried about how ragged her breathing was except his own senses went into overload and all he saw was Fiona through a white haze and all he could hear was a roaring in his ears, which turned into the sounds of his own laboured breathing.

He collapsed on top of her and she didn't complain a bit. It wasn't until much later that he rolled onto his back and pulled himself up on the pillows. Fiona snuggled into his chest and pulled the sheet over both of them. It wasn't lost on her that he hadn't made a move to dress. She concluded he was just as satisfied and exhausted as she was. It had been a night of mind blowing sex, but it was also a night that strengthen the emotional connection between them as well. They drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep, the best either of them had had in months, no matter how short it turned out to be.

It was unavoidable that the call would come. Fiona was feeling generous after last night, so she didn't bite Sam's head off when he was the one to disturb them. As soon as he asked if he'd waited long enough to call, she had handed the phone wordlessly to Michael. It didn't matter when Sam called, it would have been too soon. The conversation was brief. She gathered from his side of it that Sam had something to show him at Madeline's house.

Michael did need to see his mother too, she was forced to concede. Maybe it would bring him back to the loft faster if he could take care of seeing Sam and Maddy at the same time. They lay together watching the light fill the loft, the picture of contentment; her hand rubbing the sore spot on his ribs while he lay on his back, one hand behind his head and the other lightly drawing absent circles on her spine.

They both concentrated on committing last night to memory. They both knew it was something special, something that was going to have to tide them over for Lord only knew how long. It had been months since his last visit;. it could be months before they were together again. Neither wanted to speak and say anything to shatter the warm glow, but that too was inevitable.

"How was the job?" she whispered.

She couldn't make out Michael's reply.

"I missed you," she said sincerely.

"Yeah, I got that. I think you broke a rib," he grinned, though he could feel the offended muscle group aggravating him again.

"So where were you this time?" she asked, wishing she could get away with putting one of those chemical spray trackers on him.

"Fi," he intoned.

Fiona rolled off his chest and snuggled into his ribs. She didn't want to put any distance between them, even if she was miffed.

"Right, right. right. right. You can't say. Secret spy stuff."

He smiled at the pique in her tone.

"Don't you find it somewhat ironic that for years we have been dealing with this little conspiracy-"

"I think a memo called it an unauthorized, quasi-governmental agency," he interrupted.

Fiona heaved a massive sigh and rolled over to face him.

"My point is, we fought the people who burned you for a long time, Michael."

Michael reached up and gently swept a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Now they're on the run, the CIA hunting the bastards down and we're just out," she complained.

This was part that really hurt. She and Sam had been there for him when the agency had turned their collective backs on him for the last four years and now they were the ones out in the cold.

"I wish I could tell you, Fi." He could see the hurt in those beautiful green eyes. "I really do," he apologized, continuing to run his hand through her hair.

"It's been six months now. Mysterious trips around the world with Max. It just doesn't seem fair that he should get to have all the fun." It didn't matter how upset she'd been with him for choosing to pursue this, she should have been the one to help him see it through. "I mean, he's your keeper, whatever?"

"He's my agency contact. It had to be someone, Fi." His eyes pleaded with her to understand. "The CIA wasn't just going to let me go out there alone."

Fiona laid her head on his chest, focusing on his heart beat.

Michael looked down at the top of her head, admiring the highlights in her auburn locks. Then he looked around the loft, wondering if he could push Raines hard enough to get him to include Sam and Fiona in this next operation. It did only seem fair. He could just imagine Raines' reaction. His gaze shifted back to her as he started gently rubbing her back, whether it was to comfort her or himself he wasn't sure.

"When you got burnt, it wasn't just you." She remembered the arguments now, the anger, the bitterness she had felt towards him for endangering all of them by pursuing this during those tense days leading up to their confrontation with Vaughn. "These last four years have been hard on all of us."

Michael looked up at the ceiling again as though the answers were up there somewhere. "I know and I'm really sorry about that."

He turned his eyes back to the woman who had become so important to him, as important as the answers he craved.

"But we are so close to wrapping this up and then I can move on."

Fiona heard a promise in his words. She clung to it desperately. She'd made her decision in that hotel: for better or worse.

"I hope you find what you're looking for Michael, I really do." She needed closure, too. Badly. She felt him press a light kiss onto the top of her head.

"Then we can all move on," she concluded.

He looked around the loft again, seeing her things here and there and liking how it felt.

Moving on.

How completely and utterly he desired it, even though he had only a vague idea what it would look like or how he would achieve it.

He just knew who he wanted to have there with him.

But he had to get there first. He had a job to finish and he needed answers.

And that meant leaving her again.

Michael decided that he would make it his mission to make her as happy as he could until he was called away again. Last night had been a terrific start; something he knew he would remember for the rest of his life, something he could hold onto, regardless of whatever else happened. While he was sure he wasn't up to that kind of performance every night, he was more than willing to give it his best shot.

One of the things you give up in intelligence is control over your own schedule. It's a little like being a doctor on call. Only your emergencies tend to be thousands of miles away.

Fiona had gone shopping instead of going with him to Madeline's house. She told him it was because his mother deserved a little of his attention too and Sam would be enough of a distraction. Truthfully, it was because she knew what Sam had waiting for him. Mr. Axe had consulted with her about trying to get the Charger out of impound even before Jesse had the connections to accomplish the task. She still wasn't sure how he would feel about the car, or Jesse or any of it, so she decided to let them have a boys-only reunion.

Besides, she needed to pick up some things for him to take on his next trip and she decided she'd better not waste any time. Last night had been a precious gift, but Fiona couldn't shake the feeling that she would be paying the price for it soon.

Michael was subdued when he came into the loft, but he gave her his best game-face smile. She took a moment to admire "the view" again. It didn't matter if he was wearing dress shirts and slacks or polo's and jeans, he had an air about him, a magnetism that she was hopelessly drawn to.

She set down the carryout meal she had been preparing to serve on the table by the bed and walked over to him.

They hugged as though they been apart for days instead of hours.

"So, how was your mom?" she asked, settling back to look up into his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Fine."

Oh, yes, he was definitely distracted. Her heart sank as her suspicions were confirmed.

"Did you know that Jesse quit CIFA?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes."

He looked at her for a long moment. Of course, she knew. She was here and he wasn't. Jesse's words echoed in his head.

"You know what it is? After everything I went through with you guys- helping all those people- I just- I can't do the government thing anymore. There's too much red tape. I just- it's harder than you think going back. You'll see."

There was no way he was going to let go of this until he got the answers he was looking for, until he was certain they were all in jail or dead.

But what then? What would come afterwards?

Then he noticed the shopping bags littering the bed. He was confused at first. All of the bags were from menswear, sporting goods and Army surplus stores. She followed his gaze and answered the question before he could ask it.

"I know how much you hate to shop," she said simply. "And I know you must need some things by now."

She walked over to the bed and pulled a pair of insoles out of a plain brown bag. "I think these should help until you can get a new pair of boots." She remembered how touchy he was about his in-step. "It should keep you more comfortable in the field."

Michael was completely at a loss for words. "Fi-"

The distance between them was closed in an instant.

She could feel the tears stinging her eyes as they stared at one another.

"You're leaving today."

It wasn't a question.

"It's okay. Just be safe and come back to me soon."

He swallowed thickly, overcome by his feelings for her, tightening his grip on her.

"This has to be over... for us... to be safe."

"I know," she assented, seeing the determination and longing in his expression.

"You must be hungry," she said softly, dropping her arms and turning towards the table. "Can we have supper? Do you have time?"

Michael ducked his head and nodded, biting his lower lip. He would make time.

"Go get your bags so I can pack up for you," she requested.

He raised his head up then and cradled her face between his two large hands. He was overwhelmed by her kindness, by the caring and the devotion it spoke of. Fiona had rarely been this gentle, almost never this openly understanding. Although she had made it plain how she felt about him, he had become accustomed to an altogether different kind of compassion from her.

He didn't know how to express it or how it would change once the constant threat of impending separation wasn't hanging over their heads, but something had changed between them during that time they'd held their lives in their hands, each willing to die for the other, neither willing to go on alone. They hadn't been given the time to process it together- they'd only had a small start last night- but they would have time.

He vowed that they would.

As she stared back into his adoring blue eyes, she wanted to say it, but she couldn't. She wasn't going to put him on the spot like that and she was afraid of how it would make her feel if he still couldn't verbalize what she could plainly see written on his face.

And so they kissed; pouring as much love and commitment to one another into it as they could.

It was enough for today, it would be- would have to be- enough for tomorrow,

And enough until the day they could truly be together.