A/N: Once again, thank you for the reviews. I am very grateful to those of you who find time to leave me a comment and also a big thank you to my friend, co-author and the lady who checks my grammar and spelling… the amazing Jedi Skysinger.

Originally this story was going to be twelve chapters long; however, after a discussion with Jedi Skysinger, I decided to follow her advice to take what I had and add more content to make additional chapters and give the story more depth. So, now Two Hours will be fourteen chapters with a short epilogue to finish this AU Pilot episode. At some later date, I will have more AUs in this series. But my next project will be one of the many other stories I have yet complete as both Purdy's Pal & with my writing partner, Jedi Skysinger, as Jedi's Pal.

Now back to this brand new chapter, where Michael returns home to find his mother cooking and Fiona giving combat tips to a third grader. Meanwhile, across town Sam is dealing with some bad news and somewhere Larry is lurking, watching with glee as his plans are coming together.

TWO HOURS TOO LATE

Chapter Twelve

"So tell me all about this Jake fellow and his vile friends. You said they gang up on you all at once, so tell me how they do it…" Fiona paused as her young charge pulled a face. "It's necessary for planning a proper strategy."

Madeline Westen smiled and turned away from the sink where she had been washing up a couple of glasses while staring out onto the scene taking place in her back yard. Watching her oldest son's petite, rather charming girlfriend give self-defense lessons to a scared looking eight year old was beyond cute in the eyes of the older woman.

"Show me that fighting stance again… lower your chin, tuck it in tight… tighter unless you want to risk a broken jaw. Now get them fists up–"

After wiping her hands on a tea towel, she discarded it on the counter top. Listening to Fiona's words of wisdom floating through the open the kitchen door, the bewigged blond was transported back to all the times a surly impatient teenaged Michael had attempted to teach Nate the martial arts moves the older boy had picked up in his classes.

"Bend your knees more… You've gotta be able to move fast and don't let your hands drop... Nate, are you even listening to me? You gotta – Nate! I can't watch you all the time… Pay attention! How else are you gonna stop Randy and his gang from beating the snot outta you when I'm not around?"

Madeline sighed heavily. Her baby boy had always been more of a dreamer than a fighter. How often had Michael had to go and settle some misunderstanding his little brother had gotten into?

She glanced back to the door and pursed her lips. Michael always had been protective of Nate and now that he was back at home, it looked like her oldest son was back to looking after little boys in danger. With that happy thought in mind, Madeline left the two to their training and turned her attention to the Pyrex dish in her oven containing a bubbling mix of pasta shells and a tomato and herb sauce.

It had been a long time since she had cooked for anyone other than herself. But that poor boy Fiona had ushered inside had looked so skinny and traumatized; her heart had over-ruled her patchy memory of previous culinary disasters. In a moment of madness, she had decided she would prepare a feast, a pasta bake for Fiona, David and David's father Javier, who would arriving soon to pick up his son.

Pasta Bake was easy, wasn't it? She had followed the instructions closely… all that was left was to sprinkle some cheese on top. Her family used to eat that dish without too much complaining…

Mrs Westen bit down on her bottom lip. She had been alone for so long. Oh, she had the girls' poker night once a week and all her classes at the senior center helped. But none of that was the same as having family around you... What was taking Michael so long anyway?

As if on cue, a light tapping from the front of the house had her head shooting up. That had to be David's dad. Closing the oven door, Madeline straightened and headed swiftly for the front door, pulling it open without even bothering to check who was there. She was really looking forward to meeting this new friend of her son's and finding out all about what they were up to.

"Hello, come on –Michael? Oh Michael, come inside, quick. Is it even safe for you coming to the front door like that?" She reached out, grabbing ahold of her son's arm and almost dragging him inside.

"You said I–"

"Why are you dressed like that?" Giving him no time to answer her first question, she continued to quiz him this time about his appearance. "Where did you get that ragged old hat? It looks like the one you used to wear when you were fixing the cars."

Shaking free of her grip, her son tossed down the ball cap and black wrap-around sunglasses he'd been wearing onto the coffee table along with the keys to the borrowed Ford pick-up truck. "It is the same old hat…" Ridiculous disguise anyway. "Mom, where's Fiona? Is she still here?"

"She's out back with David. She's teaching him some self-defense moves... Do you remember when you and Nate used to play fighting and-"

"Not now, Mom."

Her heart sunk a little; her long lost son was barely paying her any attention. Her hand tentatively reached out, brushing over his arm as he swept by her on his way outside without another word.

"You are staying for dinner, aren't you?" the blonde called out. "It's a pasta bake. I made it sp – ecial..." Her speech faded as her eldest disappeared from view without even acknowledging her words.

Sadly, Madeline slumped down in her favorite chair and pulled a cigarette from the pack on the small table next to her supply of regular medication. Michael didn't mean to be so dismissive… He has a lot on his mind.

She lit the cigarette and drew in a deep calming lungful of nicotine; tipping her head back, she watched the cloud of smoke spread upwards as she exhaled. Things would get better now that he was home. Fiona promised Michael was going to speak to Nate and they both would be home for Christmas dinner.

oo BN oo

Meanwhile outside, unaware of how much he had just hurt his mother's feelings, Mr Westen stood on the top step just outside the kitchen door, his eyes fixed on the scene taking place before him.

Kneeling on the grass with her hands held out in front of her, palms facing outwards, Fiona Glenanne, famed IRA bank robber and gun runner, faced Javier's son as the boy threw a flurry of punches.

"Thot's it, nar throw yar weight inta each one... C'mon, just like I showed ya, one taa, one taa an' then use an upper cut, right under tha chin."

He smiled as the third grader followed instructions, hitting her palms with alternate blows before moving in with an upper cut in front of the Irishwoman's face.

"Excellent job! So, how does that feel?" she asked, reverting to her American accent now that the lesson was over. Fiona got to her feet and then leaned down to brush the grass off her knees. As she did so, she spotted the dark haired man watching from the steps.

"Michael…" The redhead's cheerful grin faded as her whole demeanor became more guarded. "I hope you've tidied up David's home. He was rather upset over the mess in the hall. I told him I was sure you would replace everything that was damaged."

"It's been cleaned up… mostly…" Michael smiled smoothly and walked towards her. "I see you've been keeping busy."

"Yes, David told me all about how he got that black eye of his and I offered to show him a way of making sure it never happened again." She turned to the boy, her expression instantly softening. "David, would you like to show Michael your moves?"

"Sure," The youngster answered with a grin and in a show of enthusiasm raised his fists and began to bounce lightly on his toes while he waited for his instructor to take up her position.

"Nar, what did I tell ya?" Fiona asked, as she kneeled and held out her hands.

"When facing an overwhelming force, you should attack first and show no mercy," the eight year old recited and then when Fiona nodded, David jabbed with his fists and then sent out two low kicks which Michael recognized were designed to attack the opponent's ankles and knees before delivering the rapid set of punches.

"There, wasn't he great?" Fiona enthused. David high fived her when she sprang back to her feet. "He reminds me of Sean…" Michael had a momentary flash of the sibling nearest to her in age. "You didn't know me back then, but Sean used to love sparring with our big brother Patrick." She ruffled the boy's hair. "We'll have to talk to your dad about some karate training or boxing lessons."

"I'm sure Javier will be here soon. You can ask him about it over dinner. I understand my mom is cooking." He pulled a face, as his senses were suddenly assailed by the memories of all the overcooked, dried out dishes he had been forced to consume over the years. He had been the only recruit in Basic that never complained about the food.

"Miz Fiona, you promised to show me what to do if they knock me down. I told you they mostly knock me down and then beat on me." The soft voice of Javier's son brought an end to the unwelcome memory.

"Oh yes, I did, didn't I? Michael, would you like to help me with this?" His former girlfriend's blue-green eyes flashed in his direction. "You can play Jake the bully. Do you think you can do that?"

"Sure…" Michael answered warily as he joined the pair on the grass. In the back of his mind he was praying Fiona wasn't about to use this lesson as an excuse to punish him for all the perceived slights she felt he had committed over the years. "What do you want me to do?

What he really wanted to do was give her the truck keys back and disappear; however, some level of interaction would be required to keep her from following him back out to his borrowed Porsche.

"I want you to knock me down," she answered with an evil smirk.

Swallowing thickly, he nodded and moved in front of her.

"Do you remember me telling you that the best thing is not to get pushed over in the first place?" Fiona addressed her student. "That you should practice being aware of your environment and when you sense danger, be ready, get up on your toes and keep moving. But when that fails, you need a back-up plan..." The redhead returned her gaze to her ex-lover. "Okay Michael, you push me down now and act like you're going to hit me like a coward would once I'm down."

Sucking in a breath, he gave her a shove and as she fell, the burned spy moved forward doing as the petite former paramilitary had asked. "Now you need to roll into a ball, make sure you tuck your chin in, used your arms to protect your ribs and kidneys."

As she demonstrated, Michael mimicked the moves, pretending to kick her. "Then what you're going to do is this... Ready?" Fiona looked up at her alleged assailant, her mouth now twisted into what he could only describe as a wicked grin and then sprung upwards. She would have caught him firmly under the chin if he hadn't gotten a hand out to block her head.

"Then you follow up with those punches we've been practicing." Thankfully, she shadowed boxed the one two sequence they had been demonstrating earlier rather than pummeling his actual abused ribs. "So, are you ready to try?" Fiona inquired, pushing back several stray strands of hair from her face.

For several minutes, they took David through the moves while Michael was torn between mentally calculating how quickly he could leave and wishing there was a way he could spend more time with her as he admired her lithe form. But Madeline calling from the kitchen distracted the dark haired man from his internal waffling.

"Look who's here," the older woman announced happily. When David looked up, he let out a yell and ran towards his father.

"Michael…" Javier spoke with warmth in his voice as soon as he had finished cuddling his son. "I don't have the words, you and your friends, thank you."

"I cleaned up your place pretty well…" He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "But you're going to need to call somebody to put on a new front door today and redecorate one wall …" Straightening up, he spoke at a normal volume for the benefit of his audience. "But nobody is going to bother you or your family again... You can go home after a couple of days. You do have somewhere to stay, right?"

"Yes, yes, we'll be visiting my sister. Thank you, Michael. If there is anything I can do for you, anything—"

The burned spy shook off the thanks and tried to disengage, but Javier wasn't having it.

"Thank you again, both of you. I don't know what to say…" The estate manager was still thanking them, having hugged him which Michael had tolerated awkwardly, the older man was patting him on the shoulder while shaking Fiona warmly by the hand.

"Don't worry about it. Erm, just don't mention it…seriously you can't talk about– "

Michael was feeling slightly guilty about how he had used the Cuban for his own ends and it was a feeling he definitely didn't like... Maybe Larry was right? Maybe he was getting soft... Now he definitely needed to get to DC as quick as possible. Discovering who had burned him was the only important thing and this was definitely getting him off track.

"Michael, don't be so rude," Fiona kicked him hard on the ankle, "I'm sorry Javier, Michael isn't used to doing things that people thank him for." She smiled sweetly, as David's father gave them both a puzzled look.

"Fiona, boys, dinner is ready." The burned spy was actually glad when his mother suddenly interrupted the proceedings. "I hope you're all feeling hungry, I've made a lovely pasta bake. It used to be Michael's favorite growing up."

He started to protest. Nothing he remembered about his mother's cooking could be classified as favorite… it was all varying forms of least objectionable… But their guest saved him the trouble.

"Mrs Westen, you didn't have to – "

"Nonsense, it must be David's dinner time and Fiona told me about the mess Michael made of your home. You must stay." Not waiting to hear anything more, Madeline ushered Javier and his son inside. "Sweetheart, go wash your hands and face... It has been lovely having David stay. He is such a polite boy, you must be very proud."

Michael didn't hear Javier's reply as he paused, his eyes sliding shut in a slow blink as he prepared to take advantage of his mother's interruption.

"Michael, shall we?" He flinched at the light touch on his back from the woman he had once thought he could have loved.

Pursing his lips, her former lover altered his gaze so he could look her in the eye. Where Fiona Glenanne was concerned, saying goodbye was usually a painful experience, one he tried to avoid. He still had the scars to prove it…

"Tell my mom to save mine for later." He smiled broadly. "Actually, I only came to bring you back your truck, which you might want to change the license plate on; that is if you're going to keep it. I have somewhere else to be right now."

"And you will be coming back from this somewhere else…" She cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. It wasn't a question; it was an unvoiced threat of what she would do if he didn't return.

He stared back at her, unconsciously chewing on his bottom lip. This wasn't how he wanted to end things. She had been very helpful, just as Sam had been. It was very tempting to tell her about his deal with his former mentor.

He looked away. Tempting, but not tempting enough. Fiona would get over him disappearing just the way his mom would too. Sure, they might be a bit mad, but that was the way it had to be. He was putting them in danger by hanging around where contact between them and the FBI or Larry would become inevitable.

He hardened his resolve and his expression grew blank. "Fi, I left your keys on the coffee table. Go ahead and eat and don't wait for me. Let my mom know I had to go." Then before she could reply, he sprinted over to fence and with a nimble leap completed his escape to the sound of the angry Irishwoman's threats.

"Ya better be back soon– Or Am comin' after ya!"

Several minutes later, Michael stood on the street where he had left Sam's Porsche. He looked up and down the road, his eyes scanning the few vehicles parked along the curbs. None of them were the high end late model German engineered sports cars he had left there hours ago. It was gone? Who? When?

The former operative's highly tuned paranoia took over and he faded back out of sight next to the house with the For Sale sign on the lawn. With his heart beating like a drum, he took another stealthier look along the street, searching for any sign that he was being watched, all the while his mind was racing.

Why steal his car? It couldn't be the Feds. If it had been them, there would have been a tactical team moving in on him right now. So, if not them, then who…?

The hyper alert spy spotted movement down the street, just a flash of color behind a row of bushes marking the dividing line between two properties. Michael ducked down lower and then at the sound of laughter coming from the direction he was looking, he relaxed... It was kids playing

In a flash of realization, the former Miami native leaned back against the empty house, his whole body sagging. What the hell had he been thinking leaving a fifty grand car alone in this neighborhood? Twenty plus years ago, it would have been him and his best friend Andre boosting that mint condition sports car.

This was why he avoided this place like the plague… Michael shook his head in disgust at his lack of tactical awareness and then gulped as he realized that he was going to have to tell Sam his sugar momma's fancy ride had been jacked.

Quickly scanning the vehicles parked along the street, his heart sunk. None of the automobiles available were the right sort for a quick theft and there were too many witnesses as people were arriving home from work. He didn't have time to walk around for ages searching for a new ride.

Pursing his lips, the burned spy looked up at the clear blue Florida sky as if searching for inspiration.

This was bad... Sam was going to kill him for this. Reaching blindly into his pants pocket, he brought out his phone, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface as he tried to come up with a way to avoid making the call. The thieves were long gone; the Porsche was probably already in pieces waiting to be shipped out of the state or maybe even the country.

With a heavy sigh, the ex-CIA agent brought the cell up to eye level. He really didn't have a choice unless he wanted Sam to never to speak to him again. The cell only had four numbers in the contacts list. He pressed number one, for the first person he had genuinely wanted to help him.

"Hey Sam…" He spoke as soon as the call connected, wincing as he heard a woman hurling obscenities in the background.

"Hey Mikey, I was just about to call you, brother. You have really screwed the pooch on this one. Me and you are going to have words as soon as I've got the little lady calmed down."

"LITTLE LADY! Did you dare just call me a l – " The yelling in the background suddenly went up at least three octaves. Michael removed his ear from the phone while feeling nothing but pity for his comrade.

"Baby, please, sugar lips, I can explain– "

"Sam… Sam… SAM…! It sounds like you've gotta enough problems right now, call me back when you're, er, free." The dark haired man ended the call and closed his eyes and took several deep breaths... "Well, that went well," he said to no one in particular.

Straightening up, he looked back the way he had came and then back to the streets. He still had a feeling that there were eyes on him somewhere close by. Then with a shrug of his shoulders, he turned back to the fence which blocked the way to his old family home. Hopefully, Fiona is in a more accommodating mood than… He thought deeply but the name of Sam's probably ex-sugar mama refused to come to mind… whoever… At least the redhead would have no reason to chase him down once he had returned.

The ex-spy took a running leap at the wooden barrier, his fingers gripping the edge and holding his upper body weight until he hooked first one leg and then the other over the top. Landing on the soft ground on the other side of the barrier, Michael sucked in a breath, feeling a faint pull on his chest. But not so bad it was going to stop him. One more fence to go and then he had better be prepared for a battle of his own.

oo BN oo

Well, that was fun... It really was amazing how far fifty dollars went in certain parts of Miami.

Larry Sizemore placed his phone down on the plastic table in front of him and leaned back in his chair at his new favorite cafe overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

"Señor…?"

The undead assassin looked up at the petite waitress who smiled back at him. "Sure, get me another of those cortaditos, oh and bring me one of those Cuban sandwiches." Greasy food wasn't his usual choice, but he only planned on being the city for another day or two, so why not live a little?

With the pretty brunette gone to see to his order, Larry turned his attention back to watch the passing crowds as in his mind began his own private internal debrief.

Getting a bug into his former protégé's cell phone had been easy. It had just been a case of waiting for the right moment to lift the device and then return it without being caught. It had been a piece of cake, Larry gave himself a mental pat on the back. The Kid had been too occupied getting Pyne strapped down in that chair to notice light fingers lifting the slim phone from where it had protruded from his back pocket as he was bent over and then a few minutes later, he had returned it after handing the Beretta to the younger man to dismantle, brushing up against his associate to whisper some instructions that informed as well as distracted.

Later on, when he had noticed Michael's reluctance to look at the dossier on Sam Axe, which he had already half expected, he had congratulated himself on his foresight. Having ears on his soon to be partner was just a precaution to make sure the Kid didn't balk when given a job to do.

The training wheels were back on for now. Whatever Michael had been doing since St Petersburg, it hadn't sharpened his skills. From what he'd read in the burn notice dossier, the Kid had gotten sloppy and violent… just like Vedeno… Sloppy he could deal with, violent he preferred… But apparently being burned and back home had done something to the killer instincts that Michael had displayed all over the Middle East…

No problem, he could fix that too once they had left Miami in the dust…

He chuckled lightly, as he imagined the younger man's face when he had discovered Sam Axe's girl friend's car had gone missing. Though Michael didn't know the rest of it, the car had been used in an attempted armed robbery. He would have given several thousand dollars to have been a fly on the wall when the little lady got that piece of bad news.

"Señor…your order…" The pretty waitress was back with a tray holding his drink and sandwich.

"Thank you, my dear...You have a nice day." He altered his expression into a beaming smile which caused the young woman to blush and mutter her thanks.

There was nothing wrong with wishing one of the little people a good day, especially as he was having such a good time. Vince's body would be found in one of the many car lots close to Opa-Locka Airport. The Berretta with Pyne's fingerprints all over it would be discovered discarded in a trash bin outside said airport. It should be enough to make the cops think that Pyne had done the shooting and absconded. Meanwhile, the former real estate mogul was on his way far out to sea where any evidence of his death would never come to light.

He lifted the tiny cup and took a sip of the bitter brew. He'd told Michael that he would be out of town for a couple days handing over the paintings and the deeds to the mansion and to pick up his pay. But his whole operation was far slicker than that. You don't remain dead for a decade without learning to hide your identity. A photograph as proof of death had been sent through his anonymous email account and the paintings, after he had seen his money arrive in his off shore account, had been left in a storage locker belonging to one of his latest aliases' many shell corporations to be picked up by his client's courier.

Now he had two days to see what the Kid would do: First with the dossier of damning evidence against Sam Axe and second to see if he still had the tactical skills to get himself off a dual murder charge... If Michael was smart, he'd find a way to blame Axe for the double homicides before finishing him off. If the Kid stuck a knife in Sam Axe, then he'd help him out with the Feds. If not, well then his former protégé would be on his own.

oo BN oo

Standing with his back pressed up against the side of his mom's house, Michael tried to slow his breathing and prepare for his next move. From the window above his head, he could hear happy voices chatting over a meal.

In any covert operation, your first concern is remaining undetected. Whether you're infiltrating a military base or contemplating taking your mom's car without her knowing, staying invisible is tough.

As soon as he had climbed over the last wall and slid down amongst the thorn vines of his mother's Bougainvillea plant, he had realized the answer to his problem was simple. He wouldn't bother to ask to borrow her car, he would just take it. He could hot wire the older Seville in his sleep…

"Michael, I thought I spotted a dark shape lurking outside."

But no matter how good you are...

The redhead stood with her hands on her hips. " Have you come back for some of your mother's delightful pasta meal?"

Sometimes they're better...

His head bowed, the master spy slumped against the wall. Then with a heavy sigh, he faced his former girlfriend smiling sweetly down at him from the door way.

"Michael?" She leaned forward lowering her voice to a whisper. "Donnae ya dare tell me ya war nae about ta nick yar mam's car? So help me Michael West– "

"Michael? Oh good, you're back." The arrival of his mother caused her to break off her attack, but that didn't mean the burned spy felt any safer. "Come on in, I knew you'd be home, didn't I say so, Fiona?"

With Fiona's smoldering gaze on him and Madeline smiling expectantly over the red head's shoulder, Michael knew when he was beaten. With another heavy sigh, the reluctant ex-spy walked slowly like a man going to his death up the steps of his hated childhood home.

"Sure, mom, that's it, I came back for a bowl of pasta bake." His blue orbs locked on his former lover's blue-green eyes just for a second. It was a flat cold stare that he usually saved for those who had let him down.

However, the Irishwoman as bold as ever ignored the patent Michael Westen death glare and wrapped her arm about his, bumping him with her hip as she leaned in close, her lips once again inches from brushing against his ear. "Come on, you can sit next to me... Javier has been telling me all about how you came to help him."

He tried not to wince as long sharp nails dug into the exposed flesh on his arm, hard enough to leave a mark.

She knew about Sam... His stomach clenched and it wasn't because of the sight of the red lumpy goo his mother was carefully ladling into a bowl before him. On the other hand, it could be about almost anything his mother might have said to her in the last half hour or so… No point jumping to conclusions, Michael tried to tell himself, although his finely tuned sense of paranoia was telling him otherwise.

"Michael, I'm glad you were able to make it back. Your mother has been telling us how much she's missed you while you've been away," Javier spoke from the other side of the table.

"Did you have to shoot another bad guy?" David piped in from next to his father.

"Michael!" his mother squeaked. "Did you shoot someone?"

The burned spy stared hard at the boy, who suddenly became very engrossed in his own bowl of food.

"David has a big imagination," his father cut in, feeling rather than seeing the intense glare aimed at his child. "Your son was helping me with some people who have been giving us trouble. We really appreciate it. I don't know how you managed to-"

"Michael used to be a secret agent, but he's put all that behind him now." Fiona smiled wickedly, her grin masking the fact that her former lover had just kicked her under the table.

"Really…?" Javier looked between the two, trying to decide if the pretty lady who had apparently spent an hour teaching his son to fight was being serious or not. "So, are you two a couple again?"

Michael paled at the question and began to spoon the warm overcooked tomato and cheese pasta shells into his mouth.

"Like I was telling you, we were very close. Once upon a time I had hoped to be a June bride."

Everyone looked at Madeline's son as he suddenly choked, his face going red, until Fiona rather forcefully smacked him on the back.

"So, ah, Fiona, are still planning on staying here?" Madeline broke the silence. "Fiona asked me to help her pick out a place to live," she explained to her other guests.

"We'll see… I like it here… Michael's still making plans…" Fiona fluttered her eye lashes at the man who was studiously ignoring her. After having recovered from choking, he had returned to his attempt to finishing the meal in record time, a skill he hadn't had to use at this particular dinner table in a very long time. It would be another decade or so if ever before it happened again if he had anything to say about it.

"Will you be looking for a job…? Why, only the other day I heard Mrs. Montgomery from Hernandez's Body Shop saying they would be looking for some help, now that her eldest is expecting. I mean you being so good with cars and all. It would only be part time. But then they're always looking for help at the Winn Dixie…"

Madeline's words faded away as the scrape of Corelware on the wooden surface drew her attention to her son's cold hard stare.

"Thank you, Madeline, but I have some irons in the fire of my own..." Fiona's cheery tones continued as if the frosty atmosphere beginning to fill the room didn't exist. "Michael, aren't you looking for a new job, now you've finished helping Javier?"

"I'm not out of work," the burned spy answered flatly, dropping his spoon into the empty bowl.

"Really, because if you are, I could let some in my community know– you've been a hero to me and my son. I'm sure we–" the grateful former estate manager blurted out his offer.

"No! No, I'm no hero, I'm not out of work and it's better for everyone if you don't tell anyone what happened... Javier, can I have a word with you… outside?" Michael asked, getting to his feet.

"Of course," the older man agreed, rising from his chair and moving towards the kitchen. "I can't thank you enough for what you and Señor Axe have done for us."

Dammit! Now that the cat was completely out of the bag, her ex-lover hurriedly moved away from the table, trying to get out of Fiona's reach as she processed what Madeline's dinner guest had just said.

"Axe…? Would that be Sam Axe by any chance?" she inquired, her blue green eyes flashing dangerously.

"C'mon, Javier," the dark haired man hustled the Cuban towards the back door before anyone else could object. "Fiona can you help mom with the dishes?" he called over his shoulder as they left the house. "Thanks!"

"Look, Javier, you cannot tell anyone what happened. Unless you want to be the center of another police investigation because your boss and his bodyguard have skipped town, you will keep your mouth shut… you and David, do you understand me? We went to a lot of trouble to keep him safe. You can't go to jail, remember?" Michael stared hard at the older man, willing to him understand his tenuous situation.

"Okay," David's father agreed with a nod. "I'll tell him… He'll understand."

"Good. Now you have somewhere to go for the next couple of days?"

"My sister's house… she – "

"You also need to get someone over fix your front door," Michael cut him off. "You tell them the neighbor called about a break-in while you were out of town. Do it today, understood?"

"Keep quiet and fix the front door…" Javier repeated, turning to see his son and the petite redhead exit the kitchen door. "David, it's time to go… Thank you again, Michael."

"No, thanks needed. I didn't do anything…" he emphasized the latter statement before pasting his best charming smile on his face. "Fiona, my car won't start. Any chance I can borrow yours again?"

"I could give you a ride," Javier offered. "It's the least I can do…"

Michael was severely tempted to not have to fight with Fiona, but tactically it was a poor choice. "No thanks. That would be the opposite of not being seen with me…"

"You should let your girlfriend look at it," Madeline said as she joined the group standing in her backyard. "She fixed mine."

Michael glared at Fiona. "I'll bet she did," he muttered under his breath. "And she's not my girlfriend," he contradicted his mother in a somewhat louder tone.

"Oh, I think we were much more than that, don't you, Michael?" the redhead inquired, smiling sweetly. "Shall we go and see what's wrong with your car while Madeline says her goodbyes to Javier and David." As she beamed at the other three, Michael felt a momentary flash of gratitude for her arranging his exit. But only until her next words. "If nothing else, we can tow it back here with the truck. Then I think you owe me at least a drink."

"Oh, why go and spend your money? There's plenty to choose from in the liquor cabinet," Madeline interjected.

"Mom, we could be awhile. Don't wait up for us. Javier, remember what I said. Let's go, Fi."

"Michael, don't be rude," his mother admonished.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll teach him some manners while we're out," she said, taking his other arm and giving him a matching set of cut marks from her long manicured nails. "Goodbye, David. Remember what I said. Be good and listen to your father. We'll be back soon, Madeline," she promised with a cheery wave of her free hand.

As his former Irish lover escorted him down the driveway and away from his childhood home, Michael Westen looked up briefly at the sky, once again caught between begging for help and cursing everything.

He couldn't wait to get the hell outta Miami…