AN: Although this chapter is later than I intended, as you will see it is slightly longer than the previous two that have covered Team Westen's arrival in the sanctuary of a fellow gun runner's home in Cuba. Full details of Michael's memories of a close quarters truck ride with Fiona can be found in "Who We Once Were" Chapter 12. This chapter also uses some dialogue from Jedi Skysinger's "While Fiona Sleeps" Chapter 11 & "Other Women, Other Places" Chapter 1.

Lastly I want to say a BIG thank you to Jedi Skysinger for BETAing this chapter and for her support over the last week... Happy Birthday JS

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DODGING RAINDROPS

Chapter Fifty Three

She was dreaming of the wild dark haired man from Kilkenny who had broken through her defenses and stolen her heart. Now sprawled out on a double bed Fiona Glenanne lay with her head upon her lover's chest, his steady heart beat under her ear acting like a metronome to the erotic fantasy taking place in her mind. His taut muscular body lay underneath her, his deep blue eyes stared up at her, his lips curved into a smile which lit up his whole face and filled her with longing. She leaned forward, her own heart beginning to beat wildly in her chest as they both edged closer to euphoria. She felt his breath caressing her cheek as her long hair formed a fine reddish brown curtain about them.

"Fi… Fiona… me love, me darling girl..." His words of endearment echoed in her mind, urging her onwards as she felt his hands skimming over her arms and across her back. The rough callouses on his palm and fingers were making her skin tingle... McBride was all over her and she was in heaven.

"Fi..."

"Fiona…." The sound of her name came from far away, but this time it was different and in that second, her eyes snapped open and she surveyed their dwelling through heavy-lidded blue-green orbs. This wasn't Dublin... It wasn't the loft either... They were in Cuba... They were safe…. She would not have fallen asleep if they weren't safe.

Scanning the room, everything appeared to be tinged with a pinkish red halo. But she neither saw nor sensed any danger. No bad men breaking down the door to tear her lover from her arms, no evil Russia interrogators returning from the dead… Satisfied that their safe house hadn't been penetrated, she allowed her gaze to settle on the man whose torso she was using for a pillow.

"Michael... Yer awake! Thot's good." She could feel the dream world pulling her back and saw no reason to fight against the leaden feeling in her limbs and mind. They were safe…. For now they were safe and she was so very, very tired. "Nar, go back ta sleep, tis early yet."

"Fi, I – I need to- to know–"

There was nothing he needed to know, not right now. Besides it didn't matter because she was back in his arms, or rather he was in hers. She felt his fingertips trailing over her body, the beat of his heart under her ear and the rise and fall of his chest against her own...

The fiery Irishwoman sank back into slumber, envisioning that memorable morning in April.

"Why would ya ever want ta go back ta thot soft English prick who's givin' ya yar orders…" She rolled on top of him. "When ya can have me?" Sitting astride his hips, she wantonly leaned forward to whisper words of temptation in her lover's ear.

"I can think o' only one reason, sweetheart, and thot is tis still me job."

"Ya would rather be with a stuck up prissy bastid than me? I donnae believe ya." She scrapped her nails over his skin, tweaking his nipples, and her smile widened as he writhed beneath her.

"Whot d'ya say, McBride? Me…?" His lover's fingers wandered lower now, across his abs, knowing that his baby blues were following her every move. "Or yar English lord an' master…?"

She shuffled further down his body while her lips started laying gossamer soft kisses along his stubble covered jaw line and down to his throat.

Even while lost in a dream, Fiona still felt Michael shift under her, his attempts to leave the bed thwarted by her arm tightening around his waist.

The fear of her American spy leaving her behind was getting harder and harder to ignore. She knew he was under pressure to move on to new assignments. But things had gone too far and too fast. She had lost control of her heart and couldn't face a future without him.

"I think ya have a point, me luv. It'll do thot English bastid good ta wait an hour." As McBride answered her plea, she rewarded him as with a slight lift of her hips and then they were joined together, in spirit as well as in body. Her smile was both broad and triumphant. No English lord could compare to the siren call of a full blooded Irishwoman.

"Fiona…"

There was that voice again… intruding in her most perfect dream. She opened one bleary eye and looked up at him. "Go ta sleep…" The order slurred from between her lips.

"I need to get up, Fi."

"You need ta rest," she countered and then slipped back into her memories. Nar, whar wa' she...? It would awhile before Michael was well enough for the things she was remembering… But a girl could dream, right? Of that golden time when she had truly believed that he would put her first… That morning he had done it. McBride had given her hope. He had stayed when she asked and if he had done it once, he would do it again.

They would be together… no PIRA… no government agencies, just them...

"I – Fi – Fiona – I – I need to go to the bathroom."

Damn and blast… She reluctantly let him go, turning over to snuggle against the plump pillows, wrapping her arms tightly around the soft fabric. "Donnae be long…"

In a semi-conscious state, Fiona felt the mattress move, the rocking motion sending her mind off in another direction. The former urban guerrilla was no longer gripping two shredded foam filled pillows, but instead her arms were locked around the waist of her panicking boyfriend as he did his best to break free during their hellish trip to Cuba.

Even sitting in a nest made of cushions and coats, the petite paramilitary had felt every bone shattering thud as the boat rode the waves and when Michael had begun to buck and twist, Fiona had been terrified that if her hands had slipped, they would have lost him.

"Fiona, I'm sorry…" The tap on her shoulder is a welcome relief, chasing away the nightmare before it could fully take hold. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Out there…" The redhead raised one arm up and pointed it in the general direction of the door, barely hearing his muttered thanks as she snuggled even further down under the covers.

Deep down, one part of her brain was attempting to send out warning signals through the fog blocking her perception. Something was wrong… She had had this sensation before: heavy limbs, vivid dreams and a strong almost overwhelming desire to sleep.

She sensed rather saw Sam rise from the cot across the far side of the room and, while a part of her wished to follow him out into the lounge so she could keep a close eye on Michael, a soft seductive voice seemed to be whispering inside her head, telling her it was alright to stay right where she was.

Let Sam take care of Michael for now... The bed was warm and comfortable… There was no need for her to get up right this moment…

Even as she thought it, a chill ran through her spine. This had happened before. Something about the overwhelming urge to sleep was stirring a remembrance in her, one that she refused to allow to spoil the happy place where she had been.

It only made sense that she would be exhausted after what they had been through after all. They had all been running on empty ever since they had retrieved her lover from his captors…

"So, what do you think Michael is going to do now?" Unbidden, the question popped into her head and instantly she was back in Miami, standing in the open courtyard in front of the loft just a few short weeks before the burned spy had been taken.

"So, what do think Michael is going to do now he is just a Miami resident?"

"Haha, well, he's still burned and he's Mike. So I wouldn't say he's just a Miami resident."

She had asked Michael's closest friend the question, deep down knowing what the answer would be, and the former SEAL had laughed nervously while examining her work building the small charges that would aid the planned snatch and grab of one Refino Cortez.

"You know what I mean, is he ready to leave it all behind and just live?"

If she asked that question now, surely the response would different to the one she got that day.

"Answer the question, Sam."

"I think he will try to get back in."

That had been the reply then. Thot stubborn bastid had ta realize thot he wa' free nar. Free ta be wit' her an' finally live. After everything he'd been through, Michael had to have seen the light.

"Fiona, he did his government work as you call it for a reason."

"What for his country? And what have they done for him lately? Other than betray him leave him for dead, ruin his life."

"The fact you've gotta ask means you'll never get it, Fi."

Not this time… She pushed away the unsettling memories. Not this time... He had to see reason this time, Fiona assured herself. Where were those bloody government types, the FBI or whoever it was who were supposed to be watching him, where had they been when Victor Markov's men had taken him and nearly tortured him to death? It hadn't been his precious CIA who'd saved him; it had been her and her friends who had freed him. They'd been the ones who'd brought him back from the edge of madness.

A slight whisper of a door being pushed open was enough to break through the fear of loss that continued to haunt her. Whot tha hell wa' wrong wit' har?

Even without being able to see, the former paramilitary could sense it was Sam Axe in the room. There was a soft rustling as she guessed he was rifling through the bag near the entrance to the bed room and the only reason he would be risking her wrath by waking her would be get something for Michael to wear… Where would they be going that he needed to get dressed?

Then he was gone and the only sounds were the faint muffled voices coming through the wall and the faint whir from the fan above her head.

Rolling on to her back, Fiona stared at the brown wooden fins as they slowly turned. Her eye lids opening and closing as she fought to stay awake. She should get up… Michael hadn't returned… Sam had obviously pulled some fresh clothes from the bag… Then she stopped her wild thoughts. Of course he needed clothes. He was deathly pale… He would burn in a hot second under the intense Cuban sun…

The redhead's eyes slid shut again and her breathing began to settle in to a deep even rhythm. Another hour in bed wouldn't hurt…. However much she wanted to challenge the thought, she knew her injured boyfriend was in safe hands and he wasn't going anywhere except outside into the fresh air with Sam.

Was he…?

Then she realized the muffled voices that had been in the background had disappeared.

Sitting up abruptly, Fiona swung her feet from under the covers and onto the floor. She frowned when she realized that she had gone to bed still dressed in the vest top and shorts she had been wearing all of yesterday. She remembered Pedro plying her with his special brandy and Billy handing her a coffee in way of an apology.

Irritated with her irrational angst and a lingering feeling of dread that she couldn't put her finger on that was somehow connected to her excessive sleepiness, Fiona finally shook off the last of the fog swirling in her head. The fiery former guerrilla stood up quickly and strode purposely towards the door, stopping only long enough to retrieve clean clothes and underwear.

Michael was safe, probably just sitting outside in the shade with Sam watching over him. She would have a shower and then once she felt more herself, she would go and find Michael.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Being out in the fresh air for the first time in what felt like ages, Michael Westen was finding it hard to concentrate on his friend's words. The sun was bright, even with the dark shades he'd been given, and all the noises, bird song, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, even the rustle of the leaves on the few nearby trees, were all unnaturally loud. But regardless of how uncomfortable he felt, the burned spy kept his mouth closed on the subject.

No need to worry his friends any more than he already had. He would deal with it. If something was wrong, Sam would spot it. All he had to do was follow the older man's lead. It wasn't how he was used to doing things, but he had worked with former naval commander for a long time. He trusted him with his life... Had done so many times before...

Michael inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, trying to get calm his breathing and regain some control over his hyperactive senses before they could overwhelm him. Time to get some of the answers he needed... just to make sure they were safe.

"So, what else has been going on while I've been out of it? Fiona's friend, Jojo, did he get away? You said Barrett's men were closing in and that's why we had to run. Is he gonna be alright?" The ex-elite operative was surprised at the way the questions tumbled from his mouth. "And what about Larry…? You didn't just let him go, did you?"

He was even more surprised at the soft mocking laughter inside his head. Pros don't ask questions directly. We hide what we know and don't know. Amateurs ask for exactly what they want. It's like playing poker with your cards showing, Kid... So stop and think before you open your mouth. Finding out what they think you know is just as important as getting answers...

The former CIA agent could hear Larry's voice in his ear as if his mentor was standing right behind him, scolding him for being so obvious. But what he didn't hear was the other man giving him an answer to anything he'd asked and his anxiety was starting to accelerate.

"Sam, did something happen?" His best friend was sitting slouched in his chair, looking like he was the most relaxed man in the world; however, Michael Westen even at his worst could still read Sam Axe like a book… and he was thinking about hiding something from him.

"No, well, haha," the older man laughed nervously. "Jojo is still dodging Barrett's guys. The Mexican Coast Guard backed them off, but only so far. He contacted Pedro through Trini this morning to let us know he made it to Panama. He's hoping he can lose 'em over there. Don't worry. We knew it was a possibility. It's all part of the plan."

The ex-SEAL shrugged his shoulders and then finished off the pastry in his hand before continuing. "If he can't lose them there, he'll definitely do it around all those little islands off the coast. Anyhow, he says we should expect him here in about two days."

"So, there's no problem?" Michael pressed, as he felt a narrow beam of anxiety burning its way into his brain. If Barrett's men hadn't believed the story that he was dead, they would keep coming for him. They were professionals, probably the best in the business. A guy like the CEO of Drake Technologies could afford the best...

"Well, none that I know about," Sam answered evasively and then leaned forward. "You sure you're feeling okay, buddy? You look kinda pale."

"I'm fine." Michael offered up a weak smile and then, to show how fine he felt, he reached out with a hand that only shook a little bit and picked up his glass of iced tea. "Did he say how many men Barrett has looking for me? Did they manage to get any photographs so we can try and trace them?" If they had pictures, Sam could reach out to one of his many contacts and find him some names. With names came a certain amount of power. He could use that information to learn why John Barrett was going to so much trouble to hunt him down.

"I only know what Pedro's son Matias told me, Mikey. We'll have to wait and see when Jojo turns up."

Not trusting himself to keep a hold of the tall glass covered in condensation any longer than necessary, Michael took a sip and placed it back on the table before asking his next question. There was still a faint feeling lingering in his mind that Sam wasn't telling him the whole truth.

"What about–?" Michael went to press for more information, but a sudden stabbing sensation from behind his eyes brought an end to the query. He crumbled into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb trying in an effort to control the pain.

"Hey, hey Mikey, you are not okay. We should go inside." Sam was half out of his chair, all signs of sloth disappearing as the older man went to his friend's aid.

With his eyes tightly shut behind the sun glasses, the pain-racked former spy waved off his colleague's attempts to get him onto his feet and back indoors.

"I – I'll be fine – just – just give me a minute." He pushed the other man's hands away as he breathed through the intense discomfort and slowly it eased and went away, leaving him feeling weak and disorientated.

"Mike, you need to take things easy. Maybe it would be better if you went back to bed." Sam sat back down, but was ready to rise again at the first sign of more trouble.

Opening his eyes, Michael let out a long sigh. "I spent too long locked in a room. I'm not going to let a little headache send me back into one now."

Watching the play of emotion on his friend's face, Sam came to the realization that the only way he was going to get the former Company man back inside was to pick him up and carry him. Secretly he was pleased to see some of the trademark Michael Westen stubbornness resurfacing, but couldn't admit it openly as his best friend would take that too far too fast in a heartbeat.

"I've got to… work through this…. It's the only way I can... can..."

"I hear you... Okay, fine. You win this one, pal..." his brother in arms conceded. "But you end up bleeding from the nose again or passing out and I'm not gonna take the heat from Fiona. That'll all be on you, buddy."

"I'll take the risk." He smiled wearily and let his head fall back against the high back of his chair.

"I tell you what," the older man replied, getting to his feet as his gaze fixed on a figure in the distance rounding a corner in the trail which led down to the beach. "Billy's heading this way. How about we see what the doc thinks is best?"

"No – Hey Sam!" Bloodshot blue eyes opened in alarm only to realize it was too late. The ex-SEAL was already jogging down the wooden steps intending to meet up with the dreadlocked medic, no doubt to insist that he tell his patient it was time to retire to the house for the rest of the day.

"Dammit…." Michael sighed heavily and sunk back.

Resting his head against the high back of the deck chair, the frail former spy did his best to slow his heart rate. Relaxing his tired muscles, he allowed his eyes to close and then began to take deep breaths in before exhaling slowly. From previous experience, he knew the first thing his appointed medical guardian would do was check his pulse, respiration, blood pressure and probably oxygen levels and while he was doing all that, Billy would be questioning him about what had Sam so concerned. The best thing he could do to counter anything his friend had said was to appear calm and relaxed… So that was what he was going to do.

The sun was warm and a light breeze caressed his exposed skin. Overhead he could hear seagulls calling as they circled over the sea. Slowly, Michael sank into a semi-conscious dream state, his breathing deepening and slowing.

He was back on the boat and the sky pitch black… But this time there was no fear… He was leaning back into the woman sitting behind him, her arms were around his waist and her chin resting on his shoulder. He could feel her soft breath against his ear, promising him that she would keep him safe...

Just rest now, please Michael, we're nearly there.

Then without warning their positions flipped and now he was behind her.

They were still in a tight narrow space with no light, but this time they were in a space specially built into the back of a truck. He could hear the low rumble of the diesel engine and feel the rolling motion as the driver sitting in the cab navigated the winding Irish country lanes leading to their destination. There was excitement as well as a hint of danger in the air. If this job went well he could almost guarantee the whole mission would be a success.

He remembered thinking at the time how right he had been in choosing Fiona Glenanne to be his asset for this special assignment.

"We have plenty 'o time left ta cure whot ails ya." He heard her voice coming from just in front him. He felt her slender fingers reaching for his belt buckle, flicking open the button of his waist band with practiced ease.

"Thar… is thot nae better?"

He gasped, his breath quickening in response to the ghostly touch of his lover's hand as it slipped lower. His own hands which had been resting on the arm rests of his chair tensed as his nails dug into the wooden ends.

"I can solve your problem for you if you can keep quiet about it."

He frowned. The voice was all wrong, everything was wrong. This woman was taller; her hair was tucked up inside a net and a woolen hat, hidden from view except for a few stray brunette curls which tickled his nose every time she moved her head. He was no longer riding in the back of a truck heading for a demolition compound outside Dublin, but in another similar transport parked in a warehouse far away in the Russian city of Saint Petersburg.

"Don't worry. I think you'll find I am very good with my hands and very good at what I do… No one will ever know I've been here..." whispered the seductive voice of his ex-fiancée.

"No!" The dark haired man opened his eyes, gasping and shivering at the memory. He could see the two older men conferring in the distance, about what he didn't care at that moment. Michael was just grateful for a reprieve to compose himself again before Billy came to examine him.

But it seemed his sub-conscious hadn't finished with him. As soon as his lids slid shut again, he was suddenly back in his loft in Miami, listening as the woman he had once been engaged to and the woman he cared fo– no, the woman he loved, had been helping him brainstorm a strategy to snatch a piece of military technology that Samantha had been coerced into stealing.

"We might be able to sneak in some 'special' construction materials," he suggested when the talk had turned to ways of getting extra personnel into a heavily guarded aircraft hangar had stalled.

"Like we did in Dublin..." Fiona had known exactly what he had been hinting at and he could tell by the glow in her eyes that she had been thinking back to that particular piece of mayhem.

That was until his ex had piped up, showing that she too remembered the first time they had met.

"Is she talking about the same thing you and I did in Saint Petersburg?"

Along with never finding the right time to mention that he had an ex-fiancée, he had also failed to confess that the plan he had come up with for their first sanctioned mission together, fighting against the Real IRA, was more or less an exact copy of a strategy he had been forced to use during his first assignment with Samantha Keyes.

"So what was it, Michael?" Without warning he was unwillingly transported from that awkward meeting to a far more uncomfortable journey travelling in the passenger seat of Fiona's Saab, as they made their way to their first face to face with the man who had blackmailed Samantha into stealing for him. "Was it just that her skills paled completely in comparison to mine?"

Internally, he had wanted to stick to his training and deny everything, though in truth it had been her impressive skills and reckless nature that hadfirst attracted him to her as an asset. But even with his limited relationship skills, the burned spy had known that in her present mood there was no right answer to the question. So he had chosen the strategy which seemed the most likely to keep all his limbs attached and remained silent.

"I can pick a lock blindfolded," she had continued in a clipped waspish tone, while he had surreptitiously checked his door was unlocked and that he could undo his seat belt quickly if it became necessary to bail out in a hurry.

"Can she blow a hole in a wall and not rattle a single piece of jewellery on display? How are her sharpshooting skills? Can she take out a target at 600 yards under fire? Does she even know how to make an explosive, never mind a proper one…? What – ?" She had taken her eyes off the road long enough to give him a wide eyed look. "You wanted me to pretend to be jealous. I'm just getting into character."

One part of him had wanted to apologize for all the wrongs he had done her both real and perceived; however, another part, the part which reeled in disgust that he was even thinking of explaining his actions, won out. To say he was pleased when the woman at his side had brought her car to a stop a block away from Tyler Brennen's present lodgings would have been a massive understatement… until she asked him one of the many questions he'd hoped to have avoided.

"Tell me, Michael, that thing you and Samantha did in St Petersburg, did that happen to involve tight spaces in the back of a delivery truck too?" and only the need for her to disarm their target's alarm system, a job which he had purposely botched, had gotten him out of answering.

Stuck in that narrow enclosed space, feeling every pothole that the truck bounced over and every change of direction on those winding Irish roads, he at least had had the decency to try to stop Fiona from following the same actions as the woman he had technically been promised to had performed on him during the ride in St Petersburg two years before.

He had stiffened in more ways than one as soon as her hand had slipped inside his boxers and it had only been by using all his self-control that he had forcibly captured the Irishwoman's wrist before pulling her hand out of where it had gone and back in front of her.

"Dammit, wa're workin' har, Fiona! If someone hears – " he growled softly in her ear.

He had been so angry with her at the time. This job was important, too important to be messing around. If he succeeded, it would secure his cover as not only a loyal supporter of the Real IRA but also as a trusted friend to Fiona and Sean Glenanne. But mixed with that anger had been a spark of mortification that unknowingly his Irish asset had been of an exact same mindset on how to while away their boredom while stuck in a tight hidden compartment as his fiancée had.

"Am a professional, Michael. I know how ta be quiet. When tis necessary." Her whole tone told him she wasn't the least bit frightened by his crushing grip on her slender wrist and then in an act which had totally turned him on and came very close to making him forget the importance of the job, she proved it by leaning forward and run her tongue over the back of his hand.

"Ya think ya can keep quiet, do ya?" he challenged her. "Ya willnae make a sound whotever I do?" He took hold of both her wrists in one large hand and then, with a sudden jerk, pulled her body tightly up against him. "Ar' ya gonna behave nar?"

He remembered the sensation of her tiny body pressed hard up against him, the pressure of her backside against his groin… How she had sighed every so softly when the palm of his hand which had been caressing her stomach drifted lower…. How she had writhed, her legs flexing then straightening… But she had kept her promise and never uttered a sound as his fingers had driven her wildThe scent of her excitement filling the small space… The feel of her clenching-

"Hey, Mike… Michael? Hey dude, you still with us…?"

His eyes flew open as Billy Clemens greeting abruptly ripped him from his erotic memories.

"I see you're feeling a whole lot better than when I left you, buddy." Sam chuckled and winked, his gaze drawing the still slightly dazed spy's attention to one particular part of his anatomy.

"Hey, just goes to show you're feeling better," Billy observed before Michael had a chance to reply. "But, ah, just don't try acting on anything... If you get my meaning…." The medic chuckled and took hold of the blushing younger man's wrist to check on his pulse.

"Act on what?"

()()()()()()()()()()()

After a long refreshing shower, Fiona found herself feeling a lot better. It had taken longer than she'd expected and far longer than she'd care to admit for the cascading water and her vigorous scrubbing to banish the feeling that she would find that Michael had disappeared again.

But with those last lingering thoughts and the haze of sleepiness finally expelled, the redhead had decided it was time to seek out her ailing lover and remind the former spy that she wasn't just his nurse. So, she had chosen to wear one of the few sun dresses she had stuffed into her go-bag.

It was a soft filmy turquoise strapless number, which had always served her well when she needed to grab a man's attention. The floaty material hung a little looser on her frame that it had done the last time Michael had seen her in it, but with her arms raised above her head, as they were now, the already short hemline would raise by another inch or two. In fact, the diminutive Irishwoman was very pleased with the reaction she was receiving.

All three men had turned at the sound of Fiona's voice, while the petite redhead stood framed in the door way, as she teased the last of the tangles out of her long wet auburn hair.

"Act on what, Billy?" she repeated her question, although gazing at her lover she knew exactly what the medic was warning her boyfriend about. So her spending the night draped over Michael like a blanket hadn't only affected her dreams. She curved her lips into a sultry smile as she waited for at least one of the trio to answer her question, enjoying their discomfort a bit too much.

"Nothing, er, nothing at all..." Sam sniggered and then dropping a hand onto Billy's shoulder, he gestured for the other man to forget about carrying out his checks. "How about we go back to the beach so you can show me that thing."

"Huh? What?" Billy flinched as he drew his eyes away from where they had been ogling a pair of well formed, shapely legs. "What thing?"

"You know, the thing you said about... C'mon, doc..." The ex-SEAL took hold of the other man's arm and pulled him up onto his feet, dragging the nervous medic towards the steps they had just climbed.

Fiona watched their retreat with a hint of amusement glinting in her eyes and then she walked slowly towards the dark haired man who was watching her with more intensity than she had seen in months.

"So, you're finally wake? You had us all worried you know. Well, not me, of course… more concerned that we'd gone to all the trouble to rescue you for you to go into a coma or something."

For the first time in a very long time, Michael took a good look at his beloved, acknowledging the sacrifices she had made for him and what she meant to him. She had been his strength when he'd had none these last few months. He felt moisture begin to fill his eyes. She was so beautiful.

"I – I think I have an apology to make." He stuttered slightly over the words. She had lost more weight than he had first thought. Her golden tan had faded too and it struck him how much she looked like the first time he had seen her. The young pale skinned, auburn haired Irish guerrilla fighter, so full of anger and distrust of anyone outside her small circle of family and friends, a lost soul looking for someone special who could share with her in own special brand of mayhem.

"What for…?" She raised an eyebrow and took the chair recently vacated by Sam Axe.

"I – I think I – I let you down, let you all down – in the cave – and on the boat. I don't remember much, just flashes." He shook his head as if trying to clear it.

"Nonsense... You did the best you could." As she answered she poured herself a glass of iced tea and took a long sip, using the time to run a critical eye over her lover. It was good to see him up and about. It hurt a little, but she had to admit that maybe Billy had been right and all Michael had really needed was a long undisturbed sleep.

"On the boat, I could have hurt you... I could have gotten us all killed."

"On the ride over here…? I blame Bernardo. I warned him he was going to end up bouncing us all out but he insisted that he'd been ordered to get us here as quickly as possible." Again she dismissed his words and then laid a hand over his. "Michael, we made it, that's all that matters... Now, let's eat. I'm famished." She looked over the remaining pastries and picked one, biting into it, she dabbed a little red jelly from her bottom lip. "Mmmm don't you just love guava pastelitos?"

"Never tried it," he admitted, the idea of all the fat in the puff pastry making his stomach clench.

"You should…. you need the calories, Michael."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick to a more balanced diet." He smiled to take the sting out of his words and carefully picked up his beverage, taking a quick sip before placing it back down.

"Have you heard anything about Jojo?" her dark haired lover asked. "Sam said that if he couldn't lose Barrett's men in Panama, he'd have to do it in the islands between there and here."

Fiona nodded in agreement. "Well, there's a good reason that everyone from seventeenth-century pirates to present day drug smugglers operates in the Caribbean, Michael. All those tiny islands are close to major ports, but outside the reach national laws. Anyone with the necessary skills can easily make a fortune out here... and believe me, Jojo has that skillset."

"But I remember you telling me that you hated islands, that it made escaping trickier."

"Yes I did." She smiled at him, pleased that his memory and his mental acuity seemed to be improving. "It's true that the privacy that makes the islands great hiding places also makes them vulnerable if you're being hunted by a bunch of lowlife government agents or mercenaries." She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "My bet would be on Jojo. He knows those islands like the back of his hand. He'll most likely slip away during the night on one of the Zodiacs he has on board."

"So, you agree with Sam. We have nothing to worry about?"

She leaned forward in her chair so close to him that she could see her own reflection in his dark shades. "I promise you, neither Barrett nor his men have any idea where we have gone and with that evil piece of slime Larry gone too, we are free and clear. All you have to do is concentrate on getting well, Michael…. Michael….?"

Her grin at the thought of his mentor's demise quickly faltered at his distressed expression.

"Larry's gone?" If they had freed him… No, they couldn't have been so stupid... If not freed then what? "Gone where, Fi?"

The petite paramilitary bit her lip, annoyed with herself for her slip. They had talked about this… She and Sam and had decided that they would try to keep the news from their fragile friend until he was stronger. But it was too late now to take back her words. .

"He's dead, Michael. Buried at sea... We used his body to fool Barrett into thinking that you had died. Jojo waited until he was about to be boarded and then had the body thrown overboard."

She watched her lover's face, seeing the news register as shock and feeling a tremor beginning to build in his hand. "Michael, you said you wanted him gone. That he was dangerous. If we had let him go, he would have hunted us down."

Slowly, he nodded his agreement but Fiona could tell he was unhappy. "You should be pleased. He's gone and he can't hurt us any longer."

"I am… I am happy... It's just..." The injured spy got to his feet, looking away from her. "I think I will go back inside. I'm feeling tired."

"I'll come with you."

"No, Fi…." Michael shook off her hand, his head swirling with news his former mentor and at one time friend was dead. It didn't seem real. Larry had come back from the dead once before. "I'm fine, honestly. But I want to rest."

"You look upset." The slender redhead stood up and closed the gap between them.

"No, really I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," Fiona apologized, laying a light touch on his shoulder again. "I didn't mean to tell you about Larry that way. He was a sleaze but I know he meant something to you."

"He would have killed you the first chance he got," Michael answered flatly and then in a familiar gesture brought his hand up to caress her cheek. "I suppose I should say that I hope he didn't suffer too much before you finished him off… But I can't really because he probably deserved whatever he got. I'm glad he's dead… and I'm glad you killed him, Fiona."

"Michael, I –" Her denial faded as he slowly turned away and made his way back inside.

The stunned Irishwoman watched until her lover had disappeared into Pedro's villa and then she was on her feet like a shot, turning towards the trail the other men had taken down the beach.

She didn't know what exactly Michael had been told about her interrogation of his former partner, apart from the little she had disclosed herself, but she was going to find out and God help Sam Axe when she got her hands on him!