A/N: I've been tossing this quote around for a while, trying to find something to do with it. I know it would be easy to do something about Long Way Back, but there really isn't anything I could say that hasn't already been so eloquently said. Plus, I'd really like to bring in a line from a movie I was rewatching the other day. I'll let you guys guess what it is and I'll put the answer in the author's note of the next chapter. So this fic stems from my imagination, though the ending set up is quite similar to the mid season finale.

Spoilers: Long Way Back, Hot Spot, maybe a few others briefly

Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death. ~Harold Wilson.

She was gone and that terrified me. This was happening all too often lately and I am not above believing in signs. In covert ops, coincidences always seem far too contrived to be truly coincidences. Covert operatives don't really do random; there is always an objective, but right now mine was a tad clouded by fear. I'm not supposed to let emotions override my training, but I'm human and it happens. The important part is being the only one who knows just how afraid I am. I'm pretty sure it was working…

It had been a Wednesday morning, by all accounts fairly normal. It was warm and humid, nothing new for Miami. There were only two yogurts, a beer and a quarter of a questionable carton of orange juice in my refrigerator, nothing new for my loft. I ate one of the yogurts for breakfast, worked out for a bit and then headed down to Carlito's to meet Sam and Fi. Someone had approached her with a job for us and she wanted to brief us before the meeting with the client. Again, it was nothing new. In retrospect, it was a little too normal; I should have known something was off when I made it all the way to the café without a call from Fiona saying she would be late because of a shoe sale or gun sale, or something else of equal importance.

Sam and I waited for an hour before we got worried and started calling her and my mom. I let Sam handle my mom, though it might have been him letting me handle Fi. Either way, she wasn't picking up and I could hear the voice coming from Sam's cell saying, "Well how am I supposed to know where Fiona is, Sam? Why don't you ask Michael? He should know." I dropped my head into my hand, both at my mother's comment and at the frustration of Fiona's unreachability.

"You think maybe we should head over to her place and check it out?" Sam asked me from across the table. There was a haze of possibilities swirling around in my head and my best friend's suggestion took a minute to get through that thick layer of bad thoughts.

Looking up at him, I finally replied, "Yeah, Sam." I pulled the keys from my pocket and we took the Charger as quickly as possible to Fi's new condo. It looked alright from the outside, but that didn't mean much. The last team that had been sent to snatch-and-grab Fiona was not as professional as they would like to think. They left a lot of damage and obvious signs of violence in their wake. Any good retrieval team who wanted to leave no trace could and would and Sam and I were more than aware of that fact. It was the unsettlingly pristine exterior that first worried me. I stooped to get a better view of the locks on the front door and found fresh scratches on one of them. Almost undetectable to the untrained eye, but if you knew what you were looking for they were hard to miss.

"Lock been picked?" Sam asked as he finished his habitual perimeter scan and saw me inspecting the door knob. I nodded and slowly drew my gun, just in case whatever was inside presented a threat. Sam did the same and watched as I pulled the spare key Fi had given me from my pocket and carefully inserted it into the lock. The door swung open noiselessly before us and we entered, checking to make sure it was clear of possible threats before putting our guns away and starting to look around for signs of what happened. No matter how good a team is, they will always leave some trace.

We split up, me to the bedroom and bathroom and Sam to the living room and kitchen. I checked around each room, under the bed, between the sheets and found no traces of blood or anything really, not even much dust. The bed was remade which could mean that either someone made it or Fiona had just done the laundry since she rarely made her bed when she got up in the morning because it didn't matter to her if she got into a messy bed or not at night. None of her shoes or clothes or suitcases were missing except one short blue dress. So at least she hadn't packed up and left. I know for a fact she would not leave Miami without taking her shoes with her. But that also meant whoever had taken her, as that was my best guess at what happened, had grabbed her while she was barefoot. Whether or not that had any impact on rescue operations, was still questionable.

Satisfied that I could find nothing else of value, I went to join Sam. "Find anything?" I asked.

"Enough snow to stop global warming," he replied, gesturing around at Fiona's snowglobe collection. I looked at the shelves carefully, not noticing any missing or out of place souvenirs, but there was something different about the coffee table, the magazines stacked on the corner were wrong. Sam was busy checking the locks on the windows and looking to see if there might be any telltale scuff marks on the floor, so I rifled through the magazines and found the most recent issue somewhere near the middle. They were all out of order and the copy from three months ago was sitting on top. The stack had definitely been knocked over and rearranged carelessly. It wasn't much, but it was something to start with. When I looked up, Sam was no longer in the room and I could hear the cabinet doors being open and shut.

"Knives have been moved," I said, almost reflexively, the moment I walked into the kitchen and saw the knifeblock so close to the wall. Sam turned around and raised an eyebrow, curious as to how I knew that. "They're too far from the edge of the counter. Fi's short Sam; she wouldn't be able to reach them easily if she needed to."

He nodded in understanding. "How exactly do you know so much about Fi's new place?"

I knew the question was coming, but I didn't think we really had time for it, not that I had much say in the matter. Sam would just ask until I finally answered him. And from a certain standpoint, I could see how Sam could think it might be relevant. "I was with her when she picked the place. And I was blackmailed and bribed into helping her unpack. And I lived with Fiona for a while back in Ireland; I know how she organizes things." Sam nodded again and I could see he was ready to say something.

"So bad guys pick the lock on the front door and come in through there. The window lock in the back has been jimmied too, so they come in from both sides. Fi hears them and realizes it's not you using your key to open the door. She runs to the kitchen to grab a knife. Maybe she's unarmed," he starts explaining while pointing around the condo to illustrate.

"No, Fiona is rarely unarmed. They surprise her and disarm her."

"Either way, it still tracks the same Mike. She runs to the kitchen, grabs a knife and tries to fend them off. There are too many, they overpower her and then they're gone while someone cleans up the mess." I nodded and looked around again, hoping for a different answer. Sam set one hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my daze and forcing me to realize that I wasn't hiding this very well.

Clearing my throat, I set my face and headed out the back door. I wanted to go check outside the back window to see if there was anything else we could work with. When I got there I found exactly what I was hoping I'd find, but it wasn't a good thing. There was a boot print in the soft dirt at the base of the wall, just below the window. The problem was not that there was a print; we already knew someone had come in through the window. It was the fact that the print was that of a military boot. The United States Military.

In the Charger on the way back to the loft, I had Sam call my mom while I called Nate. We were all meeting at her house to figure things out. I ran inside, grabbed an extra gun, a couple boxes of bullets and a change of clothes and then got back in the car to drive to my mom's. She was waiting inside the door for us lighting a cigarette with the end of the previous one and holding her shotgun.

"Hi Maddie," Sam greeted as I checked the door for the hundredth time and made sure everything was closed and locked securely. If nothing else, it would delay any would-be attackers for a few seconds.

"Hi Mom. Is Nate here yet?" I asked, not really stopping to hug or anything. I was on a mission and I needed to stay that way or I would start imagining horrible things that would not be helpful to finding Fiona.

She nodded and pointed with her cigarette to the kitchen. "He's in the kitchen making a sandwich." I walked into the room and found him standing at the counter biting into a turkey, lettuce and tomato sandwich with vigor.

"Sorry, Bro. I was hungry," Nate apologized with a mouthful, so it sounded more like, "Showwy, Bwo. I wash ungrwy." I waved off his apology. It didn't matter to me; I had been known to do the same from time to time. At the moment, I was more worried about the Fiona situation than my kid brother's atrocious table manners, or counter manners as the case may be.

Setting the black duffel bag I had been holding on the counter, I unzipped it and pulled out the extra gun I had grabbed. "You might need this. I want you to make sure Mom is safe, too. I don't know who's coming after Fiona or if they're after me. You two need to stay safe though." He took it and clicked on the safety, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans and covering the grip with his t-shirt.

"Do you know what happened yet?"

I shook my head. "I'm going to make a few calls and then we'll figure out what to do." He nodded and continued eating his sandwich while I headed off to what used to be my bedroom to make a phone call. I had the 411 operator connect me and then the switchboard operator picked up. "Agent Jason Bly, please," I requested and was almost immediately connected.

"Hello."

"Hey Bly."

"What do you want?" he asked. Maybe we were getting to know each other too well.

"What makes you think I want anything? I can't call just to chat?" I replied with mock sincerity that he saw through the second he heard it.

"Sure, but you aren't. What is it? We're even, remember? I don't owe you anything."

"No, you don't. But how would you like me to owe you a favor. You know I'm good for it. All I need is a little bit of information. Just something to point me in the right direction, that's all."

He paused for a moment, as if considering my offer. "Fine. What do you need?"

"There was a covert snatch-and-grab here in Miami sometime last night at 345 S Miami Ave. I know that it was successful, I know who was grabbed, and I know how, but who ordered it and why would be helpful. Anything really." I realized a second too late how desperate I must have sounded, but Bly didn't comment and I silently thanked him for that.

I heard the tiniest intake of breath, sharp and tinny on the other end of the line. He'd just read what happened and I steeled myself for the information I needed and wanted but didn't want to hear. "Michael, I don't need to tell you that Fiona has been running guns. An order came from pretty high up in the CIA and they sent a team to bring her in for questioning. Chances are it's a play against you, whether for information or to send you a warning. Neither is very good. I can tell you where she might be. There's a safe house off Old State Road 905, just after it becomes County Road 905. North Key Largo, north of Lake Simmons but south of the wildlife refuge. That's all I can tell you."

"Thank you. If you ever need anything, well, you know where to find me," I relied, truly grateful. I heard Bly chuckle a little over the phone, probably glad I at least could be sarcastic about my predicament now.

"Oh, and Michael," he began, catching me before I hung up. "Good luck." Then he was gone all I had was information and determination. Before I left the room I stopped to look at myself in the small mirror hanging on the wall, a remnant of my mom's attempt to make the house look sellable. I wish I could say I barely recognized the look in my eyes, but I had seen it there far too much to lie to myself like that. I was scared to death and it was best that I come to terms with that before I went any further with this. Once my mask of determined fearlessness was in place, I went back into the dining room where Sam was keeping my mom and Nate company.

"You got something, Mike?" Sam asked, setting down his beer to look at me.

"Yeah, we're going to have to go on a little field trip and we don't really have time to do the recon work on this first. We're going to have to do it all in one go," I replied, not caring if it sounded a little crazy. From experience, I knew that most CIA operatives did not sympathize with arms dealers, even if the interrogation had nothing to do with the arms dealer herself. "We need a truck and some woodland stakeout supplies."

Nate piped up at that point saying, "I've got a buddy who will lend me his truck, as long as we don't blow it up." I nodded at him with a sort of half smile, acknowledging his truck that I blew up, sort of. Sam said he could get the gear we needed and within two hours we were on our way. I drove Nate's friend's truck through Virginia Key and down into North Key Largo.

"Ok, we've passed the wildlife refuge. How much farther?" Sam asked from the passenger seat.

"Right after the old state road becomes the county road, right Mike?" Nate added, popping up at me and Sam's shoulders from the backseat. I just nodded in reply and kept driving, watching for anything suspicious and making sure we didn't have a tail. "Ok, Bro, this is the county road." I nodded again and looked around. A minute or two later I saw it, or them. Three large driveways in a row, the only ones for miles and I just knew it was there. I've learned to trust that instinct over the years.

"It's there," I said, pointing out the window. "That's where I would put it. Secluded, ocean access. Perfect." My companions both nodded in agreement as I pulled off the road a few electric poles later and drove through the chain blocking the entrance to the clearing. We parked there and started to get ready. Night was approaching too quickly for me to worry about being afraid. By the time it was dark, I was ready to do the quickest recon I could ever remember. I just needed a rough map of the layout and the guards, and then we would come back and get Fi a bit later. I trekked through the wooded area between our clearing and the compound. Once I got far enough in I started memorizing what was important. I watched the operatives moving around and I could tell this safe house hadn't been used in a while.

Quietly, I picked my way back to the guys. "They have her in the house. It's about a quarter of a mile north of here. Not a lot of guards and they aren't prepped for a firefight. I think we can take them."

Sam sat us down with a sandwich each from my mom while I set up each of us with the proper gun. I knew Nate had the SIG I'd given him earlier, so I just passed him three extra clips in case things got out of hand. Sam had his shotgun and I was pretty sure he had something else in his bag if he thought he needed it. Then I pocketed two clips of ammo for my own SIG and grabbed a .22 caliber, in case things got really bad and Fiona needed something to shoot. That's when I realized she was barefoot and I would probably be carrying her the quarter mile back to the truck. It wasn't carrying her that was the problem. Fiona weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but I knew I couldn't shoot whilst carrying her, so I left the .22. If it came down to it, she could shoot my SIG and we'd both be covered.

As dawn approached, the three of us carefully picked our way through the tropical forest and managed to get to the house without incident. Nate and Sam fanned out to cover me while I went in to get Fiona. I scanned the lower level and found nothing, so I crept up the stairs, sticking to the wall to minimize creaking. I found the only locked door at the end of the hall and set to work picking it. It was relatively simple, a little more complex than the average, but nothing I couldn't pick. In less than thirty seconds I was in the room cutting through Fi's bindings with my knife.

"Michael Westen," a deep voice said from the doorway. I turned to face him, shaking Fi awake with the hand not busy drawing my gun. He was familiar, Fred Desh, an old instructor, taught torture back in the day and interrogation, which was his code for torture anyway. He was one of the few people I actually despised more than my father. "Are you going to shoot me Michael? Go on. Do it. Pull the trigger," he goaded.

For a moment, I considered doing it. I would still sleep like a baby. "No. You don't deserve the star they'd give you on the wall at Langley." With that, I stuck my knife deep into his arm, grabbed Fi's hand and half pulled her down the stairs. At the front door, I could still hear Desh upstairs moaning in pain. "Can you run until we get to the trees?" She looked out the slightly open door at the ground. Not too many rocks, mostly leaves and grass. Then she nodded and placed her hand in mine, ready to get out of there. I locked eyes with Sam, making sure he knew we were ready to call it in and he was to follow behind and cover us. I looked at Fi to be sure she was ready and we ran, straight north toward a small road on the other side of which there were denser trees and bushes and less chance of being shot.

Once we were far enough to be out of range and sight, Fiona pulled for me to stop as she leaned against a tree. Her feet must have hurt from the unmaintained road, but she wouldn't complain because she knew we had to get back safely. I crouched down in front of her and pulled her onto my back. She hooked her arms around my shoulders and I put mine under her knees and we were on our way.

"Your bravery in these situations always amazes me Michael. If it were you in there I would be terrified, angry and violent, but terrified," Fi said into my ear as she rested her chin on my shoulder. "How do you do it?"

"The trick is being the only one who knows you're scared to death. I'm just glad you're safe." I felt her lips brush my jaw in the ghost of a kiss before tucking her head into the crook of my neck and fighting the urge to grin. She hates being called weak, but I know she secretly loves the fact that I always come rescue her.

So this is officially my longest chapter by 50-ish words. It sort of ran away with me. I enjoyed writing it, but it took the scenic route to the end. =]

Anyway, there is one character name reference, one direct line quote and one line reference to a movie that I love and have been watching a little too much lately. If you want to take a guess in a review I think that would be awesome. Virtual yogurts to all that get it right! And I will post the answer in the author's note of the next chapter.