To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe. Anatole France

-00000-

Andreani Estate, outside of Kildare, Ireland, December 2015, 15:25 GMT

~~You used to be the girl who set the world on fire
And they doused your soul in water, but the flames raged higher~~

She had been a paramilitary fighter, a hardened urban guerrilla who'd been wrapped in the flag of the Cause from the day she was born. She had been the most dangerous woman in the whole of the Emerald Isle with a large bounty on her head. Fiona Cairin Glenanne inspired awe to those wearing the green and fear amongst the Orangemen.

~~Used to act so tough like you could walk on a wire
And they called you devil's daughter, such a pretty liar~~

She had been doing deals both legitimate and illicit in partnership with her former fiancé. Cajoling, threatening or both as it needed, Laramie Descoteaux had been a cut-throat business woman who worked behind the scenes, caring for her children in a hidden and secure locale, while waiting for their father to get out of a British prison.

~~You were burning like the summer, crazy like a fox
You hit harder than a drummer, like a wave on the rocks~~

Once reborn from the fire, having more than her flesh burned away, Renata Andreani had become the best and the worst of both her previous incarnations, managing an international criminal empire with skill and ferocity while ending the organization that had caused her family to be scattered with equal parts acumen and viciousness.

The Irishwoman had ensured that she would never at anyone else's mercy ever again.

~~You could play me like the lotto, you were playing a part
There ain't nobody could tame you and your wild heart~~

Even using herself as bait to lure the last of the bastards who'd kept her from sa bien-aimée and threatened her children out of his lair had been no risk at all. She'd executed that plan with all the cunning and resources at her command. Anson Fullerton hadn't stood a snowball's chance in hell of doing any more harm to her or her loved ones.

~~Remember when we said don't let go ´til we die
Take me back to that fire in your eyes
'Cause I know it ain't gone too far
Take me back to you and to your wild heart~~

But it had been a long time since she had been merely a woman in love, his Fi, his wild Irish rose, and a very long time indeed since she had allowed herself to be vulnerable.

Seeing McBride again, awake and rushing towards her in the hallway outside of Armand's office in spite of all her preparation for that moment, looking all the more her dark angel standing there in the daylight this time despite the intervening decade and change, that moment had shaken her to her core… only the presence of the guards allowed her to keep enough presence of mind to lead him to her new headquarters.

The former redhead was afraid of nothing and yet revealing herself fully to the only man she'd truly loved had left her exposed and defenseless in ways she could not tolerate.

"I don't want your pity, Michael."

She should have known he would reject her once he saw the extent of the damage to her body. Armand who had spent years attempting to sway her to his affections had abandoned that quest once all the plastic surgery had failed to restore her to her former glory. Why should it be any different with him? How could he love her still after all this?

But she'd owed him the truth no matter the cost. There had been enough lies, told to her and told by her, over the years. Fiona would tolerate nothing less than veracity now.

"Pity…?" He took her gently by the elbow, keeping her from retreating to her bedroom. She hadn't run from a fight in decades, so why was her only thought now to flee? "No… Fi… Fiona…" He'd turned them both to the mirror and she shuddered internally, seeing what she was certain he saw…the wreckage of who she had once been... always kept hidden behind hairpieces, thick makeup and expensive clothing… and the sad truth of her own private hell. But then her former lover did something that stunned her.

Michael leaned forward and Fiona froze, unable to comprehend what he intended to do.

And when his lips touched the place on the base of her neck that had once held the tattoo, the Claddagh she'd gotten right before he'd gone on that mission to England, the Irishwoman found herself enveloped in a memory: him softly kissing the irritated skin that still stung from the needle that had injected the ink before he touched every part of her… her other tattoos, her other scars and the other places she reserved for only him.

"No, I don't pity you… I'm in awe of you, Fiona… My wild Irish rose…"

As he brought his own muscular frame in alignment with her remnant of her once lithe form, his warmth seeping into the scar tissue that composed the back half of her body, something buried so deep inside her that she had doubted its existence broke free and began to flow down her face against her will, but there was no stopping the deluge.

"You fought… so hard… to protect your children, our children… You came back for me when I didn't deserve it… After I'd left you behind, you nearly destroyed yourself... For me, for love…"

Staring up into those red-rimmed cobalt blue orbs and seeing as much adoration as moisture there through the veil of her own tears was difficult; however, what he said next added another layer of shock to her already incredulous emotions. "You are the strongest, bravest, most beautiful woman I have ever known and it's me who should be pitied for spending the last sixteen years without you… without us… without them…"

His hands on her face were the heat and the look in his eyes the light of a sun to a soul shrouded in darkness. His return, so long a remote dream, now being manifested in close proximity was nothing compared to the apparent acceptance of her as she was.

It all felt so surreal… how could he be here and still love her, still want her after all this?

Then he kissed her… and the former Provo commander and head of a vast illicit empire found herself drowning in a tsunami of feelings, solace battling with sorrow, elation offset by the inevitable, the heart Fiona had denied she owned melting in its cold cage…

"Fi…" Michael whispered her name, the sound of his voice caressing that one syllable.

Her mouth clamped onto his and she kissed him back hard, her torched hands latching onto his neck, threading through his matted hair… the new sensations flooding over the seared nerve endings were so much more than physical.

But the reality of smoke-filled lungs made worse with many applications of anesthesia invaded their moment of bliss and she was forced to pull back, mentally cursing her limitations and every one of the bâtards who'd had a hand in causing them.

"Fi…?"

"Tis fine," the petite woman panted, pleased that she'd been able to keep from gasping. "Just need ta catch me breath…"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so sorry…"

Uncertain whether he was apologizing for stealing her wind away or the circumstances which had left her so compromised, Fiona turned her face, pressing her cheek onto the sweaty T-shirt covering his chest and listening to the beat of his wild heart.

Then the moment became too much. She'd dreamed about this, longed for it, schemed and planned and fought for it and suddenly it was more than she could cope with. How stupid was that? She'd stared down dictators and device detonators. What the hell…?

Then something penetrated her damaged olfactory senses and she sniffed again to ensure that she wasn't just making up reasons to get some space between them momentarily. "Michael, mon amour, have you really been asleep all this time?"

His expression was a cross between curiosity and sheepishness as he seemed to notice his own unwashed condition for the first time. "Ummm… If you came by to see me the first night I got here, then yeah… it's been awhile since…"

"Come with me," she requested, starting to turn back towards the doorway.

"What's wrong with this?" he asked, gesturing towards to massive gilded garden tub behind them, the porcelain and brass gleaming. "It seems big enough for both of us."

Rather than admit she truly didn't trust his apparent acceptation of her ruined condition, Fiona hide her discomfort behind a forced smile. "I think your hair is going to require the water pressure of a shower to set it right," she jibbed. "And I seem to recall you were a man who had no time for long baths."

Michael swallowed thickly and she was certain he was remembering the same scenario.

They'd been working together for months, causing quite a bit of mayhem wherever they went. She hadn't entirely trusted him then either, but after many missions and several beatings for his tactical failures that he'd tolerated, Fiona had wanted Michael McBride to be more than her partner in crime; however, her past had left her hesitant and wary. So, she'd devised a test for the man she wanted in her bed as well as at her six.

The Provo commander had told him to meet her for a debriefing immediately following their latest bombing, which had left them both in need of a clean-up. She had seen the wariness in his eyes when he'd realized they were in her big brother's home in Holyhead.

Those cobalt blue orbs had become even wider when she'd walked him into Liam Glenanne's bathroom, where a roll top tub bath in the center of the cork tile floor stood steaming within the spacious white and green tiled en suite. His gaze had flicked to the large double shower enclosure taking up the left corner of the room.

"I donnae think we have time fer a long bath, Fiona. I kin use the shower if ya want—"

"Jaysus, yer thick, McBride. Tis nae just cleaning up quickly Am after. I want t'get t'know ya better an' a good soak in a tub is the best way t'get t'know a body. Unless yer sayin' yer nae interested in gettin' t'know me body better…"

And she'd waited. If he wanted out, then he'd be all the way out… Whether it was to save his skin or he wanted to get his hands on her skin, McBride had stripped out of all his clothing and settled into the hot water and bubbles with a cocky smirk on his face.

It had been the first time of many that they would make love and she'd become convinced that she'd finally found her one true love.

"It's just… I… I don't want to be away from you, Fiona…not anymore..." He started to pull her into his embrace. "Not even for a shower I obviously need desperately."

This time her smile was genuine. "Come and clean up and then we'll talk more."

Pleased when he put up no further resistance, Fiona led her dark-haired man back through the bedroom to adjoining suite on the other side of the sitting room. It had been used by her Aunt Claire, the only other person ever permitted within these walls before today, while the older woman had been helping her deal with nearly being burned alive.

The Irishwoman quickly suppressed the memories of her hellish recovery. Too stubborn or too damned stupid to not give up and die, her twin had told her with tears in his eyes as she'd come out from under the anesthesia of her third skin graft surgery.

"What is it, Fi?" Michael asked, clearly having caught the shudder that ran through her frame when she stepped into the white on white bathroom, the tiles and walls and counters all impossibly clean and sterile looking.

"We'll talk more after you clean up," she repeated and then retreated, furious with herself for her insanely idiotic reactions to his presence. All she had ever wanted was to have him back and now that he was here, all she wanted to do was run away…?

The head of a vast criminal cabal ran a quick check on the perimeter and reviewed the security status board and several cameras, attempting to gather herself by returning to some semblance of her routine as she heard the shower start up and she moved away.

Still, her scarred hands shook as Fiona turned the taps on all the way to draw her bath once she had returned to the ornate room where she transformed from her le chef de l'organisation persona to what remained of her, the place she removed all pretense.

~~The world we knew…It was so simple then~~

When she'd first seen him in the infirmary three nights ago, it'd taken her breath away, reality becoming so unreal that only the urgency of boarding a plane to dispose of the corpse of Armand Andreani had kept her from just crawling into the bed beside him to prove to herself that this wasn't one of her many nocturnal visions of her long-lost lover.

~~Me and you…Thought it would never end...~~

Stealing silently into the room, devoid of her usual disguises, she had settled on the corner of the bed, assured by Liam that Michael would not awakened just yet. Her scorched hand had trembled then as well until it closed over his fingers and immediately she'd been reaching out to cradle his scruffy cheek with her other one, wishing she could feel the scrap of his whiskers once again upon her dead palm.

~~ Oh, what I wouldn't do…To get back to…the world we knew…~~

The sound that had escaped her had been heart wrenching albeit soft and the one-time hardened guerilla and international crime syndicate boss slowly sank down, almost allowing all the pain from missing him to overcome her, the feel of his body and the steady thump of his heartbeat the only things keeping her grounded in that moment.

And then he touched her…

~~I remember nights, baby, you and I taking what we were given…~~

Catching her own reflection in the looking glass, she threaded her damaged digits through her short, stiff tresses, remembering the first time she'd felt his hand upon her no longer lush auburn locks. Was he as upset as she had been at the loss of her hair?

~~And I remember days standing in the rain…That's what I can't leave there…~~

A quick buss to his face and then she'd had to go. There was business to tend to… as it had been for long as she'd known the French war merchant… and that time, if she were to retain the leadership of the Andreani empire, she had needed to make sure that the death of its former head had not only been explained in a manner acceptable to all their mutual business partners and allies, but one that eliminated her final opponent as well.

Turning quickly away from the mirror, Fiona lowered the lights and then laid the various items out on the stone surface that her skin now required to maintain what little elasticity remained while debating on which song to play to settle her nerves. How odd that a CD she'd found at the Sea Mist Hotel all those years ago would become part of the soundtrack of her life, words she'd find comfort in on the cold nights of missing him…

While streaking across the Atlantic on a Learjet 75 that had been specially modified to serve as a state of the art flying hospital then, the ex-guerilla had spent most of the flight over fantasizing about what use the spy who'd deceived her and fathered her babies would make of the equipment therein once she'd beaten him bloody for betraying her.

However, upon arrival in the steamy environs of Miami, she'd learned that someone else had already apparently tossed Michael McBride under a lorry before she could get her hands on him and there she'd discovered music that had first spoken to her while nursing the wounds of the former covert operative she'd come to bring in from the cold.

~~This love is killing me, but you're the only one. It's not over…~~

Only instead of leaving that seedy motel with a burned spy in her care, she'd been the one to be loaded onto the jet, hanging on by a thread on life support and without the dark-haired man she'd come to retrieve. How dissimilar the first eight years without him had been from the second... O' course, trying t'immolate meself made a mighty big difference, she thought wryly as she gingerly removed her clothing now that her bath was sufficiently filled and appropriately lukewarm. But the silence in the room was unnerving instead of relaxing this time… She was already jittery enough as it was…

The sounds of the warm liquid swirling in the garden tub helped her make her choice.

~~It's safe to say I'm lost…Without you in my arms,
So I call your name and I pray you might
Come and watch over me like the pale moonlight,
Until the sun comes back around...~~

Somehow, improbably after sixteen long years, her missing man was here again, that member of her immediate family who held the key to an old fortress long guarded. She was simultaneously thrilled and terrified by the fact that Michael was in the other room.

~~Take me down, take me down by the water, water,
Pull me in until I see the light…~~

She had meant what she'd said to him earlier. She didn't want or need his pity. She didn't need another person to pretend for. Fiona deeply loved her children, but she had never allowed her family outside of her aunt, and occasionally her twin in the beginning, to see the true depths of what had happened to her and no one outside her family saw past the façade she presented of a ruthless ruler over her various enterprises.

~~Let me drown, let me drown, in your honey, honey,
In your love I wanna be baptized...~~

He'd been only one of two people that had seen her true heart, who'd been allowed to bypass the walls that kept her sane in the past. If he was going to stay for however long the spy she'd loved remained, he needed to accept all of who she was like Claire had.

~~Take me down, take me down by the water, water,
I wanna be baptized...~~

Michael had said that he was in awe of her and that he was to the one to be pitied for losing her and his family... But McBride had also told her he was there to stay by her side while she took out the various sectarian groups trying to ruin the peace process.

~~And the days and nights are cold...Without your body to hold,
So I close my eyes hoping you'll appear…~~

She had watched Michael Westen from afar over the years and he had still been a spy and spies lied, manipulated people to get what they wanted. Was he lying to her now?

~~Cause it feels like grace every time you're near, yeah,
Don't leave, until the sun comes back around...~~

She had waited for his return with great anticipation and quiet desperation by turns, but now the reality she lived in every day had her questioning the fulfilment of her dreams. Would he even still be here with her in the morning when the sun came back around?

~~Take me down, take me down by the water, water,
Pull me in until I see the light,
Let me drown, let me drown, in your honey, honey,
In your love I wanna be baptized.
Take me down, take me down by the water, water,
I wanna be baptized.~~

Fiona let the words of the chorus wash over her while she finished delicately washing herself and then gently dabbing the water from her body with a thick beige towel after wrapping an elastic one around her spiky wet hair. Shutting off the music, she pulled the terrycloth sheet around herself, leaving her back and arms exposed when she noticed Michael standing framed in the doorway, staring quietly at her.

"You can come in," she urged, wondering how long he'd been there watching her.

Padding softly across the expensive tiles, his damp raven hair lying flat against his head and the white fluffy robe he wore standing out in the dim light, her missing man came to her side. He bit his top lip as her former lover looked from her impassive face to the collection of creams and other medications on the cold stone counter.

"I could use some help," she stated simply, waiting to see what he would do.

He ran a fingertip along the containers lined up on the white marble. "Which one first?"

Then the wounded woman instructed him in one of her many routines designed to preserve her functionality. His touch on her skin was delicate at first, indistinguishable to the dead nerve endings on the scorched portions of her body, though she thought she could detect a very slight pressure in conjunction with the motions he made.

As she kept still and whispered encouragements, her beloved became more deliberate with his movements. Fiona fancied she could actually sense his palms upon her back.

The petite ex-paramilitary, whose steady hands were legendary, sucked in a quick breath when his hands slipped from the parts of her shoulders that could not feel to those that could. Michael stopped immediately but did not release his hold on her.

"Fi...?" His warmth breath on her exposed neck sent another shudder through her form.

"Tis fine," she assured him. "Not used to someone with callouses helping me." She kept her tone teasing and light. "I can manage the rest."

"So can I," he countered, taking the cream from her. His expression was that same mix of cocky confidence and hesitant hope she remembered from their first time together, before he'd dared to ask for a dance in that little dingy bar in Belfast all those ages ago.

His fingers glided over the other parts of her the towel left exposed and it was setting her on fire, a dimly remembered but long desired burn of another sort. His eyes never left hers as he applied the moisturizer to the underside of her arms and the front of her neck. Sadness clouded those blue orbs momentarily as he applied an antibiotic to the half shell of her ears, but quickly vanished once her long lost lover gingerly spread the expensive contents of a frosted glass jar over her visage with another light touch.

Why was she hesitating? When had she ever let fear keeping her from taking what she wanted? She felt alive again in ways she had not for years. Would she lose him once more by allowing her insecurities to get the better of her, to keep her from being bold now?

Once the last cap was replaced and the last tube laid back down, Fiona took his now clean-shaven cheeks between her seared palms and raised up on her tip toes to press her lips to his, gently at first, and a thrill of desire shot through her as he responded.

As their kiss deepened, she reached up to run her fingers through his slightly wet but no longer matted hair once more, now tasting him as she demanded access to his mouth, trying to read his mind while she held him close until she was out of oxygen again.

"You've got some stitches," the Irishwoman observed, seeing his scars more than feeling them, though the irony of her concern for his injury did not escape either of them at that moment when they separated.

The dark-haired man shrugged. "Yeah… I keep running into things, I guess…"

"Liam said you were cleared of your concussion. You should probably have something to eat or at least drink. Three days is a long time on just intravenous fluids."

For a moment it looked like he was going to protest, but then Michael merely nodded and followed as she led him back into the bedroom. "And you'll need some clothes too."

Moving back through her boudoir into the front room, Fiona removed his backpack from a closet near the heavy metal security door that led into the suite and brought it to the sittee on the left side of the space. "I had it sent here for safekeeping after you went to the infirmary. Your clothes were all cleaned and repacked. It's all there as you left it."

The tiny ex-terrorist looked on while the American operative went through the contents, knowing he would check despite her assurances and waiting again to see what he would do next. She had left him with an opening to retreat gracefully if he wanted to.

But Michael surprised her by pulling out the faded green CD player he'd given her years ago instead of jeans or a T-shirt. She had left it behind in the hotel room with her elder brother and her battered lover when she'd gone to get their ride to the airport in Miami.

"You found it," she said, mild astonishment in her voice. "Liam said he'd missed one of my backpacks in the rush. You've kept that all this time?"

The one-time burned spy turned it over slowly in his grasp as he had done on numerous occasions during their time apart. "It was my only proof..." he whispered. "The only evidence I had that... that… that you'd come back for me, that you still..." He swallowed hard and then drew a deep breath. "It was my only tangible connection to you."

Fiona went to his side, taking the audio device and laying back on the embroidered sofa. "You have another pair of tangible reminders of our connection," she informed him with a slight smile. "Ones who need to spend time with their father."

His look of hurt almost broke her heart. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No... I just meant..." His lost lover sighed. "We never were any good at this, were we?"

"We've never needed to talk as much before," he countered.

Fiona gave a wry little chuckle. "True, mo ghrá… How is it when I'm dealing with drug lords or mob bosses I know exactly what to say and do, but when it comes to you…"

Michael looked stricken. "Do you have to do much of that?"

It was her turn to shrug. "C'est la vie," she returned with a wave of her hand.

"Fi…" he started over, still looking incredibly guilty, picking up the CD player briefly before setting it down once more. He looked as if he were debating something.

"Yes, mo ghrá amháin?"

"In the bathroom before… what was… this is going to sound stupid, but were you listening to something?"

"You heard that?"

"I thought I did… though I'm not sure about much that I thought I knew these days…"

Instead of answering, she hugged him tightly, her arms around his waist. Michael hesitated in returning the gesture, but now she was feeling more assured it was his concern for hurting her and not any lack of desire to embrace her that held him back.

"You might as well know all my secrets." The former paramilitary released him and led him towards a console near the left-hand side of the bedroom. Fiona could feel him staring at her back again in the better light and then watched him catalog the room as they stood next to each other in front of the recessed screens and displays on a panel that ran nearly from ceiling to floor.

There were multiple sections of the control center, which included security status boards, camera feeds and other intel. In the middle of left-hand side was the master control for a sound system. He looked surprised to see it and more so at the music it contained.

His look of curiosity continued to grow as he flipped through her playlists, all of which were from the same artist. "When did you start listening to this?" Michael asked.

"In Miami... when we went to bring you back… I was watching through my sniper scope, waiting to see them or you..." Her voice took on a dreamy quality as she seemed to drift back in time. "Luckily for you, I saw what they'd done to you first and then I didn't have to wait any longer."

A grim smile of satisfaction spread across her features as she remembered watching their heads explode before they dropped their semi-conscious prisoner. "Then while Liam was treating your wounds, I was finding it much harder to wait patiently without someone in my crosshairs. Thar wa' a bill due fer whot they'd done t'ya an' I wa' wantin' t'collect fer the damages right then an' thar."

Michael nodded mutely, seeming to both acknowledge the truth of her statement and being reminded of the severity of his wounds. That was a feeling she understood well.

Taking in a lungful of air, Fiona exhaled her past rage and continued more calmly.

"I found a CD when I was searching the room for bugs... Some of the songs... they spoke to me... Afterwards, while I was... when I... it reminded me of you." She dropped her stare to the expensive carpet beneath her bare feet. "Sometimes it was like... like he was saying what I... sometimes it was what I hoped you might be thinking... if you were thinking of me... I listened…listen to all his music…" She paused and sighed heavily. "Sometimes I was so angry with you... but there were words for that too..."

When she turned her gaze up to his face once more, Michael looked stunned. "You listened to that... to that… all the time I was gone, you were... listening too..." He couldn't seem to find his voice and she didn't know what to say either. To think that they had some connection beyond their mutual pasts, beyond their desperate search for one another...

She'd had her children, her lights in the darkness, but he had only had words of hope...

The former American agent turned back to the intricate panel behind him and after a few attempts was able to pull up the track he was looking for. A single piano note sounded softly and then a voice she so often had associated with her missing man began to fill the intense silence.

~~Hey
Show me one man that's never made mistakes

Oh, and I'll pay…All of my time and every dime I made

But today…The best of intentions I lay at your feet
And I need you to see past the worst part of me~~

They both stood there, staring at one another, hovering between the source of the sound on the wall and the four-poster bed with its gauzy curtains obscuring the patterns on the thick Hungarian goose down comforter.

~~I'm tired of taking my aim…When I keep on missing
There's gotta be a better way…Gotta be a better way~~

Michael stepped forward, moving into her personal space, running the back of his curved fingers over her cheekbone before turning his large hand to cradle her face.

"I'm so sorry, Fiona… I don't know what to say.… What can I say?" he begged as he made small gentle circles against her skin, warming her face and her heart too.

~~And every little word I say…Keeps getting twisted… Coming out wrong…So baby hold on~~

Fiona laid her small burned appendage over his, stilling his slight movements, and then turned her head to lay a kiss in the center of his palm. Blinking back tears, she said, "Don't say anything, Michael… I just need…"

~~I'm tryin' to hit the mark…But I'm shooting with broken arrows…
It's like I'm shooting with broken arrows~~

He was waiting for her to say something, his sad blue eyes searching her misty ones.

~~No…I may not be a saint but I've got a heart of gold…Yeah~~

As she slid her fingers slowly down his neck to the collar of his robe, her other hand moved to his waist, settling there and giving him a gentle squeeze as she tried to form those words she'd said to him all those years ago when they'd come back from Harrow.

~~Oh, like a telephone…Connection ain't clear
But I hope you hear my soul…You gotta know~~

Fiona cleared her throat and swallowed twice before speaking. "I just need…"

~~Yeah…The best of intentions I lay at your feet
And I need you to see past the worst part of me~~

Then she untied the belt holding the white terry cloth in place around his body and watched it drop silently to the carpet before raising her gaze and gripping the lapels of the garment.

~~And I'm tired of taking my aim…When I keep on missing
There's gotta be a better way…There's gotta be a better way~~

His long-lost lover licked her dry lips and pushed the robe off his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a small sound, leaving him as naked and exposed as she felt in that moment. Michael didn't move, meeting her pleading stare with a questioning one of his own.

~~Seems like every little word I say…Keeps getting twisted…Coming out wrong...So baby hold on~~

"I just need you to help me banish the past… All of it… if you will…" she choked out, biting back the sob that wanted to tear from her throat, hating the conflicted emotions.

~~I'm tryin' to hit the mark…But I'm shooting with broken arrows
It's like I'm shooting with broken arrows~~

And he smiled at her, a watery expression that matched the moisture in her own orbs.

~~It's like I'm shooting with broken arrows (yeah)
It's like I'm shooting with broken arrows
Broken arrows~~

Then her missing man, the father of her children, the man of her dreams took her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a slow kiss. The music faded into the background and all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart threatening to break out of her chest.

Their kisses broke and formed again, as if they could make the intervening years disappear and for a moment it seemed like they had. Their fiery passion, burning in low embers all this time, had flared to life, ignited by the reunion of each half with its other.

His hands hovered over her back, still uncertain where to touch, unsure where to settle, ultimately landing on her hips as he brought them closer together, eliminating any space between their bodies and Fiona gave herself over to the improbability of his love.

As he backed her over towards the bed, she didn't resist, nor did she flinch when he pulled at the towel separating them and relegated it to the floor as well. Then his large paws were on her hips again before skimming lightly over her ribs and back while he continued to kiss her. When she had to pull away before her gasping lungs burst, his lips moved from her mouth to her throat to her clavicle and then lower still, his hands and his tongue leaving fire in their wake as he proceeded steadily downward.

But it wasn't the attention he paid to the usual places on her quivering form that he knew from the past would drive her mad that threatened to shatter her already ragged emotional control. It was the tenderness of every touch to each one of the scars she had from the multiple skin grafts that had been taken in an attempt to salvage her body.

By the time he was on his knees, kissing her properly with one leg thrown over his shoulder, Fiona thought she was going to pass out from the white-hot ecstasy that was moving along every undamaged nerve in her slender frame until she almost did so, lights exploding from the backs of her tightly closed eyes as she cried out in bliss.

When she came back to herself, she was sitting on the edge of the thick mattress, leaning onto Michael's shoulder while he petted her sweat glazed short hair and murmured words of love and concern into her ruined ear. It took several attempts to reassure her dark-haired lover that she truly was better than alright.

Standing up on rubbery limbs, Fiona urged him to trade places with her and then pushed until he was lying in the middle of the large bed on his back. Her traitor eyes teared up again at how beautiful he still was and the comparison hurt for a fleeting moment before she began her own exploration of his flesh with her mouth and fingers, effectively halting any line of questioning about what might be the matter with her.

Soon enough, she was astride him, welcoming her beloved back to her most intimate place, joining them together in the way they had last been sixteen years and nine months ago and Fiona found the memory of that coupling intersecting with the reality of their reunion. Panting from multiple causes, the Irishwoman was trembling for all the right reasons when Michael pushed himself up, sitting up to gather her into his arms.

Her dark angel gasped his own exhalation of hot breath into her breasts as she felt the tremors in his limbs that signaled his own joyful release and they clung to each other, nearly a minute for every year they had been apart, neither wanted to let go until fatigue and gravity had their way with them and they slowly melted down into the mattress.

She found herself lying partially across his chest, one leg thrown over his, moving from fighting the reality of their reunion to battling the sorrow of their inevitable parting. Tis stupid, she told herself. Live in the moment while tis here, as they said in the IRA.

His lover allowed herself the luxury of sleep, best she'd had in probably sixteen years.

When she awoke later, uncertain of how much time had passed, Fiona was situated on her good side, her head on his shoulder and her arm lying across his body. The fingers of his one hand were threaded in her hair and the other was behind his neck.

For a while she watched while Michael slept, something she'd done a lot of over the years, but obviously not had the privilege of doing recently except in her own dreams. Comparing his visage from years ago to days ago to this moment occupied her thoughts, keeping harsh reality lurking just outside her bedroom door for now.

He had been thirty when they'd met, was now nearly fifty and yet he seemed to have remained largely the same over the intervening decade and a half whereas she had not.

True, he'd added to his collection of scars and of course age played no favorites; however, he was still essentially the Michael McBride the former freedom fighter had known him as during their glory days of working together for the Cause, or so he'd said.

The Irishwoman let out a long low sigh, her warmth breath against his skin causing him to stir slightly. Her life as a republican paramilitary had been simple by comparison. His blood shot eyes cracked open then; the look of disorientation in those red rimmed blue orbs was replaced by relief and a lazy grin started to form as his gaze met hers.

"Tis alright, Michael. Go back t'sleep. Ya can rest up a bit more an' I'll still be here…"

After a pause, he nodded and did as he bid, and Fiona found herself marveling at not only just how exhausted the ex-operative appeared to be, as he'd already been largely unconscious for the last 72 hours, but also the fact that he really was here by her side.

Fiona drew idle circles on Michael's collarbone while he continued to doze, trying not to see but being nonetheless unable to avoid the contrast between her damaged digits and the strong smooth planes of his chest while she thought about her only other lover, the man she'd spent the last sixteen years with while trying to get her beloved back.

In some ways, her relationship with Armand had been even more complicated than the one with the father of her children. Newly graduated from university with a degree in languages and wanting work on the continent, she'd been introduced to Sean's main arms supplier, who happened to be looking for translator, or so he'd said at the time.

The young Irishwoman had gone from interpreting legitimate business contracts and monitoring meetings to decoding secret communiques for the Frenchman's other enterprises and actively participating in analyzing opportunities both legal and illicit.

Somewhere in that process, she'd also transitioned from assisting Monsieur Andreani in his boardroom to keeping him company in his bedroom. He had valued her for her intelligence and her cunning as much as for her beauty and he'd offered her the world.

"Tout ce que j'ai est à toi? Tu m'épouses, mon amour?"

But after she had accepted on his marriage proposal, fate had intervened in a cruel fashion and not for the first time. A car bomb meant for the head of the clan had not only killed her brother Seamus instead, but had also badly injured her mother as well.

With Claire caring for their mam, Fiona had gone home to help her remaining brothers in resettling their widowed sister-in-law and her many children away from bloodshed.

Then she had stayed to assist in seeing justice executed for the family once again…

Armand had understood her reasons for wanting to remain to exact revenge, having conducted his own campaign of retaliation against the minions of Marcel Francisci and the man himself for the massacre of the Guérini clan during their gangland wars.

Her brothers had insisted on keeping the girls on the sidelines and for once Fiona had agreed… until that black day she'd taken her baby sister out for a day trip in Belfast…

As she lay next to Michael, once again parallel to his comforting form, she couldn't help but remember her confession to him long ago in that hotel room in Harrow, finally telling him of the events that had led her to become one of the most dedicated and dangerous devotees to the Cause in the midst of her own little private war against her enemies.

Since that dark night when two British soldiers had done nothing while three loyalists had brutally beaten and raped her before taking her sister's life, she'd made certain that everyone around her, friend and foe alike, respected what hell she could rain down on anyone who got in her way. She had become Nemesis, goddess of divine retribution.

After the Dockland bombing, Armand had regretfully informed her that he had business concerns about her activities and opportunity to undertake a politically and financially expedient relationship if she was no longer intending to return to his side. She'd politely wished him well and immediately went back to planning their assault on Manchester.

Being hell bent on the destruction of her ever-growing list of adversaries and not caring if she lived or died in pursuit of that goal, the Fury had had no interest in or time for love. until a raven-haired man with a quick wit, fast fists and a ready smile had put a chink in the armor that surrounded her mind and more so her heart after many months.

She'd seen him staring at her across that dingy little bar in Belfast and had discounted him, just one of the many men who wanted her attention because of who she was like Tommy O'Neil. Until he'd proven to her he had no idea who she was, interrupting an Real IRA planning session by asking her to dance. Enamored with his bold ignorance, she'd agreed to take him once around the smoky crowded floor before dismissing him.

Only he didn't stay dismissed… and in the course of fighting for the Cause together, he'd slowly wormed his way into her affections, taking up a place in her heart so strong that even when Fiona had learned of his duplicity she couldn't' bring herself to hate him.

It still blew her mind that someone she had known such a comparatively short time could crave such a deep space into her very soul. She'd whispered to her babies in the womb about the man who'd fathered them. She'd screamed for Michael as she'd broke Sean's hand before they'd sedated her in the delivery room. Fiona dreamed about her dark angel all those lonely nights before they'd been forced to move to Marseilles and felt guilty every time she'd allowed Armand to talk her into being a friend with benefits….

The Frenchman had been a frequent visitor to their secluded and secure chalet he'd given over for their use, asking her to help manage his business affairs once more when her children had been old enough not to need her exclusive attention. Andreani had made her a partner in his various enterprises both above board and under the table... It kept her occupied and her skills sharp while Sean had allegedly been trying to break Michael out of whatever high security British prison he was in, or so she'd been told…

The Irishwoman sighed and wondered again, as she often had after giving in to the need for some adult conversation had sometimes led to surrendering to urge for some adult company with her former fiancé, what Michael had been doing with his body…

She knew he'd been with other women, being the head of a criminal empire had given her resources better than his Agency; however, she had hoped that whatever it was, or whoever, he was doing, it had meant as little to him as her liaisons with Armand meant had to her.

Fiona felt him stir and stretch. Michael pressed a kiss to her hair and freed his arm from behind his head before bringing their hands together across his heart, mindful to keep a very light grasp over her damaged digits. She waited for him to say something as she listened to the steady deep passage of his unimpeded breath from his uninjured lungs.

Memories of them together, two halves of a whole not yet reunited, and their babies had been the only thing that'd kept her alive after she'd been able to locate him once he'd been burned, ousted as a spy and finally on the radar, and then she'd been burned.

That… and the burning need for revenge, of course… Anson Fullerton and Armand Andreani had paid the price for attempting to keep them separated all these years…

Fiona smiled and allowed herself the illusion that this was something more than a brief respite to her loneliness, a beautiful oasis in a vast desert of obligation, one she had gladly undertaken in defense of their children… At least she still would have her babies.

"Fi…"

Instead of answering, she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing the knuckles and sighing, trying to hold onto her contentment, remembering their many couplings over that brief period of paradise and wondering at the miracle of their momentary reconciliation.

Then her expression became wistful as her thoughts drifted from long ago lovemaking with the man once again sharing her bed that had resulted in their children to the long months of carrying them while wanting him at her side before the memories of their excruciating delivery devoid of his presence made her melancholy once more.

The twins deserved a chance to have time with their father too before he had to go…

Soon enough there would be business to tend to again and she would have to leave him… The former redhead blinked back the tears that started to form. It would be better that way. Then she wouldn't have to watch when he inevitably left her again.

"Fi, what is it?" Michael whispered.

He tilted her chin upwards and leaned back so he could see into her misty eyes when she refused to answer, confusion spreading over his handsome face. Fiona shifted upwards, moving until she was lying across his recumbent frame, kissing him softly.

"I want you… every moment I can have you…"

The wounded woman pressed her lips to his, more forcefully this time, deepening the kiss, the fires of her remembrances mixing with reality again as she pressed for access to his mouth and was rewarded for her persistence. The wounded woman knew she'd end up out of breath well before she wanted to be and she didn't care. Only loving him mattered.

Her dark angel laughed lightly when his lover finally had to surrender to her limitations.

"It's alright… take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"No," she agreed sadly. "Not tonight anyway."

His expression was a heartbreaking mixture of bewilderment and hurt.

"You don't… you don't want me to stay?"

"I want every moment I can have with you, mon amour. There will just be too few…"

His eyebrows scrunched together and he frowned. "So, you don't want me to stay…?"

She kissed him again before settling her head over his heart once more. She could feel its beat accelerating while he awaited her answer. "I never want you to leave my side."

"Then I don't understand…" Michael reached for her face, laying his palm along her jaw, urging her to look at him again but she continued to stare at the bed curtains past his shoulder, wondering how he could not comprehend the impossibility of their situation.

"You're a spy," she said, stating the obvious as if that explained everything.

"Not anymore," he countered.

That did cause her to push up onto her forearm to stare down at him.

"I'm done, Fiona. I was trying to meet with Armand only because his… well, your organization had hunted down the people that burned me, finished them off…I also found out that you'd… what you'd had to do to survive after I'd left you… that you…"

He swallowed thickly and bit his upper lip before continuing.

"I knew Armand had an estate in Ireland… I got a number for Sean… He told me that if it was over, I needed to come home…. Told me where to meet him, two birds one stone, I guess… so, I had the Agency arrange the meeting with Armand here as part of tracking down the last of those bastards… only I didn't tell them everything I knew…"

She laid a palm upon his cheek, thumbing away a stray tear that had formed despite his best efforts to hold it back. They were both going to be crying again in a minute…

"I was trying to see Armand to find out if he'd gotten them all… I needed to know if it was safe to come back… After all that, everything that had happened, I couldn't take a chance on them finding you… and I wasn't sure if you and he were really…"

"No, not really… not that that matters now, as he's dead and so are all our enemies, including the ones you didn't even know you had. No one will hurt you ever again."

Michael closed his eyes, acknowledging that truth with a nod and a deep sigh. When he looked at her again, there was that same hopeful expression in his misty blue eyes.

"I'm done, Fi. I left it all behind. I had no intention of going back. My only plan was to make sure you were safe… and see if… if you could forgive me for…what I've done."

The paramilitary turned mafioso blew out a long breath and then licked her dry lips.

"I can't not forgive you, Michael, although there's been times I wanted to kill you."

The ex-American agent smiled weakly. "I suppose that's something."

"I love you with all my heart and I want you here with me forever. But…"

"But…?" he echoed, that amalgam of misery and misunderstanding on his face again.

"I can't allow anything to endanger our children. Not even you, mo chroí na gcroí."

"I… I don't… you said everyone… that our enemies are dead…"

"And so they are," Fiona agreed with satisfaction. "Our mutual enemies are dead. But I have plenty of other ones and my allies and my business partners would not be such should the titular widow of Armand Andreani take an American spy to her bed, even a former one. For a night or two, perhaps, but you cannot stay and I cannot go with you. O'Neil grassed ya t'the known world an' twas only the fact I dinnae know thot allowed me family t'forgive me fer it. There are many others who would not be so inclined."

It broke her heart to tell him the truth, but there could be no more lies between them. Michael stared at her wide-eyed, his mouth parted but frozen. Then she could see it.

Fear… as raw as her own emotions and as naked as they both were. In all the time she had known McBride, Fiona had never seen him afraid like that, but she saw it now.

Moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes as he shook his head ever so slightly in denial of the circumstances. It seemed like an eternity, watching him drown in the same sea of anguish that had threatened to take her under time and time again over their years apart, knowing there was no help for it, until something else showed that the ex-guerilla had seen on the face of her compatriot many times in the field under heavy fire.

Determination…

"No," he stated quietly but firmly. "There has to be another way."

"You have men depending on you, just as I have people depending on me."

"Fiona, I… I have a family I never knew existed…how could I... there's nothing else-"

"And what about your friend, who's probably finished off all of me auntie's fish pie?"

Her dark angel opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. However, she could see the wheels turning, that brilliant mind of his refusing to accept a no-win scenario and although she knew far better than he what forces were aligned against them, Fiona allowed herself a fleeting feeling of hope as well.

~~When we're so close to heaven
Underneath the moonlight, yeah it's paradise
It's gonna be too hard to say
Goodnight yeah~~

The Irishwoman laid her head down again, refusing to think about anything besides the warmth of his body beneath hers and the feel of his flesh on own her skin. She laid her hand along his throat, no longer able to feel the tensing of his jaw muscles in the tendons of his neck, but knowing that was exactly what was happening as he thought.

~~It's feeling like we're high above the ground
It's feeling like we're never coming down
Till we want to
But why would we want to?

It's feeling like we're high above the ground
It's feeling like we're never coming down
Till we want to
But why would we want to?~~

She must have drifted off for a second, because the sound of him calling her name startled her. Her own inattentiveness surprised her as well. How long had it been?

"What is it, mo ghrá amháin

"What if I hadn't been here as a spy?"

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as her dearly departed Da would say.

"What if is a fool's game, Michael." She closed her eyes again… So much for hope...

"I'm serious, Fi. The spy game is a hall of mirrors. You never know who your enemies and your allies truly are. You said yourself that I had enemies you'd taken care of that I knew nothing about… By the way, who exactly were you talking about?"

The slim woman propped herself up, one hand to the mattress and then she turned onto her side, tucking herself between his arm and his ribs, as he opened his hold. "The Director of the CIA. He knew about that rogue group operating within his own Agency."

She tried not to laugh when his mouth fell open. "You must have suspected. You certainly took the long way around coming here to meet in secret with Armand."

"We did," he admitted. "We knew he was connected to something, but not that he—" Michael was silent for a moment. "That's even better."

"Really?" Fiona arched an eyebrow. "Then you'll just as happy to know he's dead?"

"Actually yes…" He paused again, as if trying to decide if he was truly relieved to hear her admit that she'd arranged the man's timely end. "I presume you had that done?"

"It helped resolve a number of my problems all at once, including what to do with Armand's body that wouldn't involve Keevan in an investigation into his homicide."

The father of her children looked stricken for a moment and then merely sad.

"I've missed too much of their lives… and ours…" He took another deep breath before drawing her down for a long slow kiss. When they drew apart, his eyes were pleading.

"I know I can fix this, so I don't have to miss any more time with them… or with you, Fi."

"Are you a miracle worker, mon amour? It will all work out for us because it's Christmas?"

"It's a miracle that we're here… together… now… if there's a chance of forever…"

Fiona wanted to believe him even though everything in her experience told her it was impossible… but then again, this moment, them in bed, in each other's arms, him accepting her as she was, making love to her, had been an impossibility days ago…

"Can you give me one last chance to make it right?"

She smiled, recognizing the words. Leaning forward, she captured his mouth again, running her seared fingers through his hair as the burning desire she had always felt for him began to flare, felt it her heated skin molded to his, felt it in his response to her.

"First things first…" she whispered. "Can this plan of yours wait a few more hours?

"First things first," he agreed, as his hands slide down her body and settled on her hips, his fingers squeezing in all the right places along the way as he kissed her passionately.

~~It's feeling like we're high above the ground
It's feeling like we're never coming down
Till we want to
But why would we want tonight…?~~

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

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS! to all the Burners out there. I hope you enjoy your present! It was extremely hard (pun intended) to keep this T-rated story in T-territory and still give our heroes a fitting (and hot) reunion. And, seventeen months, wow it's taken me more months to update than years Michael and Fiona have been apart in this little AU. Well, I guess it wouldn't be WWLB without making an apology for taking so long.

Glad to see some other Christmas presents on the boards, AlwaysEachOther back on the main page and marvelous Marge Hammerman's wonderful work on the M-Page.

Thank you to the amazing Purdy's Pal just for being her incredible self and writing partner as well all her contributions to this Twilight Zone version of Michael and Fiona. Thank you to everyone who's favorited and followed and waited patiently for this to finally be finished. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers too. I deeply appreciate your words and time you take to write them so much! You guys are totally awesome!

Just an epilogue to go and that will be a wrap of one of my two chapter stories. I will try to finally start updating my other one next after getting to work on some more "Be Brave Little Angel." For anyone interested, all the music used in this little tale is on YouTube under RuthWesten Playlist. Feel free to PM with any questions or comments. Thanks!