A/N:Hello again fellow Burners. As promised a timelier update. I would like to thank my super-fan mentors who patiently answered my many questions and gave me much needed advice and guidance. This chapter is dedicated to them, my posse: Barb, Kate, Robin, Ruth and T. Still don't own Burn Notice or its characters but it would make a nifty graduation gift Matt Nix. Second part of this chapter will be up soon, thank you for all the reviews, keep them coming! K

He watched her retreat and realized he would make good on his promise and, for the first time in his life, Michael Westen started to contemplate a future beyond the CIA.

Chapter 12

They drove to the air field in relative silence. Michael watched her profile, deciding he had never in his life seen anyone so beautiful. Her auburn hair was hung in loose curls, her face delicate yet strong, the memory of her lips….He had to stop this; the distraction could be dangerous. He put back on his spy persona and spoke about the mission.

"We'll be staying at the Waldorf-Astoria in Berlin," Michael began. "The gala will be held in the Grand Ball Room this evening. My German contact has told me that Dietrich will be waiting for us to introduce ourselves. Artur has already informed him of O'Leary's troubles and that I'm looking for an introduction to someone who is willing to trade some big guns, so to speak."

"This sounds a little too easy, Michael, "Fiona said thoughtfully. "As a gun runner, I would never agree to a cold introduction. Are you sure Dietrich is the king pin?"

"I think my intel is solid, Fi," Michael answered a little defensively. "It's been correct to date."

"With the exception of O'Leary's little surprise," Fiona said smugly. "Or are you forgetting that wee mishap? I still have the scars from that slip in that particular intel."

"Of course, I remember, Fi," he retorted. "I don't know what I would have done if you had not survived," Michael finished softly.

"I suspect you would be recruiting a new wife, unless Liam got a hold of you first," the redhead said with a hint of sarcasm.

"That's not what I mean and you know it!" Michael's voice rose in frustration.

"Look, here we are at the airfield. Time for Mr. and Mrs. McAdams to put aside their differences," Fiona said smoothly.

A pilot greeted them and then an attendant loaded their bags. IDs were checked and the McAdams entered the small cabin. They sat together, Fiona at the window. The flight would be just over 90 minutes. As the plane journeyed down the run way, shaking on its take off, Fiona unconsciously grabbed Michael's hand, who in turn held it tightly.

Michael looked down at their joined hands and hoped that the rest of this mission would be smoother than the take off, because once this operation was complete, then he would have the time to make her understand, to allow her to see once and for all that the betrayal she rightfully felt was more than it seemed. Michael McBride was a cover, yes that was true. But inside Michael McBride was Michael Westen's heart and what he felt was so much more than a cover. Looking at her profile, her jaw set, a wall firmly erected, he knew that he had his work cut out for him.

The flight progressed smoothly. They engaged in small talk, talk that you would find acquaintances conversing about. They spoke in low, muted tones. While they were the only passengers on this flight, they were keenly aware that even the pilot could be someone out to betray them. She admitted that she had never been to Germany and that in fact she had rarely been out of Ireland. He told her what he knew about the country and specifically the city they were travelling to, all the while keeping his reasons for being in Germany close to the vest.

"And what about your home town, where are you from?" she asked.

"My hometown really isn't home to me," Michael answered cryptically. Fiona stiffened slightly, his vagueness registering to her as mistrust. "Home is somewhere that you feel safe, comfortable and want to return to. Where I grew up…..well, it wasn't any of those things, so I don't plan on ever going back."

"But what about your family?" she asked surprised. Despite Margaret Glenanne's grief stricken rantings, the Glennanne clan was very close. The Glennanne siblings would die for each other; their fierce loyalty and allegiance to each other was legendary. In Belfast, Dublin, even as far away as London, victims who had dared to cross a Glennanne lay buried.

"My family is small, not Catholic or Irish," he teased, hoping to divert this uncomfortable conversation. Fiona would not be so easily dissuaded. She felt she had known Michael McBride and was determined to find out about Michael Westen. She felt deep down that if he would open up the door to his heart even a little, she could kick it down and finally be able to stop guessing who he really was.

"What about your parents Michael, are they still about? They must miss ya when you are gone running around the world. I know me da hates it when I am workin' out of his geographical area."

"Well, my father was nothing like your da, Fi," Michael said softly. "He died last year."

Sorry to hear, Michael" Fiona said sympathetically.

Don't be," Michael answered emotionlessly. "He wasn't worth it. Like I said, he was nothing like your father. He was an alcoholic bastard who woke up every day and vowed to make everyone in his life as miserable as he was."

"It must have been hard on your mum to bury someone though, "she said thoughtfully

"I wouldn't know, I was 'unavailable' to attend the service, "Michael retorted with a tone that inferred that this part of the conversation was now over. Fiona looked at Michael, surprised that he shared something so personal with her. Michael let out a slow breath, surprised at himself for sharing something that, until that moment, no one had known. Perhaps their relationship was changing.

Fiona remained silent as she watched the spy beside her, the twitch in his jaw belying the stoic front he was trying to portray. While they rested in their seats, Michael reveled with every bump of turbulence as whenever the plane shook Fiona would once again unconsciously grab for his hand. The contact shot electric volts straight to his heart and he hoped that as soon as the Berlin leg of this mission was out of the way they could reconnect.

A limousine was waiting for the "McAdams" at the private airfield and whisked them to the opulent Waldorf Astoria. The couples entered the luxurious lobby, presented their IDs to the front desk and were taken to their king-sized suite on the 23rd floor. The room was magnificent, beautifully decorated with a panoramic view of the city. Fiona couldn't help but gasp when they entered. Michael smiled, glad that he could experience this with her.

The bell hop put their bags in the bedroom to the side of the living area; Michael tipped him well and closed the door behind him.

"We'll have room service send us up something to eat, "he said. "Then we will need to prepare for tonight." Fiona simply nodded, still overwhelmed by the beauty of their surroundings.


Michael stood in front of the mirror, trying without success to put his bow tie on straight. The door to the suite opened and Fiona appeared. Michael felt like he had been punched in the solar plexus, his breath left his lungs and he felt his heart race.

She was a vision in black and the most stunning thing he had ever seen. The petite woman was wearing a dress that fit her like the designer himself had used her as his muse. It was black silk, a single strap exposing her beautiful shoulders and emphasizing her exquisite neck. The lines of the dress hugged her curves and the light appeared to shimmer around her, casting her in a glowing halo. The look was finished by a pair of black lace covered 6 inch Louboutin shoes. Her hair was styled in a chic up-do, auburn tendrils fell at the side highlighting her green-blue eyes.

She approached him, watching his face closely with a curious look and her thoughts racing. Why wasn't he saying anything? Was the dress too much? Was her hair wrong?

She reached for his tie, which he had forgotten as his brain was awash with feelings of longing and desire that left him weak.

"You look very handsome, Michael, "she said softly as she efficiently tied the bowtie around his neck.

"You are… I can't even put it into words," he stammered

"For the price of these clothes, they could transform the Hunchback of Notre Dame himself into a beauty queen," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"No, "he replied, grabbing her hand. "You look beautiful… You ARE beautiful."

Then Fiona Glennanne did something she rarely did if ever. She actually blushed a little under his intense gaze.

"Well Mr. McAdams we better get this show on the road, "she finally said and, tucking her arm through his, they left their suite.

The Grand Ball room was elegant and magnificent, styled to please the uber-rich clientele that it served. Fiona and Michael entered the room and all eyes were drawn to the pair. To the naked eye, they appeared to be a beautiful and obviously wealthy couple, who appeared to be deeply in love. Fellow guests could see a handsome young man who could not take his eyes off his lovely partner and she, a vision to behold, molded herself into his embrace.

What people couldn't see was the fact that while Michael was enthralled with his 'wife,' the operative in him had already made note of the exits in the ballroom, the blind spots where an assassin could hide and the number of security on hand.

Similarly, while basking in the warm embrace of her former lover, the ex-IRA soldier took note of the fire power of the security detail, places where C4 could be strategically placed in the event an exit strategy was called for and a quick recall of where she had tactically hidden on her person a number of weapons for use at her disposal.

Michael leaned in to her, whispering in her ear, "I have my Sig under my jacket in the event you find yourself need a weapon. I noticed you did not bring a handbag."

"Do you honestly think I would go anywhere unarmed, McBride? A party is not a party without some fire power and a hidden knife or two," she retorted with an ever widening grin.

"Where in that dress could you possibly hide a weapon?" Michael asked seriously.

"Well, if you are a good boy, Mr. McAdams, I just might let you look for them later," Fiona replied in a sultry manner and laid a kiss to their joined hands.

The usually unflappable spy swallowed hard, his mind distracted, and for the first time in his life, Michael Westen temporarily forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing.