A/N: This installment is set at the start of 6.17 You Can Run, the penultimate episode of Season 6, right before everything goes totally off the rails, and is the last time (in my humble opinion anyway) that Michael and Fiona have quality time before they are reunited again after the very painful occurrences of Season 7. Love to all the folks both old and new coming to #BurnerClub. This one's for you!
~~0000000~~
Hers
The redhead moved restlessly, tangled in the rumbled covers. Asleep, but also aware of that fact, not quite able to shake off the images behind her tightly closed eyelids, unable at the moment to escape the dream state brought on by a little too much alcohol tonight and not nearly enough sleep since they'd burned the loft.
She could see it, the fire erupting around the first home they'd shared, the kitchen, the shelves containing most of her snow globes igniting, flames bursting in the center of their bed, the wrong kind of heat arising from the mattress, bathing her skin with a raw mixture of rage and sorrow. She could feel his hand burning on the small of her back, smell smoke mingling with the aroma that was uniquely him.
Her eyebrows scrunched in protest against the nightmare and then it morphed. It was no longer that large industrial space where the Miami River met Wagner Creek. She was flying through the eccentric confluence of Donegell Pass and Shaftsbury Square, wrenching her stolen Vauxhall Cavalier down Albion Lane, which was nothing more than an alleyway that ran behind Lavery's on the Golden Mile among other businesses, except those establishments weren't blazing away and the bar where Michael had gone to disarm a fire bomb most certainly was.
McBride staggered out back door, acrid plumes billowing out along with him, coughing and covered in soot. As she flung open the driver's door, she was assaulted by the choking fumes. But it became the scent of a different kind of explosion and then she wasn't on a back road in Belfast anymore. She was running across a parking lot near the British consulate, throwing her arms around Michael.
"Fi, why did you plant the bomb in the lobby?"
"I didn't. I made one targeted explosion, just enough for Larry…. Someone else must have-"
"The security guards… they're dead…"
Memories twisted and accelerated, her heart beginning to pound as Fiona tried to free herself from the night terror that had her firmly in its grip. But the smarmy weasel that had shredded their future and caused Michael to rend his soul trying to save her still hadn't died by her sniper bullet. Though she pulled the trigger over and over in her head, she still found herself swarmed by SWAT teams and hustled through the federal building to end up handcuffed to a table when the door opened.
"Miss Glenanne, Agent Jason Bly. I'm not sure if you remember me. I had some dealings with you and Mr Westen several—"
BLY!
The Irishwoman's eyes snapped open and her hand landed on the cold pillow where her dark haired lover's head should be. The sick feeling which had flooded her sedative addled brain thirteen years ago when she'd first realized the spy had abandoned her without a word mingled unpleasantly with the dread that seized her alcohol addled sleep deprived mind as the former freedom fighter concluded her wayward boyfriend had most likely snuck off in the middle of the night to meet the very man they had all told him in no uncertain terms not to go anywhere near.
"Dammit, Michael…"
Fiona huffed out a frustrated breath as she pressed the heels of her hands into her crusty eyelids before letting her arms flop limply back onto the mattress. Her concerns for the covert operative's state of mind roared to the forefront of hers with a vengeance. Anson, her stint in Allarod, Nate's death, his mother's rejection, Card's betrayal… Michael was the strongest most capable person she knew but how much could even he deal with before he started making serious tactical errors?
Except he already had …
They had argued hotly in low vehement tones as they'd driven the stolen CIA van southwest about leaving Riley alive and unfettered in the middle of the Southern Glades and dumping the government vehicle in a drainage canal instead of locking her securely in one of the many abandoned buildings available in Hialeah and leaving the Ford Transit sitting unlocked in Wynwood , the keys in the ignition.
"Let them waste their time hunting for her instead of us!"
She'd forgiven him to shooting Card in cold blood on the eighth floor of the Eden Roc and sending them all on the run. The man deserved to die for what he'd done.
"Michael, you made the call you thought you had to make."
"And if I was wrong? If there was another way, look what I've done to Sam, to everyone…"
The ex-paramilitary just wished he'd have pulled that trigger, or better yet let her do it earlier instead of trying the gathering evidence for the government play again. At least he'd acknowledged he'd been wrong this time. That was an improvement of sorts and she could work with that. No need to beat him up on that topic.
"Look, there's a price to pay no matter what you do. If it's a choice between betraying everything you believe in and pulling a trigger, I'm glad you pulled the trigger."
Once her ID guy had betrayed them, she'd agreed to fall back onto Sam's plan of using a professional smuggler outside of her circle of acquaintances since it did appear they all were willing to turn her over to the government either out of fear of the CIA or for a chance to get revenge on her, whether for what she'd done to Grayson Miller or what she'd done to some of them personally it was hard to say.
But the longer they worked with the whiny black marketer, the less sanguine she was about this course of action either, though admittedly her idea of using her RV guy to provide them with a heavily armored Airstream to drive away in was a non-starter with the gang and her plan of riding out state amongst her biker friends had been abandoned once Madeline had joined the company of the fugitives.
"Don't take this personally, but our plans haven't been going so well lately."
Fiona sat up and turned on the light, wondering if Michael wasn't now making a mistake accepting Schmidt's parting offer to hook them up with the union rep he'd used for his smuggling operations as an apology for red flagging the passports. The sonuvabitch had betrayed them once. He was just as likely to do it again, especially after he'd thought Michael was marching him to the death he so richly deserved.
She sighed and slid her legs out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. They probably couldn't have trusted Vanek either, though it had been tempting.
The slender redhead circled the room, carefully checking that none of the spy's things had been taken except the clothes presumably on his back and his shoes. Padding quietly through the house to the office, she noted that the Cadillac was indeed gone, which likely meant one thing: Michael had gone to meet with Bly.
She had known something was up when the dark haired man had remained out front to make a call as soon as he had returned with his mother from one last visit to Nate's grave. But Madeline was too busy apologizing to Jesse for ducking out on him, then explaining to them both why she'd felt she'd had to go for Fiona to get close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation, though it sounded suspicious.
Staring at the multiple screens displaying the security camera feeds in its own video closet; she inspected the image from the darkened living room by the front entrance opposite the same spot she'd been standing when Mr. Westen had eased back into the house, surreptitiously checking who was watching. The look on his face said that whatever they were, the next words out of his mouth would be a lie.
"Madeline said someone left flowers at Nate's grave, what did the card say?"
"And don't tell her there wasn't a card, because I saw you slip it into your wallet."
Watching the wheels turn while the spy tried to come up with an appropriate evasion would have been funny if she hadn't already been angry at his subterfuge. Apparently deciding to get out of the line of fire, Mr. Porter had retreated to the patio, ostensibly to bring Sam another beer while Michael had continued to dither.
"Nothing special… Just a friend who wants to chat..." he'd said at last.
"Oh, really, and what sort of friend leaves notes on people's tombstones? What happened to texting for god's sakes?" Madeline had groused. "Or garden tools."
"Michael, we are all on the run from every law enforcement agency in the western hemisphere. I don't think this is the time for you to start keeping secrets from us."
Because although she had understood why he had done it, the former urban guerilla did not appreciate in principle that the spy had lied to her and Sam to get Schmidt out the door earlier in the day to save them from Vanek's circle of death.
"It was someone who might… be able to help us with our Olivia Riley problem."
"And who is this mysterious stranger that's skulking around in graveyards wanting to have a chat and where the hell were they when that bitch had me locked up?"
"Michael, honestly, at this point, who's going to believe us…? You said yourself any hope of proving Card was dirty got left behind in that hotel room. Who could possibly want to look into this except to cover it all up at our expense?"
"Fine… it was Bly. He wants to meet… He did help me with my burn notice," he had added quickly as she'd felt the heat rising to her cheeks and fury in her eyes.
"Only because you blackmailed him and then saved his life! And the bastard still tried to get me to turn on you by telling me you'd died in that truck explosion!"
"Fi, he probably had CSS watching the cemetery, which means the CIA wasn't."
"So… what…? I should thank him for being able to say goodbye to my son?"
Fiona walked slowly back towards the bedroom, the feeling of dread and resignation surpassing her remembered wrath over her lover's foolhardiness. There was no way to know where he'd gone and only one vehicle between the four of them unless she went five finger discount car shopping after midnight.
"I can't believe you're even considering this, Michael!"
"The man trashed my house! He even broke the urn with your father's ashes in it."
"Ma, it only had some of Dad's ashes in it."
"That's not the point, Michael!"
Jesse had come in from the patio at that juncture to attempt to mediate the fracas. However, it wasn't long before the tall bald man was agreeing with the ladies that it was a bad plan to go see what another counter intelligence agent wanted to say.
"So, you're gonna trust Jason Bly to let you walk in for a chat and waltz out?" she had demanded and then turned towards the patio doors, shouting, "SAM! Get in here! Somebody needs to get Michael's head out of his ass!"
The Irishwoman scanned the room, deciding on the best place to wait him out. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she guessed that Michael had likely been gone for an hour already. She would wait until just before dawn for him to return.
Even Sam had agreed that involving the CSS in general and Jason Bly in particular was a bad idea, although for reasons more to do with the tactical disadvantage of having to rescue the fugitive spy from a dark site holding cell instead of a CIA van.
Turning on the lamp next to a black leather chair by the door, the wired redhead made a quick stop in the bathroom and then splashed her face with water after washing her hands while she tried to fathom once again what possible reason he could have for wanting to speak to Jason Bly. What was he hoping to gain?
As she saw the water dripping down her face in the mirror, she saw another tear stained face instead… though there was distance and traffic between them, the ex-South Armagh sniper could still spot the tears in his eyes as he failed to stop her from turning herself in, failed to prevent her from going to prison to protect him.
Fiona bit her lip before vigorously scrubbing the water away with a fluffy towel.
"No, I'm gonna end this. I'm turning myself in."
Michael been ready to surrender to save Sam from Olivia Riley and the CIA…
"Sacrificing yourself might help you sleep at night, it's not gonna fix this, Mike."
"Then you tell me what will because I'm not gonna let Sam take the fall for something I did."
She walked out of the bathroom on unsteady legs, pausing to flick off the bedside lamp, before making her way back over to the armless leather chair. Waking up this morning to an empty bed while he'd snuck out in the middle of the night could only remind her of one thing: that cold spring morning when Michael had left her at the CIA and her older brother's behest in order to protect her from being brutally murdered if his true identity were to be revealed to her enemies and allies alike.
"You ran away in the middle of the night for my benefit?"
"Believe it or not, Fi, yeah, it was for your benefit."
It could be truly frightening the things that the elite operative was willing to do.
"There's no line when it comes to you!"
But of all the times her dark haired lover had pushed her away for his own selfish reasons, and there had been many over the years, the times he'd tried to sacrifice himself to do what he thought was necessary to save her terrified her the most.
"You said it yourself, Fiona. Maybe it's time you went your own way."
She swallowed thickly as she nearly collapsed into the chair, drawing her legs up against her chest to quell the memory of the burned spy leaving her and Jesse in that abandoned hotel with a bomb under his arm, ready to die to buy them time.
"I belong out there with him for better or worse."
"It's probably going to be for worse."
"I knew that the moment I met him."
And as intolerable as the thought of him dying alone had been then, the mere proposition that he might die alone in prison was unimaginable. Her recent stints of dodging assassination attempts daily had only magnified her fears and stripped her illusions about any of them surviving in jail. Her father had been put in Long Kesh gaol, never to return. Michael had more enemies than both of them put together.
They needed to get somewhere safe and they needed to do it now. The men in her life might have faith that their intelligence community could be shamed into doing the right thing eventually but the Irishwoman had learned bitter lessons about what governments could and would do to people under their power from a young age.
Fiona glanced at her watch and then turned out the light next to her. She would give Michael another hour before she woke up everyone up to go search for him.
And if she found out that Jason Bly had laid a trap for Michael Westen, no power on earth would stop her from putting a bullet in that bastard's brain this time.
~~0000000~~
His
It had been something of a risk, taking the major highways, but generally speaking the traffic cameras on the 826 and I-95 were mounted high and only helpful to the authorities if they had already had the make and model of the vehicle they were looking for. Somehow Sam and Jesse had managed to replace Calvin's Cadillac with the shot out rear glass and the multiple bullet holes in the trunk with one that was nearly identical. After they'd swapped the license plates, his ride was street legal once more instead of a stolen car or looking like it had been in a shootout.
His other reason for taking the chance was he was running out of time to make his rendezvous and still be able to scout the location and the escape routes before potentially walking into the trap his friends had warned him against. Taking the side streets would have added an hour to his drive, time he didn't have to waste.
The furtive operative had had to wait until he was certain his bedmate was in REM mode before departing, a difficult task given how much of light sleeper Fiona was. In his favor was the fact that she'd sampled a considerable portion of Schmidt's liquor cabinet now that their host had departed while awaiting his return from retrieving his mother from her unauthorized visit to Nate's final resting place.
Despite her irritation with his proposal to see what someone she distrusted and despised had to say, or perhaps because of it to ensure he didn't decide to go anyway, the fiery redhead had spent the first several hours of the evening wrapped around his torso while he had alternated between running his fingers through her long auburn tresses and skimming them lightly over her back and shoulder.
Michael might have found the quiet détente between them peaceful had he not been planning to slip away in the middle of the night, something that always managed at the very least to sting his conscience every time it had happened afterwards since that cold spring morning in 1999. Tonight he felt almost as trapped by his circumstances as he had then… except he'd just killed the man who'd flown halfway around the world to convince him to abandon his asset.
"I'm so proud of you, son."
Michael flinched internally as the sound of the Smith & Wesson M&P echoed in his head and the sight of Tom Card's blood and brains staining the carpet played out again in his mind's eye, superimposed on the rear of the tractor trailer he was following as he moved into the far right lane. Biting his lip, he checked the mirror.
The evidence was gone… their witness dead… unable to dispute Card's lies…
Finally the exhausted Irishwoman had rolled onto her back, her breathing deep and slow, while he waited with baited breath until he judged it was safe to depart for the meeting he'd been anticipating ever since they returned to Schmidt's and he'd sent his mom into the house, pulling out the handwritten card to dial the number.
"I was beginning to wonder if I was wasting my money on those bouquets."
As soon as he'd heard Jason Bly's voice on the other end of the line, the fugitive spy's first thoughts were to flip the burner over and pull the battery and sim card.
Instead he'd set a timer on his watch and hoped this was worth the risk.
"I'm sure my brother appreciated the gesture."
"It was a long shot I admit. I didn't take you for the sentimental type, but I was hoping to at least to get your mom to pass my message along. For what it's worth, I was sorry to hear about that."
Biting his lip, he'd wondered what exactly Bly had heard about Nate's death but had quickly decided that hadn't mattered as much getting other information.
"I'm surprised you were able to get the CIA to back off watching the cemetery."
"I promised to grab you for them if you turned up during an on-going operation."
Michael had glanced back at the door, hoping the CSS agent would get to the point before someone decided to see what was taking him so long to come inside.
"But as I'm sure you're keeping an eye on the time, I'll get right to the point. Olivia Riley is coming hard for you and you need my help. Meet me at the Moonlight Dinner, Oakwood Plaza in Hollywood. I'll be there after midnight. That should leave you with lots of deserted parking lots and good sight lines for your approach. Believe me, Michael, you need to hear what I have to say."
Mr Westen continued to follow the slow moving USPS truck, intent on first surveying the meet from the interstate as it passed close by the location. If he didn't like what he saw, he would keep driving north. The overly cautious ex-agent ideally would have brought someone along for backup, but couldn't in the end.
"I shouldn't have left him. If he goes down for what I did—"
"Stop thinking the worst, Michael. Maybe he just didn't want to risk taking your call."
"Maybe he's in CIA custody wishing he never met me."
The women in his life had been adamantly opposed to the meet and the former CIFA agent had agreed with them. The ex-SEAL would have been his preferred ask, but he couldn't bring himself to do it after what had almost happened to Sam.
Twice in just this past week alone…
"You go home after you do the job or you don't go home at all, Professor."
Even if Sam had volunteered to bail Schmidt out, pretending to be his backup while selling a worthless piece of sensitive electronics to the smuggler's client who robbed and killed people for living, it hadn't stopped Michael from feeling guilty as he had sat at the table all night waiting for some signal from former navy man, trying to calculate where the pair were being held or the potential heist target.
Especially given his brother in arms could be right about what might occur next.
"I'm with Jess and the girls on this one, Mike. Smells too much like a set-up. Maybe Bly can help, maybe he can't. But I'd rather not be telling him our story in matching sets of bracelets at the CSS Hilton. Let's get the hell outta Dodge first."
The disgraced CIA agent tightened his grip on the steering wheel. As bad as it was, his best friend putting his neck on the line, close shaves kind of came with the territory in their lives… and there were far worse things that had happened because he'd executed his former training officer in a split second of unconscious rage.
"Michael, do I look like somebody who's ready for life on the run?"
The need to scout the meeting site momentarily distracted him from the memory of just how unprepared his mother looked for life on the lam, misty tear smudged mascara eyes below a white canvas hat, or contemplating his complicity in that.
The parking lots and perimeter road of Oakwood Plaza looked deserted underneath the high mast lighting that left minimal patches of darkness at regularly spaced intervals. The orange awning below the equally orange LED's of the Home Depot sign was a discernable splash of color visible from the interstate. Easing his ride down Exit 22, the covert operative was on high alert as he looked for hidden vehicles as well as oncoming traffic before turning right towards the entrance.
The outparcels on either side of Stirling Road were closed. Michael could detect no imminent threats as he drove on, going to the right again while continuing to scan for any marked or unmarked state, local or federal vehicles and mall security too.
"…As soon as we get someplace safe, we're gonna sit down and figure a way to fix all of this. So, please, Mike, don't make me a liar."
He went past the diner, a classic silver boxcar with good visibility and a strip of red neon denoting the roofline and announcing the name of the establishment. There was one dark Crown Vic parked in the space between the restaurant and dumpster.
"I promise you, I'll make this right. I don't know how…"
Following Oakwood Boulevard until it emptied into North 26th Avenue, the most wanted man in Miami pushed away the reminiscences of his early forays into street fights and gun dealing on these very streets, county versus county back in the day... the politics of territorial wars and shifting gangs alliances of his youth proving to be useful training for his future work in the Middle East and former Soviet Union.
"But I will make this right, Sam."
Finally satisfied that he could still get back onto I-95 from Sheridan or Dixie Highway for a more back road route southward, he turned the car around to head back towards his rendezvous with the man who was allegedly going to help him.
~~BN~~
"It's Broward PD. They're coming down 75. I'm sure you already scouted the escape routes. Just take any road south."
As the fleeing former spy looked to his right, catching glimpses of the high speed parade of local LEO's flying northward in between the buildings that lined the interstate, he decided that either the CSS agent's knowledge of the area was sketchy at best or that was Bly's way of letting him know he had misdirected the police without saying it in front of the white haired man skulking in the kitchen throughout their entire conversation. Lying about meeting with him was one thing, he supposed, lying about allowing a wanted man to escape was quite another.
Who the guy was mattered little to him now that Michael was weaving his way through the grid pattern of neighborhood streets, each new right turn following in numerical succession from 26th until he emerged five blocks east and twelve blocks south without a red and blue lightshow appearing in his rearview mirror.
While it would take him longer to return heading down Dixie Highway, it was safer and had the added benefit of time to think about Jason Bly had said.
"I've been tasked with the investigation into Tom Card's murder. And so far I know two things. One, Card wasn't the white knight the CIA thought he was."
He had used every ounce of his training to keep his face impassive as someone in the government intelligence apparatus admitted that Card wasn't a saint or a god. Was there actually a possibility that someone might listen to his side of the story?
"And two if I'm gonna untangle this mess I need the cooperation of the man in the middle of it all."
That too had sounded promising and possibly something he could sell his team on.
"And what do I get in return exactly?"
"You killed a man. I wouldn't get my hopes up too high."
He had killed people before at the government's behest to protect his country.
"Card was running unauthorized ops around the globe and he wasn't going to stop. He used Anson. He used Gray. He was trying to use me. Now, I didn't betray my country, I was trying to protect it."
Michael sighed and swiped a hand across his eyebrows before dragging it down his face, feeling the roughness of his palm and callouses on his trigger finger against his skin. All he'd ever done was try to protect his country…and he'd been burned for it, manipulated and deceived by his superiors and now on the run from them…
Turning down Pembroke Road, he doubled back west towards US 441. If he stayed clear of the authorities all the way there, he would risk getting back on I-95.
"He say he was proud of you? Yeah, he told me you like to hear that…. Right before he told me to go for the head shot."
There were plenty of the sound tactical reasons why his former training officer had proven he couldn't be trusted by the use of that one phrase, trying to maneuver him into lowering his guard, whether to kill him or continue to use him until he too became expendable. But deep in his heart, regardless if his head wanted to come to terms with it or not, he knew that the real reason he'd shot Tom Card in cold blood was he couldn't stomach one final betrayal from the last father figure in his life.
The dark haired man swallowed hard and then clenched his jaw, steeling himself against the moisture stinging his eyes. He didn't have time for this, dammit…
"Now look Michael this isn't about what you get. This is about what your friends and your family get. Olivia Riley is coming for you."
He quickly merged back on the I-95 and headed south as fast as he dared go
If Fiona woke up… If she went looking for him… He needed to return quickly. It was bad enough with his mom sneaking out of the house and risking capture, but an armed and angry Irishwoman on the warpath… Michael increased his speed.
"You remember your old neighbor, Raymond Mosley, also known as Sugar? Riley took him into custody and threw out the rulebook. I don't even know where she's keeping him."
Bly had laid a dossier on the counter detailing how his pursuer had taken out her wrath over her humiliation at their hands, escaping and then capturing her at Copperfield Marina, on the man he had called to force Riley's hand. He felt bad that the bleach blonde was suffering for their ploy, but it had freed his best friend.
As bad as that was, it was the page on the other side of the folder that had caught his attention. Seymour Talbot, the eccentric arms dealer that he'd had minimal contact with in the past four years, had been taken, interrogated and deported.
"Now you want to see the same thing happen to Fiona, Sam, that Porter guy… or your mom?"
Worry over what could potentially happen to the former PIRA paramilitary should she be given over to British custody quickly morphed into a sort of different fear.
A series of images arose unbidden and unwanted… leaving Elsa behind to be interrogated by the CIA as they blasted out of the marina in a hail of gunfire.
But this time his mother was jammed in the backseat between Jesse and Fiona.
Approaching Nate's grave in just time to see the two Agency guys in full black tactical gear wrestling her to the ground while another presses the barrel of a Colt LE Carbine into her cheek, pushing her face into the grass and dirt.
Bailing out of a car and the spiky blonde unable to keep up as they fled the scene…
Michael let out a growl of frustration, smacking the steering wheel with his left hand in an attempt to distract himself from his disturbing reverie that was based on way too much truth for his own peace of mind. Including her changed the plan…
"I bring you in and Riley will have no reason to go after any of them."
And so it went, that one truth repeating in his head against every objection Michael knew his team would make once he tried to convince them this was the way to go, until he was back at the house that had been their base of operations this past week.
Shutting off the headlights then rounding the corner and easing the Cadillac into the driveway, he turned off the motor and drifted the last few feet to stop behind their latest transportation acquisition. Madeline's son closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest, letting his hands slide off the wheel to fall limply into his lap. Hoping against hope that Fiona was still asleep, he slipped out of the car.
"One more thing, Michael, whatever I come back with, keep an open mind cuz this is the last, best and only deal you're that gonna get."
~~0000000~~
Theirs
He didn't quite tiptoe into the room, but it was close. The former urban guerrilla let him get a few steps into the room before snapping the light on.
"So, what did he say?"
"Fi what are you—"
"You tell us you got a note from Jason Bly, we all agree it's a bad idea for you to meet with him…" Tucking her hand under her chin, she looked over his head at the ceiling as if she were narrating a fairy tale. "And then you sneak out for two hours in the middle of the night." She fixed him with a disbelieving stare, like a preschool school teacher daring her young charge to tell a falsehood.
The dark haired man shook his head, opening and closing mouth several times before licking his lips.
"Michael, don't lie to me," Fiona ordered before he could start.
He folded his arms across his chest, mirroring her gesture. "I needed to hear what he had to say. Listen, there might be a way we don't have to run, an arrangement."
"What happens to you in this arrangement…?"
The weary spy couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer fast enough.
"Thought so…"
Unable to meet her eyes, he shook his head, stared at the floor and said nothing.
The lithe redhead rose sinuously out of her seat. "Michael I appreciate it. I really do." She approached him slowly. "But I haven't fought this hard just to watch you turn yourself in."
"I don't know… what else to do."
He looked so lost and downcast that she almost didn't recognize him.
"What happened to the man who moved heaven and earth to get me out of jail when I'd lost hope?"
"He looked at the board and he realized he might be running out of moves," Michael declared at last, his red rimmed eyes starting to glisten. "And this might be the best option."
"We tried living our life separated by glass. It didn't work out," she reminded him. "You wouldn't accept this fate for any of us. Why are you willing to accept it for yourself?" She rushed on, not waiting for his response. "We have a plan. We're leaving, starting over someplace new. That's our move. So no more talk of Bly—"
He heaved a sigh.
Fiona walked away from her troubled lover, heading back for her side of the bed. "Or any kind of deal that puts you behind bars, OK?" she added over her shoulder.
Michael didn't know how to explain to the situation to her in a way she would understand. Clearly the Irishwoman would not consider anything Bly had to say.
Holding her gaze, he nodded his ascent. "OK."
His lover settled herself back onto the bed, pulling the comforter up to her chest.
"Come back to bed," she requested simply.
"OK," he repeated, walking past the mattress to the bathroom beyond.
Fiona settled on her side near the edge, fidgeting with the expensive material while she waited. The one-time terrorist continued to stare at the doorway as though she were staring through a sniper rifle, trying to settle her turbulent emotions.
The thousand yard stare and the look of defeat… no... resignation on her lover's face was disturbing her deeply. It was as though he'd already decided to give himself up to make things right, as she'd heard him promise Sam earlier.
Just as she'd suspected when she'd awoken and found him gone.
After several minutes, Michael emerged wearing the navy sweat pants and white sleeveless undershirt he'd doffed hours earlier while observing the carpet intently. As he came to stand next to the mattress, he stared down into those questioning blue green orbs for what seemed like an eternity. Leaning, he put an arm behind her, climbing over the slender redhead and settling against her back. Pulling Fiona tightly to him, he relaxed when she nestled into his embrace instead of objecting.
She let out a long exhale, took a big breath and then let it out again. The ex-PIRA paramilitary wasn't crazy about their plan for tomorrow. The CIA was watching all the ports as well as the airports. She couldn't understand why they weren't trying to get out of Miami before heading for Argentina. It didn't make sense to get straight onto a ship in her opinion and it was bad tactics to use Schmidt's union rep in addition to passports that could land them on the Feds radar at any moment.
She did not believe any of the assurances he'd given them. The whiny little weasel had betrayed them once already and was just as likely to do it again.
"Michael, about tomorrow…"
"I need a favor, Fi…"
Her arms were covered by his, her hands crossed over her heart and his large paw engulfed hers. Fiona tried to control her irritation with what she knew was coming.
"When we go to the port to pick up the papers tomorrow, I need you and my mom to wait here until it's time to board the ship."
"Wouldn't it be faster if we're already there ready to—"
"I don't want to risk losing what's left of our supplies if anything goes wrong."
Fiona tensed but otherwise remained still. "You're going to need what's in those supplies if something does go wrong. You're gonna need back up."
"That's why I'm taking Sam and Jesse."
"Should we even be trusting that this dirty union rep of Schmidt's is going to get us onto a ship and not just keep the cash and hand you over to the cops?"
"He's not going to want to lose millions of dollars of business by letting the Feds know he's part of one of the biggest smuggling operations in the Port of Miami."
"There's ways of doing that without jeopardizing his business and you know it."
It was Michael's turn to sigh heavily, the images from earlier in the evening haunting him, his mother in dangerous situations she was ill equipped to handle.
He had to get his mom out of Miami quickly and without risking shootouts, high speed chases, literally running for their lives or another setback to their plans.
His mind was swimming with the recollection of a medic treating the bloody gash on the back of her head and the sound of the rifle butt that made the wound.
"You watch your tone there, Michael. If you're not careful, she could get hurt."
"Vaughn!"
He couldn't deal with a repeat of that.
"Olivia Riley is coming for you. Your actions have put her reputation on the line. At this point she doesn't care who she has to hurt to get to you."
Riley had already put the bottle blonde in an interrogation room and had Jesse beaten mercilessly while he'd been in the vicious agent's custody. He couldn't risk it.
And precisely because his emotions were so raw, he told her the truth.
"Please, Fi, I need you to watch over my mom and keep her safe. I can't—"
She waited for him to continue, but there was nothing but the sound of him trying to control his breathing and the thud of his heart against her back. Fiona threaded their fingers together and squeezed. "OK, Michael, if that's what you want…"
"Thank you," he whispered and then kissed the back of her neck softly.
They were quiet and still for a long protracted time thereafter. Occasionally pressing his lips to her shoulder or hair, the ex-spy and military man commanded his pulse to come under control while he thought about what he wanted to do next,
Because what he desired was impossible.
The most dangerous time in any operation is at the end. When you're close to your goal, you have to stay on your guard, be diligent and prepared for anything.
Because as much as he wanted to stay alert and ready, he wanted very much to make love to Fiona, to apologize for everything he'd done with his body as he had so many times before, to find release for his hurts within her strong embrace…
And that would be the exact opposite of remaining vigilant…
As if sensing his thoughts, the Irishwoman said his name, caressing the syllables with that unique combination of adoration, need and acceptance, igniting a fire within him as surely as she had using her mouth for other ministrations.
His hand released hers and slid over her breast atop the blue gray muscle T before pushing it out of the way to settle on the soft planes of her stomach.
Then his hand went under the garment, palming the pliant flesh and causing Fiona to sigh in an entirely different way. He continued to press kisses to the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder met and behind her ear while his hand continued to work its magic until it moved into the waistband of her grey leggings.
In a rush, his fiery lover realized what he was doing, what he had done every time they had come together in this way. He couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't face her!
"No…" she said, grabbing his wrist to still his movements.
Michael froze.
An act of contrition for what he had done… For what he was about to do…!
"No," Fiona repeated, turning in his now slack arms and pushing him onto his back. She rose up above him on one elbow, almost broken by the pain she saw.
Then her mouth descended on his with a passion that actually surprised him after all these years. She tried to steal his breath and succeeded. Her nimble fingers shoved all offending cotton barriers out of her way and then set his exposed skin on fire. In between a flurry of kisses and nips, she stated the terms of his surrender.
"No… no apologies… I want you… to face me… I want you… to look at me…"
Michael stared up at her reddened cheeks and bright eyes surrounded by the wild curtain of her long auburn locks. "Look me in the eye and tell me you'll fight."
"Fi, that's what… I'm doing," he panted. "I'm trying… to make this right."
"No, Michael, you don't need to save any of us, you need to fight… fight for us!" the wild redhead demanded, straddling his waist on her knees. "Fight for me!"
Shifting the gray spandex down past her thighs, she brought their bodies together.
The rush of endorphins at their joining washed over him, shuddered throughout his frame and showed on his face, spurring her to move faster, take him harder.
"Fight for us…" Fiona commanded, her chest now heaving from the erotic exertion. "Fight for us… fight for us to stay together… fight for that!"
With startling speed, her lover flipped her onto her back, removing everything in their mutual way, coming together in such a way that now left her gasping for air.
And then there was bliss…
And healing…
Reluctant to disturb the peace between them but equally hesitant to remain in such a tactically vulnerable position, they kissed softly and then separated.
"Thank you…" she whispered, but he had said the same just a beat before she had.
And they settled into sleep, because they had a very long day tomorrow, and because they were on the same page once again.
For tonight anyway…