A/N: This little vignette starts right before the end of 3.03 End Run, where Michael has just returned from visiting Nate at his mom's while his brother is recuperating from a GSW courtesy of Tyler Brennan. This was actually inspired by the photograph of them that Michael burns in the opening of 7.03 Down Range and attempts to answer the question of how and when the picture was taken. We all know it was taken at a USA promotional event. But I needed a good in-universe explanation and this part of Season 3 seems to fit the bill perfectly. I hope this helps wake the boards up, which have been way too dead lately.
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His…
Michael knew the redhead with the quick temper would be waiting for him when he got back to the loft… she'd told him as much. He wasn't sure what she wanted to talk about this time, but hopefully this time Fiona wouldn't have an overly large bail jumper named Bud trussed up and waiting for the bondsman's office to open.
Likely it would another proposal for a partnership that didn't involve him resolving his situation.
"Think about it, Michael. Your strategic know-how, my expertise in the field. "
"My brains, your brawn."
On the other hand, after spending some obligatory time with his mother and his brother, arguing with his former girlfriend might actually be considered a pleasant diversion. But since Nate had been shot and was therefore staying at Madeline's until he was healthy enough to return to Las Vegas and since it was most assuredly his fault that an old enemy had lured his younger sibling back to Miami with the intention of using him as leverage, Michael felt as though he owed it to Nate to spend some time checking in at his mom's house and running a little interference.
However, the elder son had his limits. While his little bro could probably use some new hair cream after all, Michael drew the line at staying to attend Barry's product party. …
Opening the bomb-blasted door, the former spy tried to cover his trepidation over their upcoming conversation as well as his appreciation for the way the muscles in her toned and exposed arms flexed as she sat there on the steps eating his yogurt… hopefully not the last one… and the way her mouth wrapped around the spoon, forcing himself to concentrate instead on his gratitude for her help with the latest and hopefully final visit from Tyler Brennan.
"How is Nate doing?" Fiona inquired.
"Healing…" Michael tossed his keys on the workbench. "You know, I'm starting to think…" Pausing to remove his sunglasses and close the door, Mr Westen couldn't quite believe what he was about to say, but said it nonetheless. "I screw up his life better than he does."
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. He wouldn't be breathing if it weren't for you."
He dropped his shoulder against the stairway railing as she took another bite.
"I had a little help… Thanks, Fi…"
"Hey, he's family…"
Michael continued to smile softly at her while the Irishwoman kept working on the tart dairy treat. Fiona Glenanne was many things, some wonderful and some downright infuriating; however, she was loyal… almost to a fault… especially to her family and friends…
But the sound of angry knuckles on heavy metal distracted him from his musing.
"Expecting someone?"
He turned away and opened the door, revealing a tall woman in a smart dark suit, dark shades and a dark mood to match.
"Mr Westen, may I have a word?"
Ms. Paxson didn't wait for the answer to her question before inviting herself in.
"Detective, you look unhappy. Come on in…" Michael released the door as he stepped away to put his back against the stair railing once more. "Is your friend coming?"
And there was fire was blazing in those brown eyes once the sunglasses were gone.
"Oh, Detective Lopez? No, he's been suspended."
So, they'd been successful, just not quite the way he'd anticipated.
"Ohhh, has he been naughty?"
The policewoman didn't even bother to turn her glare away from Michael as she answered the Irishwoman still sitting on the stairs behind him.
"No, he's been doing his job actually. He grilled a mayor's aide for three hours about some mysterious bank account she opened with a Michael Westen."
Although he couldn't see it, the ex-operative knew Fiona had gone back to eating because he could hear her scraping the carton and she was likely trying not to look too bemused.
However, Detective Paxson was anything but amused. "Turns out to be a bank error but not before the mayor got upset enough to have his badge yanked."
"That's too bad," Michael agreed blandly.
"I assume you were trying to get me. You'll be glad to know I didn't come by to ask you questions this time."
She took a couple of steps into his personal space.
"I came by to say this. You wanna play rough? I can give as good as I get."
The incensed officer turned on her heel, snatching up the folder with his daily activity log before tossing the papers in the air and slamming the door behind her.
The former operative turned back towards his partner in crime, who gave him her best doe-eyed innocence look over the edge of the now empty yogurt cup.
"That went well…"
They stared at each other for another moment before his thoughts started getting way off topic.
Getting Nate medical attention on the QT for the hole Brennan had put in his arm with some nifty frangible rounds had stirred some unexpected emotions he hadn't quite processed.
Mr Westen headed towards the refrigerator while Fiona followed in his wake, exaggeratedly spooning at the non-existent remnants of the dairy food and stepping around his activity log that was currently decorating the floor.
Pulling a water out of the ancient icebox, he was hardly surprised to discover the lithe redhead had in fact finished off the last Brenners he had at the moment. Of course, she had…
"So, what are you planning to do?" She settled down at the bar, putting the used-up container and utensil down at the same time Michael added the half-drunk bottle to the ensemble.
"Buy more yogurt, apparently."
"That's not what I meant. Besides, I don't think there's not enough blueberry yogurt in the world to cool off Paxson right now, never mind at the nearest Publix," she quipped.
The burned spy finished off the cold liquid in one long gulp before grumbling. "I can't afford to shop at Publix right now anyway. Not after Brennan put three in my engine block."
What he needed was a repair shop that wouldn't care why the motor had few holes in it from a SIG P226 and a way to pay them in trade. Because it wasn't something he could work on himself with a pissed off policewoman looking for any excuse to take him into custody
"Well, you're not going to be able to keep bumming off me either if we don't do something about your lady detective friend soon. Do you have any idea how many bounties she's cost me in the last few weeks?"
He needed to put together some money, but he also needed to stay off the good detective's radar for a while... What he really needed was to concentrate and as usual, the redhead on the other side of the wooden bar was being far too distracting… Perhaps he could solve his two immediate issues at once so he could work on his bigger problems in peace.
"If you've still got enough cash to pick up a few things from the store, I'll make dinner at your place while we decide what our next move should be."
She eyed at him suspiciously. "You're going to cook at my place?"
It had seemed like a sound tactical plan to start with…
"I know it's been a while, but I still remember—"
Michael paused, knowing he'd had mistakenly wandered into a potential minefield with his oblivious comment. McBride had made her a meal at her home… and then used it to drug and abandon the woman who'd become much more than an asset to him.
"How to make that Persian recipe," he added quickly, referencing his half-assed attempt to bribe her into contacting Ahmed Talmot for him with the dish. "You liked that one."
"As long as you don't expect to corner an Egyptian spy after dinner…" she grinned, apparently either mollified by his pivot or not thinking about the same things he had been.
"I'll get you a grocery list."
The former guerrilla sauntered over to his bed and took a seat while he was scrounging through the work bench for something to write with after picking up the scattered papers from the weathered wooden floorboards.
"You might want to pack a few things too. If you're going to stay out of Paxson's way, you might want to consider relocating for the time being."
While Michael's mind and other body parts were thinking about all the wonderful and yet potentially dangerous ways that things could go should he take up Fiona's unspoken offer, he forced his attention back to the required components to complete the cooking.
"You can just get a pomegranate if they don't have the seeds already separated." Her dark-haired former boyfriend handed her the neatly folded square as the lithe Irishwoman came to her feet.
"Don't be long," she told him. "Because I won't be."
Watching her sashay out of the loft, Fiona pausing to look at him over her shoulder before exiting, reminded him in a rush why what he was contemplating was a really bad idea.
Michael blew out a long breath as he not quite collapsed in the ugly green chair once he heard the sound of her Saab screeching out of the open area below the rusted metal stairs.
Is he your partner?
Well, you'd have to ask him that.
As much as Michael pretended to be unaware of the constant hints the one-time terrorist was dropping regarding their future association, he knew what she wanted.
A fresh start… together. Kind of inspiring, don't you think?
And it was definitely not a date with a storage locker to covertly clean out his illicit stash of C-4 before Detective Paxson could bury him under half a dozen criminal indictments with it.
If he was being honest, always a difficult proposition at best where the petite former paramilitary was concerned, there was a part of him that also wanted some version of what Fiona was clearly hoping for, them working together, righting wrongs in between doing jobs and causing mayhem under the sunny skies of Miami much as they had once done back in the day back in Eire.
But it wasn't that simple, not then and certainly not now.
You know… Fiona wanted me to talk to you. She wanted me to let you know that there's a life after you're done being a spy... Not very long in your case.
Harlan's betrayal, Brennan's reappearance…Nate potentially bleeding out in the street… His mother would never forgive him, even if he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger…
You have no idea what hell will rain down if we stop watching out for you.
I'll take my chances.
And so he had… swimming five miles to Miami Beach in his suit pants for a start.
But it wasn't just him that was taking those chances. Nate's run in with the looking-to-retire arms dealer's 9mm was a harsh reminder of that.
Michael, his little boy was only four. Who knew you could feel this bad for a psychopath on the edge of sanity?
People don't get there on their own, Fi.
There had been a time in his life, not long enough ago, that he'd been the psychopath on the edge of sanity, pushed by his former mentor into committing…
Michael dismissed those dark thoughts with a firm shake of his head.
Well, you've done all right
I never lost… everyone I cared about.
Victor's bright, pain-filled eyes stared back at him, begging for release…
It was good playing with you, sport. Now you get out. Get out while you can.
The one-time ace operator scrubbed his hands over his face, then bent forward, holding his head in those same scarred hands while propping his elbows on his knees.
"It's not that easy," he told the empty air of the cavernous space he was still calling home for now.
He made it look easy, because that's what he was trained to do, by his childhood long before the army and the agency added several layers of professionalism and technique to his natural talents.
And he certainly wouldn't have made it without the help of his friends and connected associates; however, as much as Fiona wanted it to be otherwise, what had had happened over the last few months had done nothing to dissuade him from his original assessment.
I don't need a bodyguard, Sam. I need an agency.
He was at a metaphorical crossroads… again… one of many in his lifetime.
It's time for me to get my old job back, my real job.
Working with Sam and Fiona kept him alive, kept him grounded even, but this was not his future. As much as he despised the bureaucracy that came with the job, the opportunity to save lives and the protection and the resources it afforded him while doing the work was what he was made for.
And there was something more…
All this time, you never found out who burned you.
Who cares… another name in the file and behind that another name.
Except he cared.
Whoever had been able to convince the CIA that he was an unreliable operative after years of dedicated service had too much power for him to ferret out on his own from the outside.
The machine wanted you, so it took you.
Once he was back in, the machine was going to regret that choice. He knew Sam would understand and he knew without a doubt that Fiona wouldn't, nor his mom for that matter.
Michael stood up and stretched, feeling the bite of the cut to his bicep from the day before.
Getting his mother on board was something he wasn't even going to bother to contemplate. Attempting to explain this to his trigger-happy ex-girlfriend in a way she would at least follow was something he would have normally dismissed without a second thought.
But seeing Carla's corpse cooling on the asphalt, thumb no longer on the detonator that would have surely ended his life, was a sharp reminder of how much he owed the Irishwoman. That and the brutal memory of what it was like to believe her dead had him thinking that some down time while dodging Paxson could be worse spent than attempting to get her if not on the same page with him, perhaps in the same library at the least, before he had to leave again.
Rubbing at the forming scar under the sleeve of his green polo, the burned spy made his way towards the wardrobe at the rear of the loft. It was going to be 'the over the roof and down the rain gutter' exit again with a backpack on this time and then a short hike to his $300 second most popular car in Miami parked upriver, but hopefully his Miami PD babysitters wouldn't notice.
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Hers…
"Hi, it's Fiona, is Lou there?"
The not-quite-officially-sanctioned bail enforcer cradled the mobile between her face and her shoulder as she manoeuvred the groceries into the front floorboard passenger side of the Saab.
Apparently one of the bondsmen she worked with was not available. She wasn't in the habit of letting people know her schedule, but Lou was the exception to that particular rule as he was an above-the-board kind of guy who still covered for her lack of government paperwork.
"Well, let him know that I'm going to be out of touch for a few days, but I'll have a lot more time and some extra manpower soon. I'll make it up to him."
Her purchases secured, the petite woman on the four-inch platforms circled around the back of the black sports car and settled behind the wheel.
"We'll just let that be a surprise for now, Carlos. Just tell Lou I'll ring him up when I can."
Ending the call, Fiona smiled to herself, checking her appearance in the rear-view mirror while scoping out the area behind her. It amused her that she could always leave Lou's assistant partially tongue-tied with a smirk or a wry comment, ever since the day they'd met when he'd stood there gob smacked and bleeding while the bemouth who'd been beating his ass lie unconscious on the pavement, another victim of her ability to handle a brick with such precision.
The Irishwoman scanned the streets and the parking lot for any obvious tails or police escorts and then headed in the opposite direction from her new condo. It wouldn't do for them to find out where she was living if Michael was going to hide out at her place to avoid law enforcement.
You know, Lou's been throwing me more jobs than I can manage lately and I was thinking, as long as you're still burned—
While she navigated the Miami streets, checking out who might be following her in her own unique way, Ms Glenanne was plotting the best way to get Michael on board with her various side businesses. She was smart enough to know that hijacking shipments of sparkling new P90's would not be to his taste. His sanctimonious attitude about which crimes he was good enough to commit could be very annoying sometimes. He had no problem availing himself of her ill-gotten gains…
She was more than a bounty hunter and an arms dealer. She was a problem solver for the right price with a referral from the right people. Her lengthy list of criminal contacts and unsavoury characters meant that she could always find work, ridding the world of sleaze bags while righting wrongs, a dispenser of justice for those who found themselves on the wrong side of the law.
Of course, she did occasionally do things for her own benefit… or just for the fun of it… On a good day she managed to find gigs that allowed her to do all three at once. Helping her former lover with his little problems or getting him to help the little people with theirs was all part of it.
There had to be a way to make him see that there was more to be had than going back to the CIA.
You want to pay me back? Take Michael for a beer. Tell him life is worth living when you're not sneaking around for the government.
Fiona made a sour face at the recollection. Harlan was just further proof that his connections to his old life were suspect at best. Michael didn't need to be under the thumb of the government, his former bosses directing his every move. He was perfectly capable of making his own decisions
Yes, there were bigger issues to resolve than making sure Paxson stayed out of their business.
Still, the Irishwoman was confident that they could find the right solution once they had discerned how to make the police less attentive to their activities. After all she had managed to keep Carla's organization off her trail and had the pleasure of finally putting a bullet in the bitch, despite their power. Keeping the ex-spy's stalker with a badge at bay should be child's play in comparison.
So, what do you think Michael's gonna do now that he's just a Miami resident?
Well, he's still burned and he's still Mike, so I wouldn't say he's just a Miami resident.
You know what I mean. You think he's ready to leave it behind and just live?
Her irritation over her recalled conversation with Sam Axe had her accelerating a bit more than would be considered subtle for someone trying to avoid being noticed.
Answer the question, Sam.
I think he'll try and get back in.
Why, when he's got so much here? He might be able to make some money, finally.
Executing an unexpected 180 degree turn across three lanes of traffic to a chorus of honking horns and waving middle fingers, Fiona put the Saab through its paces and was pleased to see that there was no one following her down the random alley and onto the street heading back to her place.
Fiona, he did his government work, as you call it, for a reason.
For what? His country? And what have they done for him lately, other than betray him, leave him for dead, ruin his life?
The fact that you have to ask means you're never gonna get it, Fi.
Despite her apparent success at not being followed, the redhead's grip remained firm on the wheel, her jaw clenched as she remembered tossing a piece of C-4 at the lumbering oaf to signal her fury.
Hey, sister, don't be throwing explosives at me just cuz you can't take the cold, hard truth!
And as much as she absolutely despised admitting this, the washed-up Navy SEAL was right, she didn't get it. Michael's dogged loyalty to his former employer baffled and infuriated her no end.
The ex-urban guerrilla had practically been wrapped in the Republican flag from the day of her birth, yet even she had been able to see when it was time to change tactics and find a way to move forward without the bloodshed of the prior thirty years back when they had first met. However, thinking about 'back then' sent her thoughts in a completely different less aggravating direction.
"I need you, Fi…"
His blatant declaration of desire and dependency the last time they had come together had thrilled her. Their time spent between the sheets since Campbell's departure had been a welcome reunion with the other half of her soul, but their relationship outside of sex and work was nebulous at best.
She had come here to Miami to see if there was a chance of them renewing their relationship as it once had been back in Ireland. The myriad of mixed signals from him continually left her reeling from hopeful for the future to yet somehow helpless to proceed in the direction she most desired.
Over the years, she'd tried moving on only to find herself in his arms once more. The pleased smile that blossomed over her face at the warm remembrance of their recent couplings turned almost predatory with determination. No longer enslaved to the CIA, out from under the people who'd burned him, once the powers that be here in Miami were no longer breathing down their collective necks, this would be her moment and Fiona was resolved to pursue it with all she had.
But when she arrived at her new condo to find the bane of her existence instead of the man of her dreams awaiting her, Ms Glenanne was incensed, her temporary indecision on the most satisfying way to end his life the only thing keeping Sam alive long enough to explain the change of plans.
"Easy there, lady, just let me finish, okay? Like I was saying, this buddy of mine runs tows for the police impound yard. So, Paxson's guys never batted an eye when I had him pick up the Charger from Carlito's right after Mike called me about Brennan. I've got it stashed in a storage unit up in Pompano, at a friend of a friend's place. Guy used to run a repair shop out of one half and live out of the other half until he got busted for, you know, adding things to cars for certain customers."
The volatile redhead slowly circled the edge of the carpeting that separated the living room from the laminate in the rest of the space, pleased that the older man was warily watching her reaction.
"Michael's plan to stay off Paxson's radar is to hide out in some warehouse that had been part of a drug bust twenty-four seven until he finishes rebuilding the Charger?"
"Yeah, don't you get it, Fi, it's perfect. Our lady detective is not going to be looking for Mikey hiding out somewhere that's been on a police blotter and there's other places doing repair work outta storage units up there, so he can get any of the parts he needs without raising any red flags."
Actually, it was perfect, not that she would ever let the man slouching against her kitchen island know that in a million years. Michael trapped in a small space with nowhere to go for time being.
"And the manager of this storage place is—"
"Friend of a friend, remember? One of the guys from my old unit, he's disabled now. Me and Virg been keeping tabs on him and his wife for a while, help 'em out if they need something, that kind of thing. They're the owners as well as the on-site managers and the place is in her maiden name."
"And we're supposed to do what in the meantime? Lay low, keep up appearances, what…?"
Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and chuckled nervously.
"Mike thought it would be a good idea if we all kinda laid low, changed things up, you know, throw 'em off the scent. The Buick's kinda hard to miss, so…"
"Are you seriously asking to borrow my car again?" She gave him a thunderous glare.
"No, no, no, I got that little beater Mike bought the other day. Already got it loaded up to run some supplies up to him. He was just saying that you might want to pick up a different ride before—"
Fiona crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to look put out when in fact things were going even better than she could have possibly anticipated.
"I've got a better idea. I'll drop you off at Madeline's and I'll run the supplies up to Michael. You know he would want you to keep an eye on her while he's not going to be around."
"I dunno, Fi, I—"
"Then maybe you can finish fixing her sunroom before next hurricane season. Of course, you could have had the job done already if you'd quit sneaking over the back fence to go see your—"
"Do not call Miss Reynolds a bimbo," Mr Axe interrupted before she could do just that. "And that's her ma's house behind Maddie's. She doesn't live with her mother; she just visits with her."
"Whatever," Fiona retorted with an airy wave of her hand. With Sam tied up finishing his construction project and keeping an eye on Michael's mother while they were off the grid, she would have her man all to herself. "Let's go already," she said, holding her hand out for the keys with a fiery stare that would not be contradicted. "We shouldn't keep him waiting too long."
Oh, yes, this really was going to be perfect.
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Theirs…
To Be Continued…