By 10:15 that night, Michael and Fiona were finally finished putting Charlie to bed, checking on Madeline and her newly-fused wrist, and taking care of various and sundry domestic things. Michael turned off the light in the kitchen and walked toward the couch, excited to sit and do nothing for the first time in several hours.

Fiona was not on board with that plan.

She whistled to get his attention. "Let's go."

"Fiona."

"Let's. Go."

Michael flopped onto the couch. "Fi, I'm exhausted. Give me five minutes to gear back up. I haven't stopped moving in four hours."

"Well, that's not true. You were relaxing from 9:00 to 9:30."

"Oh, you mean when I was on the toilet? Sorry. Of course that should count towards my me time. Don't know what I was thinking." Michael looked disgusted. "I want to take a shower, too. Charlie was all over me tonight and he was rank."

Fiona gave him a small smile. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just very, very ready. Very ready. So how about this. I'll join you in the shower, and we'll kill two birds with one marvelously erotic stone."

"Deal."

She walked to him and held out her hands to help him up. "Actually, I've not yet decided who's going to join you in the shower," she said, pulling him up. "You think Leslie showers?"

"I assume she's not comfortable with that."

"Likely not," said Fiona as they walked down the hall. "You know what she probably is comfortable with?"

"I'm afraid to guess."

They entered the bathroom, and Fiona reached into the shower to turn on the water. She looked into Michael's eyes as she answered in a sultry whisper. "She wants to be interrogated."

"Hmmm. She does, does she?"

"Desperately. She wants to hold her head high as she faces certain death but still won't give up the goods. She wants to be questioned within an inch of her life and still tell the guy to go fuck himself. She wants," Fiona breathed, pausing for effect, "to win."

"I see. Does Leslie want to be interrogated in the shower, or can the interrogator have a little time to prepare?"

"She would love the interrogator to prepare. She wants him to make her wait, to let her know what's coming, to try to scare her into talking, knowing she'll never talk." Fiona's voice never went above a purr.

"The interrogator appreciates the great mindfuck potential of that approach." By now the water was steaming hot. "The interrogator may need some help preparing, though." Michael got undressed, then began undressing Fiona. "The interrogator hopes his IRA colleague can join him for prep," he said as peeled off her tank and unhooked her bra.

"Funny thing about that."

Michael unfastened Fi's belt and shimmied her jeans and panties around her hips and down her legs. "Mmmm?"

"The IRA operative's gone dark. Won't be back on grid for several days," Fiona said apologetically, stepping out of her jeans. "But a masseuse has been travelling with the team. It's been shown that interrogators who are physically relaxed when they prepare stay relaxed during the questioning. Helps them maintain control."

"You know, I read something about that recently."

"Indeed. She's got a half hour in her schedule that just opened up, as a matter of fact."

"Lucky break for the interrogator." Michael took Fiona's hand as they stepped into the shower. She pulled the glass door closed behind them.

Fiona guided Michael gently to stand directly in the hot water stream, facing out. She reached high and raked her fingers through his hair as it grew wet. "So, Commander Westen," she said, "I understand you've got an interrogation coming up soon."

"I do, I do.

"Any areas that need a little extra attention today?"

"Now that you mention it, my back's been really sore today. Must've tweaked something yesterday."

"Hmmm. Let me see what I can do." Fiona walked around Michael so she was between the shower wall and him, facing his back. She helped him move a few inches forward so the waterfall covered his back. And then she demonstrated another of her great many skills – an exquisite massage combining kneading, drumming, gentle scratching, not-gentle scratching, rubbing, pushing, pulling, and kissing.

She couldn't see his face, but she was right to assume Michael's eyes were closed and his mouth was in a blissful, easy smile. She moved the massage to his neck and scalp and got some primal mmmmms in response.

"You know, Commander, a lot of my clients tend to have tight chests when their backs are tight. Just some anatomical anomaly. How about you?"

"It's the damndest thing. I was just going to mention how tight my upper arms and chest are feeling."

Fiona eased herself around to Michael's front, her hands never leaving his skin. She looked at his face as her hands found his pectorals and gave them the love they needed. Pecs gave way to deltoids, then biceps and triceps, then back to pecs, until finally Michael's whole torso and arms were the beneficiaries of Fi's magnificent hands.

Now, Fiona's a lot of things, but tall isn't one of them. Michael had nearly a foot on her, and it was getting a little challenging to paint his whole body from her position. So she took his hands and helped him to sit on the floor of the shower. He was in the thick of the water streams, looking relaxed and peaceful.

Michael cleared his throat and looked up at Fiona. "You know," he began, "in the massages I've gotten in the past, it's been customary for the masseuse to take a break for a few minutes. I don't know if they're going out for a smoke or just resting their hands, but it's always been fine with me."

"Really."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Kind of resets everything." He pulled her hands gently, eased her down, situated her between his V-ed legs, and enveloped her. She breathed a little, contented sigh and leaned back into him. They sat like that for three or four minutes, bodies melded.

Fiona spoke first. "Commander Westen, did you want lotion today? I've got these great new products that manage to clean the body. You can even put one of them on the hair."

"Oh yeah? It doesn't get the hair greasy?"

"Just the opposite, if you can believe it. It's magical."

"Sure, I'm game."

Fiona reached for the body wash and scrubbie. She squeezed a healthy glob onto the mesh, then worked it into a lather. She began with Michael's thighs and made her way to his toes. Then she pivoted on her bum so they were chest to chest. She smiled up at him as she washed his arms, chest, tummy, and back. She ringed his neck with the foamy soap, then looked down.

"Hmmm," she said dramatically.

"What's up?" Michael asked.

"Well, Commander Westen, you may know that the Americans tend to view massages a bit more conservatively than the Europeans. Prudishly is probably a better way to describe it."

"I see."

"Yep."

"I don't think anyone's ever described me as prudish."

"I wouldn't think so, no."

"So what do you recommend so I can continue to be not prudish?"

"I'd recommend a full body massage."

"Huh. You think that would do it?"

"I think that would do it. Absolutely."

"Go for it." Michael leaned down and kissed Fiona on the head. Fiona, for her part, glided her hands all over everything fun.

After about a minute, Fiona looked back up. "Would you like me to take a break from his and try that new product on your hair, Commander?"

"That is precisely the opposite of what I want you to do, as a matter of fact."

"You're sure?"

"Ma'am, this is a level of certainty I've never had about anything ever. Please. Continue."

Fiona's face erupted into a huge grin as she got back to work. Forty-five seconds later, Michael erupted. Fiona held him around his back, supporting his now dead weight.

"That was an exceptional massage, ma'am," Michael said eventually. "Do you have a supervisor I can send my praises to?"

"No, sorry, I'm an independent contractor. But I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed yourself. I certainly hope you'll carry this relaxation with you through that interrogation."

"Oh, I'm sure I will. Now, I have to tell you, and this is very embarrassing, but I have next to no cash on me. I haven't needed it, as I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, certainly. That's fine, Commander. Your pleasure is gratuity enough."

Michael looked down. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. I think I see something. Hang on." He grunted as he pretended to reach for something. "Ugh, I can't . . . quite . . . reach it. Would you mind turning around for a minute?" Fiona furrowed her brow and squinted in confusion, but she complied, returning to her position between the V of Michael's legs. "Ahhh, yes, now I can reach it." Michael moved his hand between Fiona's legs, searching deep and long for those elusive bills. And several minutes later, when Fiona's body tensed and her legs squeezed his fingers so tightly, he sang, "Found it!"


A/N: To be continued in the interrogation room.