A/N – This M-rated missing moment takes place at the start of Episode 1.09 and answers a question from Wanted Man that's always bugged me: how did Fiona manage to get Michael to put the dossier down and go to the beach of all places? As always, much love and many thanks to all the #Burners out there for all their support. I appreciate every review for my stories as well as for my joint efforts under the name Jedi's Pal with the amazing Purdy's Pal. And a very special birthday shout out to DKougar. Enjoy!
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Michael Westen had screwed up…. monumentally… massively… colossally…completely and utterly…
Broken Arrow-and-lost-the-launch-code-to-all-the-nukes bad...
Screwed the pooch…
FUBAR…
What was worst was that he'd only figured it out after the door to the loft had vibrated in its frame and actually knocked something off the work bench with the force of its closing. It essentially took a far more determined effort to slam the heavy metal object as opposed to keeping it from closing too hard.
What was worse still was that he hadn't even really figured it out then on his own. He knew Fiona had left in a bit of a snit. But it had, in point of fact, taken Sam Axe walking through the door hours later to assist Michael in ascertaining just exactly how big a train wreck his latest relationship faux pas truly was with the woman who was not his girlfriend at the moment, or so he'd told anyone who would listen.
"Whatcha got there, Mikey?" his buddy asked as the former SEAL went behind the ex-spy seated at the breakfast bar to retrieve a cold one from the icebox.
"The reasons for my burn notice," he replied succinctly, staring at the pages of the dossier Bly had handed him. "More or less…"
"Are there pictures?" Sam inquired, peering over his shoulder. "Are there any of me in there?"
"In the very front, yeah…" The dark haired man was examining at a photo of a bus explosion somewhere in the Middle East. "What's more interesting is what's in the back half. Nothing like reading a fictionalized account of your life; I'd have burned me too if I'd actually done half of what this says."
It takes a while to learn how to read intelligence files. They start as stacks of unrelated documents, but stick with it long enough and a pattern can emerge. Of course, not all intelligence is reliable, which means when you're done checking the file, you have to check the source.
"Oh, speaking of burning, brother, I think you burned a big bridge with Fiona. She didn't go into too many details, which for Fi, you know, that means she was REALLY pissed. But, seriously, she bit my head clean off when I called to thank her for helping me out with Ronnie."
Michael stopped staring at the paperwork in front of him and lifted his gaze to the rumpled sheets still lying atop the mattress. When was the last time he'd gotten up and not made his bed immediately? As his eyes drifted back down, he realized belatedly that he was still wearing the same pajama bottoms he had slipped into when he'd awoken in the early morning hours after he and Fiona had…
Uh…Oh….
Not good…
"So your little scheme to blackmail Bly into getting this for ya really worked, huh?" Mr. Axe chuckled and he reached around the suddenly still man to flip through a couple of pages. "Man, this stuff is real bad."
Yeah, bad… He probably was lucky not to have collected another scar… His hand unconsciously drifted towards the mark on the right side of his chest where the beer bottle she'd flung at him had shattered the day she'd figured out he was a spy and not her partner in mayhem named Michael McBride.
Fi, do you remember when we were together? We were profoundly unhappy. I still have the scars to prove it. You remember? He had pointed to his sternum and then his bicep. Dublin? Germany?
There was something in the file about the hotel bombing in Germany that he'd gotten credit for preventing. The look of anger, hurt and betrayal on her face as she'd sliced his arm while cutting him free flashed through his mind for the merest of moments before his long-time friend drew his attention.
"Got your next move figured out, Mike?"
"Working on it," and there was a more immediate problem he was referring to with that comment.
In any kind of covert intelligence operation, it's important to be careful of what you wish for. The information that you fight so hard to get may be everything you wished for or it may just make your life more complicated.
Mr. Westen was torn between diving back into his file and resolving his latest mega-misstep in the minefield that was his relationship with Fiona Glenanne. Trouble was, he was completely clueless as to what to do to even begin to apologize for utterly ignoring her this morning after they'd finally been intimate again since their very first time together upon arriving in Miami all those months ago.
Not that he'd had any idea what to say to her this morning either.
They'd lain in bed back to back, each knowing the other was awake and not knowing what to do about it for almost an hour after sunrise. It had been so much easier watching her sleep when he'd awoken pre-dawn, his stomach demanding sustenance after the sexual acrobatics of the night before. But now he was pretty sure sticking his head in his burn notice while she showered and left wasn't the right answer.
"So I take it the big talk didn't go well." Sam seemed to be noticing the same things that had drawn Michael's attention away from the thick pile of official and illicitly gained documents in front of them.
He was not about to ask Mr. Axe for relationship advice…. Then he had momentary flash of the former Navy man complaining about Bly pissing off his lady friend du jour and wheedling for more money to soothe the situation before Mike had finally handed the older man a stack of twenties at the Carlito.
Here you go, Sam. Buy your girlfriend some flowers.
But Fiona wasn't his girlfriend and it felt like he'd be treating her like an asset, just like when he'd shown up with a bouquet of roses to apologize for running off after leaving her alone to complete their first gun deal in Derry back when she thought he was campaigning to join the Real IRA. But she wasn't an asset any more, was she? Of course, he asked her for help all the time, used her contacts, borrowed money…
"Say, Sam, you think that florist friend of yours can cut me a deal on some roses?"
"Flowers, you? Since when?" the ex-SEAL's eyebrows climbed towards his forehead. "Wow, you really must have screwed up, fella. Better check your skivvies for some C4 before you get dressed today."
Very funny, said the expression on Mike's face and just make the call followed very shortly thereafter.
"Jeez, Mikey, maybe you wouldn't be so grouchy if you got some more often instead of you and Fi playing Dances with Ex's all the time," Sam announced as he pulled out his cell.
Mr. Westen buried his head in the intelligence file that allegedly outlined the latter half of his career and refused to look at his best friend until the unshaven man went out on the balcony to finish the call.
Intelligence work is all about relationships. Like a romance, working with a source is more about the heart than the head. Of course romantic relationships usually end if there's a betrayal, whereas spy relationships often begin with one.
()()()()()()
To say that she had been stunned when she'd returned from her recreational trip to blow off some steam, and some ordinance, at her secret stash house in the Everglades would have been something of an understatement. A note letting her know that she had an attempted floral delivery while she was out had been left hanging on the doorknob of her high-end rental on the Intracoastal Waterway.
Michael hadn't gotten her flowers since…. It had been so long ago that she was having trouble recalling.
But the roses had been beautiful and she'd admired them as Ms. Glenanne had come and gone multiple times throughout the following day on her gun running errands. Since she'd had to haul all the way out to the Everglades to use up some of her stock, she'd brought back some hardware the Irish gun runner was sure someone would be interested in eventually as well as replenishing her supply of C-4.
So she'd decided to have mercy on him and not inflict bodily harm when she'd received an invitation to join him at the loft via text the next evening. She had grinned to herself as she'd loaded into her stolen ride de jour and had headed off towards Mr. Westen's abode. The petite woman hadn't been sure what she'd been expecting, but finding him on the bed had not been it. However, until she'd come fully into that cavernous space he called home, the former PIRA bomb maker extraordinaire hadn't realized Michael had dozens of photographs of various explosions laid out over every free inch of the cheap comforter that he used only to cover the mattress, except for the part upon which he'd been sitting.
Whatever preconceptions she'd had of course had then flown out the window when he'd gestured towards the ugly green chair and the table beside the bed, then handed her a magnifying glass. As the ex-spy had outlined his preliminary findings on each picture in turn, the one-time terrorist had been pleased and yet perplexed as he'd asked her opinion of each of them. The evening meal had consisted of leftover takeout and yogurt, but Fiona had become just as enthralled with the puzzles of what and how much explosive had been concealed where to produce the various results in the images before them.
When she'd awoken early the next morning from a catnap on the upstairs couch, Fiona had yawned broadly and told him she was going home. She had invited the dark haired man to lunch the next day if he could get his head out of the dossier long enough to come over to her place, but to call first.
Then she had waited. A few conversations with Sam about Mr. Axe's new found success in his love life had revealed the former covert operative was still pouring through his burn notice particulars non-stop.
So, it was no small surprise when he'd called that morning to come by and then no shocker at all that, as Mr. Westen had walked into her living room and turned the stereo off, he had the file in his hand.
"You're late."
"What's that?"
"I said, you're late," Fiona repeated as Michael removed his sunglasses while tripping over the raised platform that segregated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. "Watch the step," she advised a little too late, never turning from what she was preparing on the stove.
"I made you tuna with tahini," the redhead announced as he approached the chest-high counter which separated them. The sound of the metal against tile had Ms. Glenanne glancing over her shoulder momentarily before turning back to the task at hand. "Your favorite…"
"Good memory," he observed. Michael settled on the tall stool at the bar and opened the blue folder.
"Oh, no…" As soon as the Irishwoman spotted what the ex-spy was doing, her smile faded. "No dossier at lunch," Fiona advised in a tone that brooked no contradiction. Michael flattened his hands to prevent her from taking it. "You have had your head buried in this thing every waking moment since you got it!"
"Come on, Fi. It's not every day you get to read a fictional account of your whole life. Apparently, I sold secrets in Lebanon," The feisty auburn haired woman popped the wine cork and let the red breathe. "Code breaking technology in Jordon, who knew? I gotta figure out my next move."
"I just can't believe it's the only thing on your mind these days."
He sighed heavily. "Fi, I know we haven't talked about what happened the other night. It was—"
Upon hearing Michael's voice soften, she peeked at him over her shoulder again, smiling demurely. "Well, you know what it was. But I—there was a reason why it didn't work before—"
"We were in a war zone." Ms. Glenanne reminded him as she took the thick tome away. "This is Miami, Michael." He couldn't quite hide his grimace until the empty space before him was filled with a hot plate of freshly seared tuna steak, its aroma mixing with that of the tahini sauce, which had his stomach focused on lunch, even if his head and his eyes kept straying towards the dossier on the window sill.
Fiona's cooking skills regarding things which did not include chemical accelerants were spotty at best. Years of being the bomb maker's daughter and living the life of Riley at the side of an international arms dealer had left her lacking in that area. During their time as a couple in Dublin, Michael had taken it upon himself to teach her to make a few dishes beyond the traditional Irish fare, using his cover as a man who'd spent considerable time away from the Emerald Isle, returning home to Kilkenny after the death of his mum in Italy and fleeing some trouble with his Sicilian employers to its full advantage.
The former faux Irishman found that she hadn't lost her touch when it came to his favorite food and pairing it with a fresh salad and a good Pinot Noir had been an easy finish. As he tucked into the offering with more gusto than usual, it occurred to him that he had been forgetting to eat of late and was really hungry. A pleased grin formed on Fiona's face as they sat elbow to elbow enjoying their meal.
"I bought you something."
Michael couldn't quite hide his surprise as he scrapped the last of the tahini sauce off his plate. "Really?"
She hummed an affirmative and then gathered up the plates, taking them around to the sink.
"Do you want to see it?"
"Sure…" His expression of interested anticipation dropped as soon as she took hold of his burn file.
"I'll put this somewhere safe so you can focus properly."
It killed Michael to let the thick folder out of his sight, which he hadn't done from the minute it had landed in his hands. But he'd already gotten in enough trouble with her. He had very few friends in his world at the moment, so he really couldn't afford to piss off his ex-girlfriend…
Ex-girlfriend… that's what he kept saying, but it hadn't felt like it the other night. Although they had hooked up repeatedly here and there around the world since he'd left Dublin, the other night in the loft had felt more like a homecoming that a hook-up and it had scared the hell out of him the next morning.
But Mr. Westen didn't have too long to dwell on that problem, as the source of his confusion came back into the room carrying a light blue cloth with a pocket on top. He stared at her quizzically for moment.
"Uhhhh….thanks?"
Fiona sighed in exasperation. "What's your primary objection to going to the beach?"
"Hot sand…" he answered while the petite woman rolled her eyes at him for that one. He'd been in plenty of hot sand, but apparently it had to be a Middle Eastern desert to qualify as acceptable.
"Too many tourists, the sea gulls, no good cover, nowhere to hide a gun—" the dark haired man continued.
"In a bathing suit," she interrupted, shaking out the knee length shorts with multiple pockets. "If you will note," the ex-guerilla turned gun runner continued. "There are multiple pockets for stashing things and two of these pockets have an internal waterproof seal, which allows the wearer to enter the ocean without damage to the contents. The garment is loose enough to be comfortable and carry a small caliber pistol in each without detection," Fiona finished her sales pitch with a happy grin on her face.
For the first time in days, Michael was interested in something other than his burn notice. He took the pre-offered apparel and examined the details of its construction with great curiosity. Judging by the pocket size, it would hold a .25 caliber automatic or better yet, an MSP silent pistol, though he hadn't seen one of those in many years since leaving Russia behind. The American-made gun would hold more than two rounds in its clip, but the 7.62x38 ammunition was more powerful, had more stopping power.
"Want to try them on? Maybe field test it?"
If she hadn't found the conflict on Mr. Westen's face so irritating, she would have laughed at it.
"Go get changed," she instructed, giving him a shove towards the spare bedroom. "If you can't figure out where I've hidden your dossier, then it's safely tucked away and you get to take me to the beach."
There was no arguing with her when she got like this. Once he found the blue folder containing the lies that had lost him his job, then Fiona couldn't argue with him anymore about spending the afternoon seeing if she knew any of his alleged Middle Eastern contacts, even as a friend of a friend of a friend.
And IF he couldn't find it, and that was a big IF, then a couple hours at the beach was a small price to pay for the knowledge that he had an alternate place to hide it. Anyone breaking into Fiona's living space would not live long enough themselves to capitalize on their entry. He smiled back at her broadly.
"Deal," he agreed and then trotted off to the other room.
()()()()()
Now that he had his new shorts on and found them comfortable, Michael couldn't wait to see how the pistol fit in the pocket and if the water proofing method would actually work. After a relatively brief and unsuccessful search of the living room and kitchen area, he turned and shouted over his shoulder.
"Where did you leave that little Saturday night special? I can't find it."
Then he had walked into her bedroom without knocking. Maybe it was an old habit brought on by their recent return to intimacy. Maybe it was that the door wasn't quite closed all the way. Or perhaps it was because he had been engaged in playing with the waterproof pocket that he wanted to slip a little .25 automatic into. Whatever the reason, when he finally came to a stop and looked up, there was Fiona standing at the foot of her bed staring at three string bikinis laying on it, naked as the day she was born.
She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I can't decide which one I want to wear," she declared, shifting her frustration from her designer swimwear to the man that was openly ogling her.
"They're all nice," he offered lamely, still slightly stunned by her lack of clothing. Fiona had always been far less inhibited than he was when it came to sleeping in the nude or going about au natural.
"What's the matter, Michael? It's nae like ya've nare seen me in me birthday suit befer," the Irishwoman teased, letting her natural lilt return for a moment as she smiled at his dazed expression.
That was true, but it had been awhile since he'd seen her standing so brazenly unclothed in full daylight.
The sunshine filtering in through the shear curtains was bathing her tan skin and her loose auburn hair in a warm glow. He had done his best to ignore the sexual attraction he'd felt for her since he'd found himself dumped in Miami. He'd only given in on that very first time she'd come to Miami because he'd thought she'd be gone again the next day. After the other night, however, being reminded full force of what he'd been missing, the sight of his ex-lover's assets being totally on display was too hard to ignore.
Besides, he was supposed to be apologizing to her and she never could stay mad after this kind of sorry.
"How about you go with nothing?" Michael suggested with a tilt of his head towards the bed.
"Nothing?" she smirked. "Are you trying to get me arrested? I'm allergic to jail cells if you'll recall."
"I'm not too crazy about them either," the ex-spy agreed, slowly closing the distance between them until they were side by side. "Though sometimes behind the police station can be nice."
The seductive smile that spread across his lips and the answering sparkle in her mischievous blue green eyes said they were both thinking about the time McBride had insisted on helping her make a better memory out of her time at the lock-up in Derry during their wild days causing mayhem back in Ireland.
"Are you here to help me pick out a swim suit?" the flame haired siren inquired, leaning in close to whisper into his ear as nearly as she could manage, despite being so many inches shorter.
"Actually, I was looking for that .25 automatic you got out for me to try putting in the bathing suit."
"I'd say," Fiona purred, as she placed her palm over the growing bulge in the front of that aforementioned bathing suit. "That you already have quite a gun in those shorts."
He hadn't intended to groan, he really hadn't… he just couldn't help it as those oh so skilled fingers of hers slipped inside the blue material surrounding his manhood and expertly sheathed it in her grasp.
"Is there a problem, Michael?"
He swallowed thickly. "N-no…no problem at all."
He leaned down and kissed her, slowly at first and then more demanding as his hands ghosted down her back before settling over her behind, cupping the taut curves in his rough palms and pulling her close.
This only added to pressure of her hand on his rapidly hardening length, all thoughts of beach or burn notice flying out of his head at the moment, for as her lover tightened his grip upon her flesh, Fiona continued to stroke more firmly at the same measured pace. The Irishwoman pushed her tongue against his teeth, insisting on entry which he gladly granted, though a very tiny part of brain thought this was a really bad idea. However, his mind was no longer in charge of what was going on between them.
Their tongues swirled and danced and she sighed into his mouth, the sound of it arousing him almost as much as what she was doing to him with her hand. Then Fiona broke the kiss, only to plant dozens of little butterfly kisses along the underside of his chin and all over his neck. He was grateful he'd thought to shave before he'd come by. When her lips closed over the harden nub next to the scar she'd given him, the free hand that had been sliding along the tight muscles of his back slipped over and her thumb began to stroke the other one. The redhead grinned as he groaned again even louder than before.
"oh, Fi…Fi, hold a minute…ohhh…"
Giving him a little nip that caused him to gasp, she then pulled her lips away but not her hand.
"Do you want me to stop, Michael?" Fiona queried, giving his erection even more of a squeeze.
"Definitely not," he replied, sliding his large paws up her waist and along her sides before cupping her small breasts much he had just done to her behind. "Just wanted to return the favor…"
Her dark haired lover dipped his head and kissed her again, immediately pushing his tongue past her teeth while he continued to massage the soft pliant mounds of flesh, pinching and rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Now it was the petite woman's turn to moan long and loud as their mouths moved against one another in a familiar dance of oral delights.
"Like that?" he asked, drawing away from her for just a second. Fiona threw her head back in response.
Michael took the invitation and kissed, licked and nipped along her throat, pausing at the sweet soft spot where her neck met her shoulder before working his way over her collar bone and then down to where his fingers were making her nipples very hard indeed.
He alternated between his hands and his mouth, working for side to side, lavishing attention on the second two most sensitive spots on her body, so much so that her hold upon him became a little too tight and the rhyme somewhat erratic.
He straightened up and smiled down at her, loving the lust-filled look in those beautiful blue green eyes.
"Am I distracting you?" Michael smirked. "Cuz I bet I can make you totally lose your concentration."
His lover slipped her thumb over the top of his length, spreading the pre-cum and making him moan.
"What was that you were saying?" she challenged with a broad grin on her face.
Shedding his shorts, the dark haired man dropped to his knees, fast enough to loosen her grasp on the most precious part of his anatomy, but slow enough that she didn't hurt his best friend. Taking hold of the back of her calf, her lover moved up her limb until, grasping the back of her knee, he threw her leg over his shoulder and smiled. "I said I bet I can make you totally lose your concentration."
He pressed a light kiss to the apex of the little landing strip of hair between her legs and sent a shiver throughout her whole body. "In fact, I bet you'll be laid out on the bed before I'm done."
Whatever comeback Fiona had in mind died on her tongue as his slid along her warm wet folds before settling on her most sensitive spot, probing in small insistent circles and making her legs quiver. His fingers dug into her ass again, pressing her womanhood against his face and holding her in place as well as upright. Her fingers threaded through the short dark hair of his head down there, anchoring herself while she grabbed the bedpost with her other hand, which would have made him grin had he seen it.
Thoroughly enjoying the long, low moans that were coming from a former hardened paramilitary soldier while he alternated between probing and stroking along her most intimate place, Michael judged it was almost time to make good on his wager. Sliding a finger and then another into her, he almost lost control himself as the muscles that were reserved for only him clamped over his digits. The breathy sighing turned to harsh panting as the ex-spy increased the tempo of pleasing her and then it was time.
Fiona's limbs shook as her former boyfriend suckled hard right there and curved his finger upward, hitting the spot. Totally against her will, the Irishwoman shouted his name and collapsed on the bed. Michael would have gloated at the sight of her laid out trembling and breathless, her eyes tightly closed, except he knew that he wasn't going to last much longer himself. Straddling the siren, he paused a moment to admire her sweat slicked oh so soft skin and wild auburn tresses as Fiona tried to get her heaving chest under control. He slipped his hands under her shoulders and scooted her up the mattress.
Opening her eyes, she blinked once and then smiled softly. "I won…"
He started to protest before Michael suddenly took her meaning. "Yes… would like to win again?"
The redhead hummed a very pleased affirmative, spreading her legs in an open invitation Mr. Westen willingly accepted. Meeting almost no resistance from her completely relaxed body, the dark haired man slid slowly into the place he wanted to be the most, mutual sighs of satisfaction coming from the pair.
Fiona raised her languid limbs to encompass his body in her embrace. Her arms threaded underneath his, her fingers gliding along his scalp, sending shivers shooting along his nerve endings towards the center of his whole focus, and then her ankles wrapped around his ass, letting him know without a word what was required of him. Michael tried to control himself, setting a steady pace, wanting to draw out this part of their love making as long as possible, but it wasn't long before his lover was lost in another orgasm, gasping out his name as their pelvic bones met over and over again in pursuit of pure pleasure.
Then he couldn't contain it anymore. Thrusting and pumping, his whole body on fire until every part of him was reduced to that point of sweet surcease, and then he exploded in a rush of white hot heat, the abundance endorphins consuming him.
It was only like this with her. He'd had decent sex, good sex, occasionally great sex in his lifetime mostly before and some after Ireland. But only being with Fiona made him feel like this and this was why he'd fought so hard to keep his distance from her when he'd realized she wasn't going anywhere. This shouldn't be happening. But, his form still quivering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm, he eased his eyes open and raised his head to meet her contented gaze.
"We could spend the whole day in bed, just like Dublin," she said simply before drawing him in for a sweet kiss. "Unless you'd rather have just a little nap before we go to the beach."
There it was- that echo of the past, the conflict again between what he wanted and what he needed.
He pressed his lips to her forehead and then pulled out and away from his Irish lover. As he rolled onto his back, she tucked into his side, throwing an arm and an ankle across his frame to hold him there with her in the afterglow a moment longer. His brain was apparently still drowning in dopamine; otherwise Michael surely would have thought his next statement through a little more thoroughly before speaking.
"No, we can spend the day here. More comfortable in air conditioning going through the contact list-"
The hand that was stroking his chest suddenly became the fingers pinching him hard.
"Ow, Fi, what was that for?" he demanded rubbing the sore spot.
"Did you find your dossier?" she countered, sitting up on one elbow and staring him down.
"Well, no, but… I thought—"
"You thought what? You thought I'd forgotten what you promised me, Michael?"
He closed his eyes and threw his head back into the pillow. This was why being with Fiona was so complicated. He sighed and then looked into the face of the woman that still haunted his dreams.
"Okay, fine. The beach it is. But we're going through that contact list when we get back. Deal?"
"If you can find your little file when we get back, fine." Her expression was somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. "Otherwise… we'll see."
()()()()()()()()
"Fi, the beach is this way."
"I actually gotta little errand to run first," she'd announced, suddenly walking away from the sand and surf she'd been so keen to get to. "It'll only take a second."
"What will?"
"Bagging a bail jumper, I thought it'd be fun." Fiona had always been all about combining work with pleasure whenever possible. Michael McBride had always been up for a bit of mischief. She didn't get it.
"You're a bounty hunter now, Fi?" Actually she'd been a bounty hunter for a while, now that he'd thought about it. Hadn't she tried to tell him about hauling in a dodgy meth dealer months ago, to which of course he'd informed her he didn't want to hear about her other jobs because he really hadn't cared?
"Girl's gotta eat. There's this bondsman, he gives me odd jobs." Did he even bother to ever ask himself how she was always had the money to lend him, help him? Did he really think all those favors were free?
"Fi!" He had protested, standing still on the sidewalk. Going to the beach to please her was one thing…
"How often do I help you?" Then he knew she was getting a little fed up with life on a one-way street.
Michael had at least had the good grace to get the point and hang his head. "All the time," he had admitted as he'd patted her on the arm and nodded with that dark head of his.
And that was how it had started.
So, "I want to help him," didn't really have anything to do with the hapless Tomas McKee. It was "Do it for me, Michael" that was the point. He got that. Her bright eyed attentiveness was not her interest in how Mr. McKee had gotten set up along with the night manager of The Victor hotel. But somehow he'd managed to miss the point again when they were discussing where to stash their clueless client.
"You're okay with that, another guy staying at my place?"
"Yeah, fine by me."
"Okay, then, fine with me too."
And then he'd asked for his dossier back before he left because he knew she wouldn't fly off the handle and kill him in front of the man she'd just agreed to help… for eight grand. How did she manage that?
"Mike, piece of advice, ladies like attention, they don't want to be second to a dossier, not even a big one." Sam had pointed out the problem to him again later that night. But it was the same problem he'd had with Fiona from the beginning. He only truly understood relationships as transactional ones.
Because there he was, standing on her back patio, asking for another favor, just like he had from Sam.
"I need a favor, Fi. I need you to reach out to your black market contacts, the scarier the better."
"Is this about the dossier?" and she had said it like the dirty word it apparently was to her.
"It's about the man who burned me. He's hard to reach. I need to recruit some help."
So, if she'd just agreed to help him with what he wanted and he could leave, why should it bother him that Tomas was teaching Fiona baseball, which was nothing like cricket, and making from the smell of it some really amazing, apparently handmade, sausages along with whatever else that was for lunch?
And was it truly about Wayne Ray crashing her place to capture Tomas McKee or was it because flirting with the lost loser wasn't as effective if he wasn't there to see it?
"What're you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything. We're working."
"No, this is different and you know this is different."
"I didn't think we were in a relationship, Michael."
Back to his problem again… they had been in a relationship, but sort of, not really, because he had been under a cover ID, but then afterwards…they had had a working relationship, sort of like they had now…
"I just gotta go on record. I think this whole thing with Fiona is unhealthy. You gotta go through all this crap just to get some guy she picked up out of your place?"
Sam was as bipolar about his relationship with his fiery co-worker as he was. The pair went from best buds to adversaries and back again so quickly that both men had trouble keeping up. The ex-SEAL had been opposed to him re-establishing a relationship with his former PIRA asset for a variety of reasons.
"So, how are things at home?"
"A little strange, Fiona likes to test relationships with the emotional equivalent of artillery fire."
"Does she even want this guy?"
"I don't know. I've never been able to figure her out."
But the truth was, he could figure her out…sometimes… He just never liked the answer and could never figure out what to do about what he felt for the Irishwoman because it scared him. A lifetime of spy training and the need to serve his country and a higher calling, do something important, something he was good at... those were in direct conflict with the things he felt when he was with Fiona, working with her, sharing a life, such that it was burned and disavowed and stuck in Miami, sharing a bed with her…
"All this to clear the name of an innocent man… That's noble. You should be proud."
"You know who I did this for, Fi."
Michael got it wrong… a lot…She was his ex-girlfriend, she was his tactical support, and she was one of his best friends, but Fiona was also… She was…. And for all that, still, sometimes, he'd got it right…
"I got you something too."
When Fiona turned the snow globe over in her hand and the sly smile spread over her face as the fiery former terrorist read the words Welcome to Miami, he was pretty sure he'd gotten it right that time.
Although she did almost bean him with it shaking it up, but that too was part of being around Fi…
And after he'd driven her back home that same morning, when he found himself grunting and grabbing the steering wheel of the Charger with both hands in a secluded part of the covered parking garage that belonged to her exclusive apartment complex while her head was in his lap, her mouth was right there and her hands, tongue and teeth were driving him completely insane in the best sort of way possible…
He knew he'd really gotten it right…
That time….
