A/N: Thank you everybody who read, reviewed or favorited/follows this story. I have my Carlos bashing head back on, and having caught all the hints about how long this guy is going to be around I think the therapy could take more than the few chapters I had planned.

I'm sending extra thanks out to the amazing Amanda Hawthorn who read through at least two versions of this chapter, and two the stupendous Jedi Skysinger for not only the read thrus but for finding the time to BETA too.

A Pale Imitation

Part Two

Seamus Glenanne was a plain-speaking, practical natured man who accepted his lot in life without complaint. He made his living running guns for several East European and Middle Eastern arms dealers and now, as his work for the Provisional IRA was drying up, he also on occasion for a rather large fee destroyed the nets or, if paid very well, sunk the Spanish fishing boats which strayed into the Irish fishing fleets waters.

He freely admitted he didn't have his older brother Liam's organizational skills, nor his cold logical approach to life's little problems, nor did he have his sister's or their brother Sean's temper and knack for either getting into or causing trouble. As for Colin's abilities with a computer… well, Seamus could program and work the navigational computers on his boat, but other than that he never bothered to learn anything that didn't directly affect himself. School had never played a big part in his life and nobody had ever suggested higher education for Patrick and Maeve's third born son.

But what he did have, and it was the one innate skill he shared with his sister, was an ability to read people. In his line of work, he dealt with dangerous men and women all the time and he had learnt early on in his career to spot the unstable ones who were always a pain to deal with and best avoided, or those crazy enough to think about double crossing him and his PIRA sponsors. It was the reason, besides her affinity for languages that had caused Seamus to allow his sister to travel the world with him, learning the trade of smuggling illegal weaponry.

Right now, he was leaning back against Fiona's dining table, with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, with a bemused smile on his face as he took his time studying his little sister's new boyfriend and so far, from what he could see, he wasn't impressed. He could only conclude that Fiona was deliberately ignoring the man's shortcomings for some reason he hadn't worked out just yet.

His baby sister was moving around her home, ripping the cloth backs off her fancy white three piece suite, pulling skirting boards away from walls and lifting up several floor boards. At each location, she produced something lethal. Thus far, she had uncovered six full size bricks of C4, what looked to be about 6 pounds of Semtex, all in small pre-cut blocks, a nicely large brick of RDX, a P90, four Mac 10s with six clips for each and a Heckler and Koch sniper rifle with a box of 50 caliber cartridges.

As she revealed each item, her mother hen of a boyfriend had looked more confused and angry. "You said you were looking for honesty in a relationship," the young man hissed. "That you'd hadda enough lies and we wouldn't keep secrets from each other and now I find out you're hiding explosives inside the furniture. What else should I know, Fi? Is this about Michael?"

Ah McBride. Seamus ducked his head down; now he knew what this was about. She's hadda fallin' out wit' McBride. This wa' jus' like tha las' time.

"This's has nothing to do with Michael - well, not directly, anyway. I told you why I had to give up selling guns."

Tha first time McBride left har, she went off on a mad spree wit' Tommy O'Neill, only comin' ta har senses when tha crazed fool tried to blow up a bus load o' kiddies.

"So why is there C4 hidden in the couch? We make out on that couch and you've got high explosives stored right underneath where we ..uh..sat."

No, this fella was thankfully no O'Neill or Armand Andreani. This Carlos.. whatever his name was, was jus' like all tha others she chose when she decided she wanted a "normal life"... Whatever the feck normal was supposed to mean.

"What girl doesn't want to have a little home protection?" She dismissed the boyfriend's worries with a flick of her hand through her long hair. "Why don'tcha go out to the car and get our hardware out of the trunk?"

The look on the boyfriend's face caused Seamus to softly chuckle. Whot wa' wrong wit' tha man? Every woman he knew kept a little somethin' in tha' house ta keep har safe. Their mam stocked tha' whole Glenanne family emergency arsenal in the cupboard under her stairs, his own Isabelle kept a Mac 10 in her wardrobe and a pump action shotgun in the airing cupboard for any little problems which might occur while he was away and Sean's wife Rosanna had taken a liking for semi-automatic handguns.

"Trouble in paradise, sweetheart?" he asked mildly, as Fiona walked over to his side carrying her supplies of C4.

"No, it's fine. I should have told him about Miller... I just thought it wouldn't be a problem. I'm not buying or selling guns any more. This is a new start. A new me."

"Aye, an' d'ya recall how ya las' new start went? Ya can't change who ya are fer some man, Fiona. I thought ya learned thot lesson a long time ago."

"I don't know what you mean." Her eyes sparked with anger.

"Oh, let's see…" He pretended to think about it. "How about thot New York banker fella, Kavan - Whotever his name wa'... D'ya remember ham? A nice guy, a loyal fundraiser fer tha cause, but he had no tactical awareness, which meant he dinnae always remember ta check tha underneath o' his car. He also had no clue about memorizin' how many exits thar wa' in a room an' he couldnae shoot a gun fer love nor money."

Fiona's mouth opened and closed. "Tha wasn't me fault."

Kavan Daly never knew that he was a victim of circumstance. The circumstance being he was dating Fiona Glenanne when Thomas O'Neill came to town looking for his former girlfriend and partner in crime. If he had known to check out the exits in a room, he would never have run down the very obvious main staircase in his effort to escape the men bursting into Fiona's apartment. If he had been capable of shooting a gun, he might have been able to hold off O'Neill's men for a while, at least long enough for the police to arrive, and if he'd had a smidgeon of tactical awareness, he would have realized he was being herded towards the parking garage and he would never have jumped into Fiona's car and started the engine without wondering why the men firing on him were keeping their distance.

"Nobody said it wa', sweetheart. Kavan wa' a full grown man. He knew who ya war an' whot ya did an' he thought he could live in yar world."

For a moment, there was silence between the two siblings and then, all of a sudden, the older man stood up straight and walked slowly over to the weapons laying on the floor of his sister's living room.

"So, let's have a look at whot ya got." He helped her carry her supplies to the table, spread the items out and began picking up the guns one by one to check that they were all in working order.

"Is this all ya got?" he asked. "You've gone soft. This -"He held up the P90, examining the rifle. "Our mammy has a better armoury than this." He put the rifle down and pointed to her meager supply of explosives. "An' thot little lot ain't gonna be enough fer what I have planned."

"I don't have access to -" she replied hotly, but he cut her off.

"Aye, an' whose fault would thot be?" he answered back and then huffed in annoyance when she swiped his freshly lit cigarette from between his fingers.

"Ya don't understand whot I went through." Fiona's native brogue came back as she got angrier. She dug a pointed finger into his bicep before taking the cigarette she had snatched from him over to the sink. "And who tol' ya thot ya could smoke in me house?" She ran the end under the tap and then threw it in the trash.

Seamus beamed, happy to see that some spark of the sister he knew and loved still existed. "I smoke whar' I please, sweetheart... Now, have ya got any t'ing ta set off yar fireworks?"

Another angry huff followed and she brushed past him on her way to the stairs. "I have a box of supplies in my bedroom."

While he waited, he refilled his glass from the bottle of Irish whiskey and then looked up as the front door opened and Carlos came inside half carrying, half dragging a large canvas bag.

"Where's Fi?" asked the mother hen.

"Off ta find her little bag o' tricks." Seamus knocked back the glass of spirits in one gulp and then turned his attention on to the new boyfriend as he began to pull out a variety of guns from the bag.

The guy looked like he knew how to handle weapons. Seamus had already noted the younger man had a calluses on his trigger finger and the palm of his hand, so the Irishman assumed that was something in his favor.

"So, whot's yar background, fella?" he inquired.

"Background?" Carlos echoed.

"Aye, whot d'ya get up ta, when yer not in me sister's bed?" Seamus was already forming an opinion on the younger man's usefulness in the upcoming campaign.

"It's none of your business, but if you must know, we work together. We hunt down bail jumpers."

Seamus coughed and choked, his eyes going wide and filling with moisture. "Yer bounty hunters?" he managed to ask as he slowly straightened up and wiped a hand over his eyes. Well, tha boy had courage ta burn, makin' thot little announcement... Or he wa' a fool who dinnae know who he wa' talkin' ta.

"We're the best in Miami." Carlos announced proudly.

"Aye, sonny, ya could be one o' tha richest, too, if ya turn Fi thar over ta Miller fer tha nice half million he's offering... Thot's whot tha bounty tis on har head." Definitely a fool... Fiona was gonna kill ham for blabbing about her lil' secret career change.

"That's not the same," Carlos rushed to explain.

"Yer right on thot." Seamus's eyes gleamed and he looked to where Fiona was walking down the stairs with a large box in her hands.

"Boys?" Fiona reached the ground floor. "No fighting in the house." She thrust the box into Seamus' hands hard enough to make him take a step back. "Your detonators, fuses and timers."

Inside the box he found everything an explosive expert needed to wire plastique to go boom. "It'll do." He feigned disappointment just to see the spark grow in his sister's eyes. "But ya should really getta a hold of some o' tha modern stuff."

()()()

An hour later, as she finished putting together the final detonator and timer for Seamus to attach to last of her small blocks of pre-cut Semtex, Fiona couldn't help but think about all the times she had done this very thing with Michael Westen, the way she would get little electric shocks traveling through her heart and other places each time their fingers would brush against each other as they worked.

Glancing across the room, she looked over to where Carlos was loading their supply of guns, his face set in hard, serious lines. She owed him an explanation. A frown creased her brow as she thought about what was to come. She should send him home.

"Whot tha feck is dis?!"

Fiona blinked and her shoulders slumped. Seamus was stood next to Carlos, holding up a freshly loaded Remington pump action shotgun. Her brother held the weapon away from himself as if it might be infectious. "Bean bag rounds?" He spat the words out. "D'ya t'ink we plan ta tickle Miller's men ta death?"

Fiona remembered her own response the first time Sam Axe had handed her a box of the non-lethal rounds. She felt a sinking feeling at her brother's next words.

"Oh, I've hadda enough o' dis." Seamus pulled out his cell phone. "Am getting' me boys har, an' then am callin' Seymour. Mebbe he has sommit decent I kin shoot wit'." While he waited for his first call to his oldest son Patrick to connect, he glared at his sister. "Ya've been in tha sun fer too long. It musta fried yar brains. I'll see ta dis little problem fer ya. Don'cha worry yar little head abou'it nae more, sweetheart."