A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favs and alerts for this story of Carloser bashing. Slowly but surely, Fiona is beginning to realize that her new love is not the man her former lover was and still is. But being blessed by a stubborn nature that doesn't mean she is going accept this reality.

This chapter fills the same time spot as Blackbird's Song and The Old Michael Westen, which are companion stories to A Pale Imitation and these events occur before my good friend Jedi Skysinger's Season7 Songbook.…...Okay, on with the story.

A PALE IMITATION

Part Five

Family businesses are tough. They're even tougher for criminals and even more so in a terrorist cell. Mix normal family issues with cash, violence and the danger of getting arrested and things get tense.

I told you to stay out of my head, Michael... We're fine... Better than fine...

If you say so...

Fiona clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing as she silently argued with the ghost of her former lover. Why did he have to come back now, haunting her thoughts? Why couldn't he be happy disturbing her dreams like he had been doing ever since he had left her for the last time?

She was supposed to be on guard duty, keeping a lookout while her brother and his sons moved their hoard of recently liberated weapons from the back of the Ford pickup they had borrowed from her associate Jojo Delaney and loaded them onto the two waiting semi-rigid inflatable Zodiacs tied up in the shallow water of the natural harbor.

In an effort to divert her thoughts away from her absentee ex-boyfriend, the Miami based bounty huntress turned her attention to the four young men she hadn't seen in nearly a decade.

Patrick, the oldest of the next generation of Glenannes, had been in his late teens the last time she had seen him and now he was a man in his mid-twenties, already married and from what she had been told, being groomed by her eldest brother, Liam, to take over as head of the family when the time came. He was the only one of Seamus and Isabelle's eight children to completely take after their mother's side of the family. He had a mop of coal black hair, and the same striking green eyes as his mother, Isabelle, his pale complexion marred at the moment by scores of tiny cuts from the splinters he had gotten from a ricocheting bullet during the initial attack shortly after their arrival in Miami.

Brendan and Dara, the twins, were two peas in a pod and even after being ordered to keep the noise down, the two young men couldn't help but continue their almost constant bickering. Fiona smiled as they passed by her side to collect another crate of contraband. They reminded her alot of how she and Sean used to act in the good old days when they worked together as a team, whether it was making bombs or robbing banks.

"Will ya stop takin' all tha lightweight stuff?"

"Lightweight stuff, is it? I've gone thar an' back twice ta every once ya have managed, ya lazy arse - Sorry Auntie Fi." Brendan grinned and ducked his head before giving his brother a hefty kick in the shin.

She laughed softly at the boys' antics as Dara stumbled from the kick, but then twisted around and aimed a kick of his own at his sibling's lower limb.

"Quit yar messin', ya pair o' idjits," Seamus growled as he walked back from the shore line. "Ya can all head out ta tha boat nar. Me an' yar Auntie Fi will finish loading up tha spare Zodiac."

"Ar' ya sure ya donnae want us ta get tha rest o' tha guns loaded?" Milo came up alongside his sire, the young man who had been a skinny pre-teen with an interest in veterinary science the last time she had seen him was now as tall and filling out to a similar build as his father.

"Nar lad, thar isnae much left ta load. I'll see ta it while yar auntie stashes tha pickup outta sight. We won't be far behind ya... While yer waitin' fer us, ya can be getting tha guns unwrapped an' ready ta use. I wanna be sure wa're ready next time someone thinks ta jump us."

Sensing that there was more to Seamus sending her boys on ahead than what he'd said, Fiona stood up straight and moved around to the tailgate. "I'll help you. We can leave the truck under the trees over there." She pointed out a curve in the trail and a spot where the vehicle would be out of sight to anybody passing by.

"Leave it fer a minute." He placed a big hand on top of the crate she had been shifting into position to lift onto her shoulder. "Nar all tha children ar' gone, I think tis time fer us ta have a proper talk."

"Talk…?" Her heart sunk. She had hoped he had gotten over his suspicions about Carlos; surely her boyfriend had already proven his worth. "About what…? I thought -"

"Talk about whot is goin' on, sweetheart... Thar is a whole heap o' stuff yer nae tellin' me. But nar tha boyfriend is gone, tis time ta open up an' explain why ya have let things go this far."

She did not want to do this now, especially with one of her brothers. She had managed quite well to avoid speaking about what had happened and had spent the last six months trying hard to bury all the pain and heartache.

"Thar is nothin' more ta say, I've told ya everythin'... Nar, can we just get these boxes -" Her accent slipped as her anxiety rose.

He shook his head slowly and maneuvered so he was sitting on the tailgate. "Ya donnae wanta talk, fine; listen ta whot I have ta say then." He took a moment to light up a fresh cigarette before continuing.

"First o' all, let's see if I've got this right. This all started when ya handed yerself inta tha FBI fer sommit ya didnae do, ta stop McBride from doin' sommit so terrible yer nae prepared ta tell yar own family about it… Then ta get out o' tha shite ya dropped yarself inta, ya let Michael talk ya inta handin' over Greyson Miller ta tha CIA. How am I doin' so far, Fiona? Does thot sound about right?"

Grinding her teeth, Fiona fought back the urge to give her older brother a piece of her mind. But she knew it would be useless to argue with him over the facts of what had happened over a year ago. He wouldn't understand why she did what she did, no Glenanne would.

No matter how dire the situation, a Glenanne would never willingly hand themselves over to the police or government forces. Because no Glenanne could conceive a situation which couldn't be sorted out with a generous use of explosives or a .50 caliber bullet and because no Glenanne would ever have allowed a man like Anson Fullerton lead them around by the nose the way Michael Westen had let the rogue DIA psychologist control him.

She had a very clear memory of lying on a roof, her finger inside the trigger guard watching the parking garage on the other side of the street. She remembered the feel of the breeze on her face and the slow steady beat of her heart, waiting to take the shot... Right up to the moment Michael had shielded the little weasel's body with his own.

He should have stood back and let her take the shot... He should have taken one of the many opportunities he'd had to kill the bastard himself... He should have listened to her and trusted her judgement... Damn him!

"Nothin' ya wanta say?... Okay then, so tha arrest o' Miller gets all his associates riled up good an' proper an' one o' tham comes up wit' tha grand idea thot, as they cannae get ta ya or McBride, they'll flush ya out by takin' it out on yar money man, Barry Burkowski."

Seamus paused to take a long drag on this cigarette and blew out a plume of vapor.

"Thot poor fecker is receiving death threats an' dodgin' bullets an' is actually scared enough ta consider makin' a deal wit' tha Feds, which brings us ta hired gun an' certified nutter, Garrett Hartley, cuz nobody likes a grass an' Barry has several clients who ar' prepared ta pay top dollar ta stop tha little bastid ratting tham out." He paused again, sucking in a lungful of nicotine, his blue eyes boring into her own blue-green orbs as if searching for more information.

"At least one o' yar friends did tha right thing an' ended thot psycho's life." He drew in a last breath of smoke before dropping the dog end on the ground and grinding it in to the dirt with the toe of his boot. "O' course none o' thot explains why tha first we hear about any o' this is when we getta phone call fram Marcus Dwyer ta say yar face has been plastered all over tha news as a wanted terrorist."

Fiona swallowed hard. The only thing on her mind at the time had been keeping Michael Westen from making the biggest mistake of his life….

"Then inna blink o' an eye MI Five and Six are back running surveillance on tha family an' Val Temple tis screaming blue murder down tha phone at Liam cuz he's worried thot ya're gonna cost ham his frigging political career as tha Ulster Democrats are already spreading rumors thot because Fiona Glenanne is wanted fer blowing up a British Consulate, aidin' in tha murder o' a CIA Operations Chief and assisting an international terrorist leader fleeing tha country, tis all tha proof they need thot tha IRA are still active."

"I didn't know." She tried to defend hers and Michael's actions. "You weren't there. There was nothing we could do to stop it. When – when I was released from prison, things were crazy and it only got worse after that."

Listening to her brother's words brought everything they had done into sharp focus.

"I thought you were ready to end this! I thought we agreed!" She had stalked around the loft, her rage knowing no bounds.

"Fi, it's like I told you before, if you had pulled that trigger, he would have won. You saw him, he's afraid of me, of us, which means there's time."

"Time for what…?" It had been all she could do not to strangle him, shake him until he saw sense as he had answered her calmly with the words that were fast becoming his mantra.

"Time to find another way." It was something she had both loved and hated about him, the thing that made him so unstoppable.

"That is just wishful thinking! You are delaying the inevitable. There is no happy ending!" But it was the thing that also made him vulnerable, because with some things, some people, there was only one way to deal with them and that involved a bullet.

She sniffed and swiped a shaky hand over her eyes. She had no intention of crying in front of her brother, but it was getting harder to maintain her composure by the minute as Seamus continued to toss his accusations at her.

"I couldn't leave you in there forever. They weren't just going to forget everything that happened and release you... So I made a deal... I did what I -" She blinked away a tear, as his voice echoed in her ear.

"What you had to do… No, Michael, you did what you wanted to do," she contradicted the ghost in her head.

Ever since they had all been released from the CIA prison, she had made a point of not speaking about Michael's betrayal. Even now it hurt too much. Why couldn't she forget about him as easily as he discarded her time after bloody time?

Then to her horror she realized Seamus was staring straight at her through a haze of cigarette smoke, reading every emotion on her face.

"Jayzuz! Sean wa' right when he said America had changed ya... I have nae a hanky on me, d'ya need ta get one outta yar designer handbag? Ya know how things work, Fi...Once in, never out. Is nae jus' tha code of tha IRA, ya know thot, or ya used ta. Handin' over Miller ... then when yar man went off tha deep end an' murdered his boss..."

Seamus paused, shaking his head as his expression softened. "Ya shoulda let us know, sweetheart. Liam coulda cleared up this mess. Compensated those thot lost out, talked sense inta tha ones thot wa' takin' it more personal. Instead yer havin' me ta fight a full scale war fer ya."

"Nobody asked ya ta fight fer me... I told ya Am perfectly capable o' dealing wit' this meself." Fiona began to pace as her own ire rose up. She didn't want to hear his opinion and she definitely didn't want his pity.

"Deal wit' it yarself?" he scoffed, sliding off the tailgate to loom over her. "Ya havin' a laugh? Whot ar' ya gonna do? Call up yar new friends in tha C... I...A? Thot's whot's caused all this in tha first place. An' ya still have nae tol' me whot happened ta McBride."

"Michael has nothing ta do wit' this. Am sick o' tellin' ya, he's gone. He's out o' me life fer good."

"Aye an' we've all heard thot one befer." Seamus took another cigarette from the packet he kept inside his jacket and then gestured to the small boat bobbing on the shallow water.

"Let's finish loading up and get on wit' this. Ya donnae wanta explain about McBride, thot's fine by me. But ya know he'll be back one day an' thot fella o' yars… I can tell ya now isnae gonna like it one bit an' then whot d'ya think is gonna happen next?"

"Nothing is going to happen because Michael and I are finished!" she snapped back and turned away. She didn't want to think about what her former lover was doing or that he might come back some day. When he had left her Ireland, it had broken her heart.

But this last time, after everything they had done to try to live free, after his promise to get out from under the thumb of the CIA, that had left her feeling like he had ripped her heart from her chest. "And besides after last night we need to come up with a strategy fast, before we lose the advantage of surprise."

"Whotever ya say, sis…"

With the last of the stolen arms loaded into the Zodiac and the borrowed pick-up truck hidden from anybody passing by, the siblings rode out in silence to the Seamus' boat, the Dulcinea, the fifty foot long former trawler which had refitted with various hidden compartments as a smuggler vessel.

()()()()

Once on board the boat with their ill-gotten gain safely in the Dulcinea's hold, Seamus, Fiona and Patrick retreated to the wheelhouse. Using a variety of maps, charts and Ms. Glenanne's local knowledge, they drew up their plans.

Target selection is one of the least glamorous but most important elements in any strategy. You want to take out the people your opponent depends on, the ones his organization can't function without. What is it that Greyson Miller can't function without? What is it that Miller cannot afford to lose? His reputation, his inventory…his money…?

Once the trio had thrashed out the details, as the sky was beginning to darken, they began to put their plans into action.

The Native American practice of 'counting coup' involves touching enemies on the battle field. The object wasn't to do damage, but to establish your superiority as a warrior. Infiltrating someone's security can serve a similar function. It's a not-so-subtle way of saying 'Hi, I'm not here to hurt you, but I could hurt you very badly if I chose to.'

Three figures all in black drew their boat up next to the private jetty belonging to a vacant property on Hibiscus Island. Swiftly and silently, they covered the open ground, avoiding the single security camera covering the dock and slipped alongside the impressive Mediterranean style villa a across the empty street to another property which was, from the flood-lit exterior and the row of expensive cars parked on the drive, obviously occupied.

Splitting up, each figure knelt down beside one vehicle and attached a small box with a flashing red light on to the chassis of their chosen target before moving on to the next one. With all six cars now wearing a new accessory, one of the figures moved to the front door and stuck another of the devices to the center of the re-enforced structure with several strips of duct tape.

"I thought the plan was not to cause damage, Fi?" a certain spy whispered into the ear of the smallest of the three black clad figures. "Douglas Dumain is just a money launderer."

"That's your way, Michael, not mine," she replied to the voice in her head, her finger covering the remote detonator while her eyes were on the figure at her side, who had a watch in one hand and was counting down on the fingers of his other hand. "And Douglas Dumain is Greyson Miller's money launderer... Consider this payback for Barry.

At a small out of the way marina just off Waverley street, two men in scuba gear cut through the water under the cover of darkness towards the spot where four sleek cigarette boats were tied up to a rickety old wooden jetty. Each of the powerboats was in turn fitted out with a small waterproofed plastic box very similar to the ones now fitted to the cars on Douglas Dumain's drive way.

Once all four bombs were in place, the two men disappeared under the water and swam quickly away. Reaching the spot where they had left their Zodiac, the twins scrambled aboard and then Dara checked his G-Shock dive watch. "We just made it, five – four – three – "

"Okay, son, take yar time, line up tha sights." Seamus stood to the side of Milo, the young man shifting his position slightly as he looked through the sights of the RPG launcher resting on his shoulder.

"I can do this, Da, wit'out ya second guessing me," the youngster grumbled as he concentrated on the doors of a large warehouse.

From the outside the building looked to be abandoned, the perimeter fence was rusted, the grounds inside unkempt; but the up to date hi-tech motion sensors and the keypad alarm told a different story.

"Second guessing, is it? When d'ya ever get a chance ta fire one o' these beauties befer?"

"Uncle Sean, last year fer me birthday, he took me out ta tha farm an' let me try out all his latest toys." He risked glancing at his parent. "He asked me not ta tell ya... We wa' very careful."

Seamus bit down on the words that longed to pour forth, but right now they had something more important to deal with.

Pulling back his sleeve, he glanced at his watch. "Get ready, son, har we go... Three – two – one."

The term "shock and awe" gets misused a lot these days. The voice in Fiona's head spoke with pride, and for just a second, it was as if she could feel comforting touch of her former lover, his strong arms enfolding her in an embrace, his soft breathe tickling her ear. It's a popular name for a military tactic known as rapid dominance. Whether you do it with a dozen or so targeted explosions, or with an RPG to destroy a weapon filled warehouse, it is sure to get the attention of the man you're looking for.

Greyson Miller had just lost his money man, the boats he used for short range deliveries and one of his main weapons dumps. If he wasn't hiding out in Miami, it was guaranteed he would be back in the city very soon.

"We should go." Patrick Glenanne pulled on his Aunt Fiona's arm, as the woman watched the flames from the vehicles and the front of the house rose high into the air. "We should go nar."

With the help of one of his dad's most trusted men, Pat dragged the reluctant woman towards their waiting boat.

And as she fled the petite Irishwoman's mind was flashing back to a dark rainy night in Belfast and the car she had just blown up during her official first date with Michael McBride.

"Why d'ya park so far away?" She had run back to the waiting car, quickly climbing inside to escape the downpour.

"I hadda a notion ya war doin' more than slashin' tires," he replied, his eyes staring into the rear view mirror watching the blaze as the vehicle ignited.

"Ya think ya know me, McBride?"

"Am larnin'," and his soft smile had told her all she needed to know as he drew her into a kiss.

"D'ya think tha new man in yar life will be so understandin'?"

And then the bastard was gone, just like in real life, and that empty pit in her stomach cracked open, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Auntie Fiona, are ya okay?" Pat removed the balaclava which had masked his features, his eyes darting towards the sight and sound of fast approaching emergency vehicles.

"Am fine, Patrick… Let's get going, shall we?" She removed her own head gear and flashed the young man a bright smile.

Carlos Cruz was no Michael Westen… She had been told that so many times now it was hard to deny. But that was a good thing!

She blinked away tear. She was no longer the woman who wasted her time chasing after a man who would never make her his first priority. She had a new life, a new legal business, and a new man.