A/N: This is the third part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 6 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."
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6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 3
An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception
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Miami 2012
"Jeez, Fiona, what the hell did you do to the guy?"
It had taken Sam Axe four hours to get from the Sawgrass Mills Mall parking lot to the Sunshine Motel on the outskirts of Daytona. Four hours of driving fast through the slowly increasing early morning traffic, hoping and praying the whole way he was doing the right thing. He had little confidence in Michael continuing to do the right thing when left on his own and if Anson Fullerton made another phone call while Michael was alone...
And now this...
Daryl Jordan, former army ranger and psychiatric patient, was lying unconscious slumped in a cheap rate motel bath tub with two black eyes, a broken nose and a long deep gash across his forehead. However, those were only minor injuries compared to the state of his two shattered knees.
"That piece of scum was on his way to assassinate Madeline, Nate and that wife of his - I think he got what he deserved, Sam." Fiona pushed by the older taller man so she could get a better look at the victim of her handiwork. "Besides, it's not as bad as it looks, honestly. I used half power rounds, so he'll be able to walk…eventually… and look I've dressed his wounds and I've given him enough drugs to knock out an elephant, so he's not in any pain."
Sam sighed and turned away, going back into the only other room. He was too tired to remonstrate with the Queen of the Lucky Charms over her gun toting psychotic little ways; he had something far more important to discuss with her.
"Well, he's out of it for now, so until I'm ready to go, he can stay there." He shut the door to the bathroom and then slumped down on the nearest of the two double beds in the room. "What I want to hear, sister, is your explanation for putting Mike through hell... Do you have any idea how bad he's takin' your death? He nearly killed Jesse."
She leaned back against the bathroom door, her arms folding over her chest in defiance. "Well, somebody had to do sommit," she shot back. "Or were we just going to stand back and watch that bastard lead Michael straight inta hell?"
"I don't know, Fi... But this, what we're doin', is wrong."
"You all told me what a bad idea it was to run. Michael would never stand for me handing myself in. So, what other choice did I have, Sam? Please, tell me, what else could I do?" she gesticulated wildly.
"Well, not this, lady. Do you even have the slightest idea what this is doing to him, to all of us?"
"He wa' turnin' inta a monster an' ya war all jus' standin' around helpin' ham! Well, I couldnae take it anymore!" she'd shouted back at him, losing her composure as well as her American accent. "I won' let it happen, d'ya hear me, Sam? I won' let thot bastid control ham a moment longer." She smashed the heel of her foot against the door behind her to make her point and then, just as fast as her temper had erupted, she calmed down and fell back against the bathroom door, angrily wiping away a tear before folding her arms once more across her chest.
He'd been shocked by her outburst and the urge to get up and offer some comfort was almost overwhelming. She looked so small standing against the door, her arms crossed protectively over her body. But as she'd looked at him through narrowed tear-filled eyes, he had thought better of it. He had once seen an injured panther when sneaking through the Bolivian jungle which had looked friendlier than Fiona Glenanne did at that moment.
"If I hadnae forced yar hand, how far would ya have let ham go, Sam?" she'd suddenly asked. "How bad would t'ings had ta have gotten befer ya acted? He helped a traitor hide his identity, he got me an' Jesse ta blackmail a banker ta get tha bastid his money. Whot wa' next? Steal some secrets? Kill somebody? Mabbe burn another spy, how about Pearce? She'd make a pretty target fer ham, dontcha t'ink? A senior C.I.A field officer...Would thot have been enough fer ya?"
He'd been unable to answer her accusations because, in all honesty, he had no answer. Anson Fullerton was like a slow moving plague; his attacks on Michael's integrity were so insidious, it was hard to say where exactly the line was any more.
When she realized he wouldn't, or rather couldn't, answer her, she'd pushed off the wall and walked over to the kitchenette. Her movements still fueled by anger and frustration. "So, how is he really?"
Her American accent came back as she took back control of her emotions even though her voice was still shaky.
"He's drinking himself into a stupor just so he can sleep and when he's awake - to be honest, I think the only thing keeping him going is the thought of taking out Anson and then going after your killers."
He'd heard her sniff and then watched as she finished making two cups of tea before turning to face him, her face lined with sadness. "You look like shit. Drink this and get a couple of hours sleep before we head back. Sleeping beauty in thar ain't goin' nowhere. He'll be out for hours."
"We?! Oh no, sister, it was bad enough Mikey nearly recognizing you after that stunt in Naples. What happens if Pearce spots you? If she thinks for one minute she's getting played again, that'll be it. It won't matter if Mike ends up hating all of us, because we'll all be locked up in some CIA prison."
"I intend to be there when Michael takes down Anson," she said, smiling sweetly. "I promise I won't be seen, but I will be there. So, I either travel back with you, at least part of the way, or I can find my own way back to Miami... Take your pick."
The hard glint in her eye and the stubborn look on her face had told him this was a fight he was going to lose. So he took the only course left open to him. Smiling back, ever gracious in defeat, he'd eased himself fully onto the bed and lie back. "Well, if you're coming back with me, you're doin' all the driving, Tinkerbell."
()()()()()
It was just after four o' clock in the afternoon when Sam finally managed to get back to the loft. He had traveled back from Daytona with Fiona behind the wheel and the injured hit man, still drugged up and cable tied, dumped out of sight in the trunk.
When they had reached Little Haiti, Fiona had pulled off the I-95 and jumped out next to a small strip mall. "I have a storage locker nearby where I keep me big toys. Keep Michael safe and keep me informed and, Sam, be good... I will be watchin'." And then before he could reply, she had gone, striding away as if she didn't have a care in world.
"You sure can pick 'em, Mikey..." he had grumbled at her retreating back.
Twenty five minutes later, he had pulled into the CIA underground parking garage, handing over Anson Fullerton's hit man to an angry looking Agent Pearce and a heavily armed tactical team. The slender dark haired woman had stared through narrowed eyes as Daryl Jordan had been carefully removed from the trunk of Sam's stolen car and placed on the cold hard floor.
"Ah, yeah, well, guess he's a little banged up." He had understated situation with an easy smile on his lips. Unfortunately for Sam, Dani Pearce had seen nothing to smile about.
"What happened? Did you do this?" she'd snapped as Jordan was being strapped to a hurriedly supplied stretcher by two CIA medics.
"Not me, this was how I found him." He'd brushed off her concerns for the injured assassin. Then Sam had realized that neither of his friends had been present. "Say, where's Mike and Jess? I thought they'd be down here to meet the guy who wanted to kill Mikey's mom."
"Jesse had to go in to work this morning and Michael was exhausted. I sent him home earlier this morning when there was nothing to more to do and now you've brought me a prisoner who may hold valuable intelligence we could use, except he's too sedated to speak to anyone."
"Look, lady, you'll have to take that up with Jesse about how his contact chooses to deliver prisoners. The guy was gonna to massacre Mike's whole family. How did you think he was going to be stopped? With a few kind words and a pretty please?!"
Sam had pulled himself together after that outburst. Somebody had to keep thinking straight with all the craziness going on amongst his friends and it looked like he was the only one up for the job.
"Ya got your prisoner and now I'm gonna check on Mikey." And with that, he had slammed the trunk shut and driven away.
Now he was standing at the top of the metal staircase, staring at his friend's door and wondering what he was going to find inside.
When Sam stepped through the door, the first thing that hit him was the smell of stale liquor. Pursing his lips, he closed the door and moved across the room, worried that his none too quiet entry hadn't disturbed the man on the bed in the least. His buddy should've had a gun pointed at his head already.
After satisfying himself Michael was still breathing, he leaned down and picked up the empty bottle which had fallen onto the floor, presumably when the younger man had finally passed out and tried to drop it in to the trash.
Wiping a hand over his forehead, he sucked in a deep breath and moved back over to the bed. It was time to wake up Michael and put him back to work.
"Hey, Mikey! Wakey, wakey, rise an' shine, brother." He forced the cheerfulness into his voice and hardened his heart as he pulled the pillow Michael was cradling out of his arms.
The spy groaned and batted away the large hand which shook his shoulder.
"Go away, Sam," he grumbled into his bed covers.
"Not happening, fella. You gotta get up. C'mon, you need to take a shower and get dressed before we go and dump my ride and get you something to eat." To make his point, he took hold of the arm that was trying to knock him away. "Dammit, Mike, I didn't drive all the way back from Daytona in a stolen car with a body in the trunk to find you lying down on the job."
At the mention of a body in the trunk of a stolen car, the younger man sat up, whimpering and clutching at his head, as he made it to an upright position.
"You need to quit this drinking yourself into dreamland, Mikey. Your body isn't used to the abuse. You keep this up and you won't make it to the finishing line and, from what I've heard, Anson has nowhere left to run. It's just a matter of time until he's found."
"I'll believe it when it happens," Michael replied miserably. "What's this about a body? Did Jesse's guy -?"
"I got to the meeting spot and Jordan was all trussed up waiting for me. I tell ya, Mikey, if the guy wasn't a psycho killer in league with an evil genius, I'da felt kinda sorry for him. Jesse's contact did a real number on him. Anson's hitman's gotta busted up face and had his knees shot to pieces."
"How?" Michael winced as he tried to become more engaged in the conversation. "Pearce told me he was taken down quietly, that the first my family was gonna know about it was when they get taken into protective custody." If at all possible, Michael's pasty complexion paled even further. "My phone – has my mom called?" He patted his hands over his pants and pulled out his phone to find no missed calls.
Sam saw the look of disappointment and shook his head in silent sympathy for his best friend. Madeline Westen was one woman who knew how to hold a grudge.
"She'll get over it, brother. Your mom is one tough lady, she'll work it out. You were only trying to protect her." As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake as Michael suddenly choked and got to his feet, staggering away towards the bathroom.
"I couldn't protect -" Michael slammed the door behind him and then all Sam could hear was the whooshing of running water as the shower was switched on.
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Throwing the bathroom door shut with a bang, Michael twisted the taps which sent water cascading down from the shower head into the bathtub below. His hands shook as he tore his clothes from his body.
He would not let thoughts of - her fill his head. He had a job to do, a mission to complete. He would not, could not let - her, let F-.
He gulped, and wiped a hand over his eyes. She was gone, Fiona, his Fi-. A choking sob escaped from between his tightly pursed lips and his body convulsed. But he pulled himself back. I will not think about this now. I can't - He sniffed and drew in a shuddering breath. He had a job to do. He would just think about the job.
Climbing under the hot water, he let the heat wash away the pain. Closing his eyes, he pushed back the image of Fiona in his mind. Soon, soon, I'll be able to bring you back, I'll keep you alive... I'll- I'll get out, I'll leave the agency... I'll -.
He thought about the barn where his dreams had taken him the night before, he thought about Ireland, about their first night and their last and about every place they had visited, every piece of mayhem they created, each day and night they spent together. He let the myriad of memories linger just for a millisecond before carefully storing them away. First Anson, then the men who cut you down, then -? He let the emptiness settle over him. Then, then - I'll think about it later.
By the time he climbed out from under the water, he was back in control. The wall he had put up around his emotions was fragile, but he would do whatever it took to make sure it held. First Anson, then the men who killed her...that was all that mattered.
He walked back into the loft with just a towel around his waist and another in his hand as he rubbed his hair dry.
"You feelin' better now?" Sam asked from where he lounged against the counter top.
"I'm fine," Michael replied automatically, not even having to think about his answer. He was always fine.
Padding across to the wardrobe they had shared, he paused, his hand brushing over the small metal handle. Closing his eyes, he opened the door and just by memory pulled out the first suit his hand touched upon.
Dropping the hanger on the bed, he went over to a chest of drawers and again paused. There was too much of her, of Fi-, of her stuff for him to concentrate.
He glanced over to where his friend sat calmly sipping on a beer. He could have sworn earlier, when he was sitting on the bed talking to Sam, he had caught the faintest whiff of her perfume. He frowned. He had to put a stop to this. He needed to get outside and away from anything that reminded him of what he had lost. He had a job to do.
"I've got ya a bottle of water and a couple of Aspirin over here. You need to hydrate, brother." Sam calling out from across the loft dragged him out of the pit of despair he was about to step into.
Michael blinked and then turned to flash his friend a half-hearted smile. "I'll come and get it in a minute. Let me get dressed first, 'kay?"
"Sure thing, Mike." He glanced at his watch. "I tell you what, how about after we get rid of my stolen car and we head over to the Chadwick. You can order something to eat from room service and I can have a shower and get outta these..."
Michael held up a hand as his phone began to ring and the way the younger man's skin paled caused the older one to stop talking.
"Michael, I called to congratulate you on your quick thinking, managing to neutralize Mr. Jordan, while you were still hundreds of miles away. You really do live up to your reputation for having an exceptional ability to improvise and it is that ability which I wish to utilize for a short while."
While he listened to Anson's speech, Michael watched as Sam grabbed up his own cell phone and put a call through to Pearce.
"You tried to kill my family. What makes you think I'll forget it all and help you? It's because of you that -"
"No, Michael, what happened to Ms. Glenanne cannot be laid at my door. If anybody is to blame, it has to be Mr. Porter. He failed to give her proper covering fire. He's the one who left her to die and he's the one who ran all the way back to Miami without her body."
Michael closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He was not going to let the creep on the other end of the line get to him. "You didn't call to talk to me about Jesse. What is it you want, Anson?"
"I need you and your remarkable skill set to get me out of the country, preferably to somewhere without an extradition treaty with the US. Now, before you say no, I want you to understand. I want you to remember you have other friends. Sam Axe is facing a very serious investigation. I believe he is being accused of spying for Russia. I can make those accusations disappear."
"You're the one who -" Michael began to say hotly, but he was interrupted.
"You know, Michael, it's a shame no one ever let the authorities know what was going on in your home when you were growing up."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Mr. Westen countered.
"All the yelling, the screaming, all the abuse you had to endure as a child. Your mother was always very keen to avoid having the Department of Children and Families get involved in your lives, wasn't she?"
"Still waiting for you to get to a point, Anson…" Michael caught Sam's signal to put the call on loud speaker and keep the evil mastermind talking.
"What I'm trying to say is that I'm sure Madeline knew what would happen if you and your brother were ever taken from her. You would have ended up in foster care, wouldn't you? Split up, bounced around... why you might even have ended up somewhere worse than your own home. I'd hate to see something like that happen to Charlie. I mean, he's so young and defenseless and who knows what could happen to him if, oh say, someone were to call and mention your brother's alcohol and gambling problems... Who knows what else might come up in that conversation? Did he ever explain why he had to leave Las Vegas in such a hurry?"
"Just stay away from my family. If you..."
"Me, Michael? Really, I'm just pointing out what could happen if you don't solve my travel problems. I want you to think about what could happen to Charlie once he's in DCF protective custody. Have you heard all the horror stories? Some of those people are really incompetent. I'd really hate to see your nephew become one of those statistics, one of those poor infants who die in DCF custody each year when they are supposed to be protecting them."
"This has to be a new low for you, using a child?"
"You're the one making me resort to this, Michael. All I'm asking for is a little bit of help and in return I promise to be gone from your life for good. I don't want to hurt anyone. Now, meet me in twenty minutes by the fountain in Bayfront Park and come alone. If I see anybody who even looks like one of your friends or CIA, Charlie gets to spend his first birthday in foster care and Sam Axe will get to spend the rest of his life in prison. Twenty minutes, don't be late, Michael."
He stared at his phone, his mind rapidly running through all the possibilities. Was this ever going to end? He was moving without conscious thought, grabbing up his keys and sunglasses and running for the door.
He wasn't going to go through this again, he couldn't. He was going to end Anson, he would call his mom, call Nate tell them to pack their bags and get out of the state... Sam, Sam, okay Sam would have to come with them. He would make it right, once Anson was dead, he would...
"Mikey! For Christ sake, Mike, hold up!" Sam roared, giving chase.
A mixture of his friend shouting out and the bright sunlight hitting his sensitive eyes caused Michael to come to a brief stop on the staircase leading down to his car. The strong firm grip on his arm held him back from continuing the descent.
"Mike, where are you going? Please tell me you're not thinking meeting that bastard without back up."
"Let go, Sam. I have to do this, I have to -" He pulled free from Sam's grip and ran the rest of the way down the steps, only coming to a stop when he realized he wasn't going to be able to leave until Sam moved his "borrowed" car.
"Sam, get that heap outta the way," he growled, glancing down at his watch. This was wasting valuable time.
"Calm down and breathe, brother." Sam stood in front of him. "I don't know what you've got planned, but I heard that call. You gotta slow down. It's gonna take Pearce at least half an hour to get her team together and into place."
Michael swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before giving his friend a cold hard stare. "You heard him. He's going to use Charlie, he's not even a year -"
"Hey, this is what I mean, Mikey. You're not thinking clearly, Anson's threats against your brother and nephew don't mean squat. They're in federal protective custody, DCF can't touch them. They're safe and sound."
"But-" Slowly Michael relaxed and the tension drained, leaving him with only the pounding headache from his hangover. "What about you? You heard -"
Sam grinned and shook his head. "When I called Elsa and told her about the whole being accused of spying for the Russians thing, do you know what she did?"
Michael shook his head, albeit slowly and painfully.
"She put a call through to some fancy law firm in DC. They're already working on proving me innocent. Anson is going down. All you have to do is keep him there until Pearce and her team can get there to arrest him."
"He's probably gotta team of his own, Sam. There's no telling..."
Sam slammed his hand down on the hood of the Charger. "He's got no money, it's all been taken away from him, even the stuff Jesse and Fi stole back for him. Pearce took care of that. He had one guy, one untrained guy, to watch his weapons store and he hadda use a psychiatric patient to do a hit. Fullerton is done. If he had his own team, would he be calling you for favors?"
Biting down on his lower lip, Michael thought about what his friend was telling him and slowly nodded. "Okay, you're right. Follow me to Biscayne and back me up until Pearce gets there with her team."
"We're gonna finish it, brother." Sam beamed and patted his friend on the arm. "You're gonna get to bring him in." He pushed the younger man towards the door of his car. "Get goin' and just remember you have to keep him in the park until the CIA arrive." As soon as Michael climbed into the Charger, Sam ran round to move his stolen ride out of the way.
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As soon as his friend sped away, Sam got his phone. "Fi, where are ya, sister?"
"I'm watching Michael break several traffic laws. What's going on?" came the dry response.
"Get your ass over to Bayfront Park, he's meeting up with Anson now... And, listen lady, get up high and take your rifle with you. Mike's gonna need all the back-up we can give him."
"On my way, Sam."
With the call made, Sam drove off straight out onto NW 5th Avenue until he reached US 1.
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Michael didn't even bother doing a lap through the small lot located directly across from Bayfront Park looking for a space. He pulled the Charger onto the flat concrete curb area between the decorative potted palms with a squeal of protesting tires. Getting a ticket or getting his car towed were the least of his worries right now. He wove through the nearly rush hour traffic on Biscayne Boulevard amid a chorus of horns and curses heading towards the park. His hangover symptoms and everything else were dismissed into the background, as he could only think that he was one step closer to completing his mission.
Once in the park, Michael glanced at his watch. He still had a few minutes left until Anson's deadline. He sped up as he caught sight of the large circular fountain and then he spotted his target sitting calmly on one of the green metal benches surrounding it. The moustache was gone, as was the business suit he normally wore to their meetings, but there was no mistaking the blond windblown hair or the calm smug look of superiority.
From the second he saw Anson Fullerton, Michael developed tunnel vision as he zeroed in on the man who had ripped his life apart. Increasing his pace until he running, he pushed by the civilians who blocked his path. The only sound he could hear was the rushing of his own blood.
By the time his tormentor realized something was wrong, that the man he had so successfully manipulated up until now was barrelling at him, Dr. Fullerton barely had time to get to his feet before Michael's fist connected with the solid jaw of his enemy, knocking the older man onto the hard pavement in front of him.
The shouts and screams of passers-by meant nothing to him as he kicked out, knocking the gun Anson had just draw out of his hand and then he was on him.
Michael's soul sung out as he knelt astride his foe, pounding blow after blow into the man's face and upper body. The satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with flesh felt intoxicating, as did the sight of all the damage he was inflicting on the evil sadistic sonuvabitch who had driven him to this level of vengeance.
"WESTEN! WESTEN! STAND DOWN!"
Michael was so wrapped up in taking his revenge that the orders shouted out by Agent Dani Pearce meant nothing to him. He was barely aware that the senior field officer and her team had shown up and were now surrounding them.
"Michael! Let him go, brother, we got him. You got him! You can stop now!" Sam's voice finally broke through the barrier of hate and Michael ceased his assault and backed off.
As soon as Anson felt the attack stop, he scrabbled backwards, scooting across the pavement on his back like some bizarre crab, and reaching into his pocket before any of the armed men surrounding him could advance on him.
"Back off," he panted and then caught his breath. "I SAID BACK OFF!"
He lurched upright, blood trickling down his rapidly swelling face. Raising his hand, he let them all see the remote trigger switch in his hand. Spitting out several tooth fragments, Anson cleared his voice.
Agent Pearce signalled her team to form a loose semi-circle around their target, but not to approach him any closer.
"This is a dead man's switch. I rewired the detonator just in case something like this happened," he gasped the words out. "Just in case you didn't come alone."
Michael stared at the device clutched tightly in the psychologist's hand. Running his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips, he shifted his feet preparing to pounce at the first opportunity.
"Do you hear that sound, Michael?" Anson was concentrating solely on the man who had ruined all his plans. "That is the sound of Music Appreciation Day for Dade County Schools. Right now, there are hundreds of children from a dozen local elementary schools sitting in the amphitheater just in front of you, listening to Bach if I'm not mistaken."
"Doctor Fullerton, stop talking and disarm the device. You are under arrest," Agent Pearce interrupted.
But Anson didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence. "All those carefree children, enjoying a day in the park, wouldn't it be a shame if I stopped applying the 12.5 lbs of pressure required by the trigger? Just think about that, Michael, Agent Pearce, just think about all those sweet innocent lives wiped out in a second... When the screaming stops, you'll be scraping pieces of those children off the ground and out of the trees. It's your choice, capture me or save all those innocent kids and their teachers. NOW BACK -."
Nobody heard the shot which cut off Anson's speech before he could finish. All everybody saw was the surprised look on his face and the small hole in the center of his forehead. The agents behind the former DIA employee were knocked off their feet and sprayed with concrete and brain matter from the hole the bullet had opened up in the pavement as well as the back of his skull.
As his body began to fall, Michael leapt forward and grabbed hold of the dead man's hand, keeping it tightly wrapped around the trigger switch. While Sam and Jesse scanned the surrounding buildings searching for the hidden sniper, Agent Pearce was ordering the uninjured members of her team to search for the shooter and calling for emergency services for those who had been hurt. The senior field agent was also praying that whoever it was only had the one target and was being very grateful no one else had been killed besides that target thus far.
()()()()()
After taking Sam's call, Fiona Glenanne knew exactly what she was going to do and how she was going to accomplish her task. During her early years in Miami on the long boring evenings when she had nothing else to do, she sometimes entertained herself by running scenarios for bank robberies and assassinations. After all, a girl has to practice her skills and it wasn't as if she ever acted out these scenarios.
She would spend her time checking out bank security systems and finding the best sniper perches all over Miami for all sorts of targets. One of those perches gave her a perfect line of sight over Bayfront Park, the amphitheater and that part of the shoreline was on top of the Intercontinental Hotel.
By the time she reach her destination and had her Hecate II sniper rifle set up, she stared through the scope just in time to watch Michael tearing apart the DIA psychologist, Doctor Anson Fullerton. The sight warmed her heart and she smiled broadly. The only thing which would make the experience better was to be down there herself instead of squinting through a telescopic scope.
When Agent Pearce came running up on the scene, Fiona readied herself. There was no way on earth the soul destroying bastard far below was going to get the chance of talking his way out of a death sentence.
She saw him holding up a device and didn't care. If she hit him just right it wouldn't matter and she knew she could make the shot. Centering herself, she took a breath and, as she let it out slowly, her finger squeezed the trigger. She watched Anson die, his brain totally destroyed by the .50 caliber cartridge she had used and his hand subsequently frozen around the detonator.
Grinning like a devil and with all the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, she packed away her rifle and fled the scene. Nobody suspected the slender woman in the floaty green and white summer dress lugging a heavy bag out of a four star hotel was anything more than a guest checking out.
()()()()()
Four long hours spent answering questions on the failed arrest and subsequent assassination of Anson Fullerton had finally led to Michael, Sam and Jesse all being released and being told not to leave Miami until after the investigation was closed. All three men had been in plain sight when the shot had come, so none of them had been suspected of firing the fatal shot. Secretly Dani had informed them all that the case was to be quietly closed. It was in no one's interest to dig too deeply into what Anson and his illegal organization was up to.
Before they had left the CIA field office, Michael had stood to one side while Sam had a few quiet words with Jesse, the two men talking in in little more than a whisper for several minutes until Michael coughed loudly.
"I'll to speak to you later, Jess'. Take care, brother."
"Sure thing, Sam. Mike, do you think -"
Michael had turned away, ignoring the younger man. He still couldn't get away from the fact that Jesse had left Fiona alone. He had never thought of him as a coward to run away like that and his loyalty had never been doubted before this. But thinking about what certainly felt like Jesse's betrayal had been too hard at that moment. Maybe once he had found out exactly what had happened, then he would be able to work on forgiving Mr Porter.
As soon as they had driven out of the large underground parking garage, Michael had leaned over to the glove compartment and brought out a new cell phone. Then, under Sam's disapproving eye, he had made a phone call organizing a black flight for himself over to Grand Cayman.
"You know Pearce is going to have a fit when she discovers you've fled the country," Sam had started to complain as soon as they walked into the loft and he kept going while Michael had gathered together all the equipment together he'd thought he might need for a long protracted mission.
"Okay, I understand why you want to do this, but can't you at least leave it for a few days? Wait for the CIA to clear you of all blame, then we can all fly out together."
Michael had flashed him a quick look at the word "together," but it hadn't slowed him down as he'd added a Mac 10 along with five clips to his stash of weaponry.
Finally, Sam had realized he only had one choice. It was a card he only ever played in dire circumstances. He'd walked across and blocked the exit. If Michael wanted to leave, he would have to go through him.
"Look, you shouldn't go off on your own and leaving the country when you've been ordered to stay put. It is like begging the CIA to throw you in a pit. It just makes you look guilty, brother."
Finally with his bags packed, Michael had spoken up. "Move, Sam."
"Two days, Mikey, that's all I'm asking. I've gotta travel to DC in the morning to see Elsa's lawyer friend. But in two days I can come with you, we can hunt for Fi's killers together."
"This is something I have to do alone, Sam. Now stand aside. If you're my friend, stand aside and let me do this."
Sam had pursed his lips. He had taken it as far as he could without starting a fight. He had moved to one side and opened the door. "Alright, at least let me see ya off. I'll feed Pearce some bullshit about you going to the Everglades to decompress or something, to keep her off your back. But come back soon, huh?"
Michael had nodded and offered up a small smile. "Thanks, Sam."
And that was how former Commander Axe ended up watching his friend leave. They had walked out onto a floating dock on the edge of a canal towards a midnight blue cigarette boat. Sam had handed the heavy bags down once his friend had climbed into the vessel that would take the grim dark haired man to the waiting seaplane which would take him over to the Caymans.
As the boat engine roared, Sam pressed a key on his cellphone. "I tried to slow him down, sister, but he's going tonight. You better get back to Georgetown before he tears that island paradise apart single handed... And good luck, cuz I think you're gonna need it."
()()()()()
Three days, three lousy days later and his patience was running out. He was beginning to think he was going to have to "shake things up," as Larry would have put it. But Larry Sizemore was dead, just like Fiona Glenanne. All that was left was him and he wasn't even sure who he was any more.
Michael had been sitting in the same chair at the bar of the Blue Coral Pub for the last two hours drinking island rum, looking out on the tropical storm battering the town and waiting impatiently for the arrival of a colleague of George Anders who had offered to sell him a copy of Mr. Anders financial records.
He shook his head when the woman stood behind the bar went to fill his glass again. He had waited long enough. Tomorrow he would go to the banker's office and convince the man to hand over the documents. Michael's patience was at an end. Maybe it was the right time to shake things up. The police knew nothing, the coroner had no bodies to examine and forensics had a burnt out vehicle, a little bit of DNA and thirty used bullet casings. But no guns, clothing, or anything to show who had done the shooting or what had become of the victims.
Throwing down enough cash to pay for his drinks, Michael got to his feet. It was late and he had big plans for the next day: the banker friend first, from there he would start on the local drug dealers and then anybody else he thought might be hiding things from him. He was through playing nice.
Ducking his head down, Michael stepped out into the torrential rain and the gale force winds. Even as wet as it was, it wasn't cold and being caught in this sort of downfall was nothing new to the Miami resident. He walked rapidly along the narrow pavement, letting the wind and rain clear his alcohol filled head.
He didn't get far before he felt that old sensation of paranoia. Maybe his questions had attracted the attention of somebody who could give him some answers. Without letting on that he knew he was being followed, he entered a narrow alley way between two shops.
Seconds later, a figure came into sight and he pounced, slamming his stalker into one wall and then the other to stun them. With a hand wrapped around his pursuer's throat, he lifted the small figure off the ground and pinned whomever against the wall.
For a split second, they stared at each other, blue-green eyes open wide and filled with fear meeting ice cold blue orbs which went wide with shock and confusion.
"Fi?" Michael gasped softly.
Instantly, his hand left her throat, easing her down the wall until her feet reached the ground.
"Fiona? I – Jesse..." he stammered. "– I..." He couldn't form a sentence, so instead he drew her into a tight embrace.
She felt real... He buried his face into her hair, nuzzling her neck. She smelt real and she was warm, her arms both strong yet gentle as they wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly as he held on to her.
"Shhhh, shh, Michael, I'm here... Shhh... I'll explain everything. Let's get out of this rain."
He wouldn't have fought with her even if he could. He wouldn't do anything that might break the spell. He had to be hallucinating or maybe he had passed out in the bar and this was all a dream.
Her hand felt just right in his as she led him back out on to the street and, without being told, Fiona led him all the way not only to the right hotel, but to the correct room. She took the key from his pocket and pushed him inside.
When the light was switched on, Michael got his first clear look at the ghost of his lover and he froze. His brow creased as his eyes flickered over her drenched figure and features. Very slowly, hesitatingly, he approached her, his hand raising to tenderly cup her cheek.
He could see the tears in her eyes and feel the way she trembled at his touch. He watched entranced as her tongue ran across her upper lip.
"Michael..." she breathed his name and the wall he had built up around his heart crumbled and cracked, releasing a flood of emotion.
He couldn't talk, he couldn't put into words what he was feeling, it was impossible. Instead he folded his arms about her, cocooning her against his body, yearning to be closer still, to show her how much she meant to him.
"Michael..."
He stole her words from her mouth with a ravaging kiss which slowed and deepened as she surrendered to his touch. He was unaware of her walking him backwards towards the bed or of her hands making a space between their bodies so she could unbutton his shirt.
He had no memory of how they ended up in his bed, naked and entwined, only that it was where he belonged and a place he never wanted to leave. He was unable to comprehend how this miracle had happened, or what he had done to deserve this gift. She had been taken from him, but somehow she was back. He didn't care about how or why, only that she stayed.
He took his time that night and for once she didn't fight him. Instead she let him set the pace, moaning and writhing under his tender touch. When they were finally spent, he fell asleep clinging onto her tightly.
It was impossible for him to sleep for long. Each time Fiona moved in her sleep, his eyes flew open and fear filled his heart that she was about to be snatched away. In the end, he had got up and sat down by the French door which led out onto the balcony. As he sat there watching Fiona sleep, he began to wonder how this had happened.
Slowly the truth of the deception dawned on him. Jesse would have never left a fallen friend, that should have been his first clue. The woman in the car tailing them on their way to Naples was another. Sam had come back from Daytona smelling of her perfume. Had they all been in on the deception? Fiona had been Jesse's contact in Daytona... She had been the one to keep his family safe. A guy with blown knee caps, that was one of Fiona's specialities, a small reminder of her past, of an IRA punishment, a warning to criminals to desist in what they were doing. And lastly, that shot which had come out of nowhere, the high caliber bullet destroying Anson's brain, keeping his hand from opening on the trigger switch. That had to have been her, too.
At each clue as he had pieced it together, he had felt a twinge of fury start to rise at his friends' deceit. But as soon as he turned his eyes back to the bed, the feelings of betrayal died away. He had just been given a second chance, did he really want to blow it by being angry with her? Did he want to lose her again? Was what she had done any worse than the things he had done to her in the past?
He had betrayed her and left her back in Ireland with no word at all; though it hadn't been his choice, she hadn't known that. He had pushed her aside for his job more times than he cared to remember and he had done those things, if he was being honest, for himself. He had no doubt in his mind that the plan had been all hers. She had probably coerced Jesse, then left Sam without any choice but to go along and she had done it to free him, done it for his benefit, however painful it was. He hadn't really given her a choice as he'd proceeded blindly, doing all manner of evil in the name of protecting her.
He was still sitting there, pondering those last words her brother had said to him all those years ago, when the sun rose up above the horizon and light began to filter into the room. Watching as the figure on the bed began to move restlessly in her sleep, Michael got to his feet and made a call down to room service. Then he went to have a shower and prepare for what he suspected was going to be a long and painful day.
When Fiona woke up, Michael was already showered and dressed and there was a table filled with breakfast food waiting for them on the balcony.
"You did all this without waking me?" Fiona commented as she stretched.
"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged and tried to hide his nerves behind a toothy smile.
Without another word, he handed her one of his clean shirts and then held out his hand to help her on to her feet. "I ordered you your favorite and a pot of Earl Grey. I know it's not your normal blend, but it's the best they could do."
"You're spoiling me, Michael," she answered quietly as she slipped into his dress shirt.
He could tell she was feeling just as wary as he was, neither one of them was any good at dealing with relationship issues. In the past, he had run half way around the world to escape talking about those issues and Fiona tended to get violent.
They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was so tempting to draw her into an embrace and forget about talking, they were no good at it any way. He got to his feet and went to look over the balcony edge at the morning crowds of tourists. This was far more complicated than when he had asked her to move into the loft. He turned and discovered she was staring at him, obviously waiting for him to make the first move.
In the end, much to Michael's relief, Fiona broke the silence first. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that... Making you believe -"
"I know why you did it, Fi... You don't have to explain," he answered softly.
"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. "You were doing so many bad things, we were all scared about what you were going to do next."
"I would have found a way out," he insisted reflexively. "We were getting close to beating him." This wasn't how he had wanted this discussion to go, but his hesitation had given her the lead.
Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, Fiona got to her feet and came to stand in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his hips.
"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?"
He was still coming to terms with the fact she hadn't died in a hail of bullets. Having Fiona that close, alive and well, was intoxicating. He took hold of a long tendril of reddish brown hair and wrapped it around his finger. He frowned as he tried to come up with the right words.
"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked at length.
She cocked her head and looked up at him. Now he could read her indecision as she tried to work out what he meant.
"I'm out of the CIA," he blurted out the admission. "I haven't told Sam, or anybody else, but Pearce... I'm probably facing charges for all the things I've done, including leaving Miami on an illegal flight. But I signed all the papers and Dani signed off on them all. As of three days ago, I'm unemployed."
"And all it took was for me to die," she quipped with a trace of bitterness.
"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out..." He panicked momentarily, thinking that he had said the wrong thing. "It's over, Fi." His arms drew her closer as he peppered kisses all over her face.
She gently eased herself back and stroked a hand over his cheek. "So what now, Michael? What do you intend doing without an agency behind you?"
"Whatever you want... We can stay here, or go back to Miami." He smiled. "I want you to be happy."
"And when you grow bored of us living in just one small little bit of the world, or when somebody from one of the alphabet soup of agencies knocks on our door to ask you to take one last assignment?"
He took a deep breath and sighed. At that precise moment, he would have preferred to take a bullet than do what he was about to do. But he knew it was what she needed to hear.
"When I was burned, I was angry, confused and determined to get back in, whatever the cost. I didn't know how to be anybody else, how to live any other way... But those feelings were nothing compared to what I felt when I thought I'd lost you. So, what is it you want Fiona Glenanne? You need to tell me cuz I'm no good at this and I don't want to get it wrong."
He stared at her as she backed away until they were out of arms' reach. She stood with her hands on her hips and her blue green eyes flickered up and down as she studied every inch of him. A slow smile curved her lips and then she spoke with a hint of a challenge in her tone.
"And if I war ta tell ya I want an island in tha sun, with puppies, kittens and a brood o' gun toting babies, whot would ya say about thot then?"
He gulped and felt the color drain from his face. The island in the sun... well, there was plenty of houses for sale on the many hundreds of islands in the Caribbean, so he was sure he could do that. But puppies and kittens...? A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of being surrounded by hordes of small fluffy animals. And gun toting babies -?
She was laughing at him, somehow reading his thoughts. "I don't need any o' thot. You're my island in the sun, Michael, and that's all I've ever wanted. Me and you, living and working together, helping people like we used to before Anson Fullerton and all those other bastards came into our lives."
She was back in front of him, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his short dark hair scraping across his scalp and pulling his head down until her mouth was next to his ear.
"Lemme me show ya whot I want Michael Westen." She nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "I wa' always better at showin' than tellin'."
()()()()()()
Epilogue
The first test on their new life together had come only hours after Fiona's energetic show and tell. A text message on Michael's phone from Sam Axe:
Hey, Mikey, you better get back here quick. Pearce knows you're AWOL. 24Hrs, brother, that's all the time you got left.
He hadn't wanted to leave, but Fiona had been the one to point out they could hardly move on with their lives if they were on the run from the CIA. He had to go back and break the news that remarkably Fiona Glenanne had survived the brutal shoot out which everybody supposed had killed her.
In the early hours of the morning, just before he stepped back onto the seaplane which would take him back to Miami, she had given him a little reminder of what he could look forward to if he didn't keep his word. The imprint of her hand on his cheek had lasted nearly half an hour, as did the sting from the slap.
Over the next three weeks, Michael had spent the majority of his time in a variety of small rooms answering the same questions over and over again before he was eventually cleared of all charges. During that last week, his resignation had been officially accepted and he'd walked away from the CIA with a do not touch order, a pension, health care, and his name removed from all the travel watch lists; he was, in short, a free man.
Dealing with the CIA had been easy compared to clearing things up with one Kimberly Danielle Pearce. The willowy dark haired senior field officer had been furious when she found out Fiona Glenanne was actually alive. She'd believed that not only had Michael lied to her, but far worse, Jesse Porter had used their blossoming relationship to help his friend deceive the agency.
Nothing either man said could repair the damage. Dani's trust had been broken and she had stopped taking Jesse's calls. It was only after one of Michael and Fiona's daily chats, when he had explained to her how broken up Jesse was over losing Ms. Pearce, that Fiona had stepped into the affair. Calling Michael's former agency contact, the Irish woman had taken all the blame upon herself, making it clear that she had coerced Jesse and deceived Michael, ensuring that the other woman understood that what they had done hadn't been done to hurt her, but rather to free Michael to act.
It took a further two weeks for the the case on Anson Fullerton to finally be closed and for all the charges against Fiona to be dropped. The bombing of the British consulate had been blamed on the actions of a single rogue DIA officer and the psychotic former CIA agent he had freed from an overseas black prison. Pearce had been right when she had said nobody was going to want an in-depth investigation to take place.
To celebrate their newfound freedom, Michael had taken Fiona on a trip over to the UK to the small island between Northern Ireland and the mainland called the Isle of Man. There for a week, with the help of Sean Glenanne, Fiona had gotten to spend her time with her mother who she hadn't seen for nearly eight years.
It had been on the last day of Maeve's visit that Michael had revealed he had arranged a surprise trip for them all: a quick trip across the Irish Sea to the Scottish coast and then a car ride inland to a small border town with one claim to fame. On a cold Thursday afternoon in an insignificant little room with only two witnesses present, Mr. Michael Westen had married Ms. Fiona Glenanne.
When they had returned to Miami, they'd held a small gathering at the Chadwick Hotel to tell all their friends and family. Everybody was overjoyed by the news, even though both Jesse and Sam had mercilessly joked with Michael about finally being broken and tamed. Madeline, who they all expected to be hurt at being left out, had kissed her new daughter and praised her oldest son for finally coming to his senses.
"I just hope you don't keep me waiting another twenty years for another grandbaby to love."
The second test to Michael's resolve had come from Agent Pearce. The dark haired woman had called asking the couple to meet her and Jesse for lunch. Because she'd been suffering from a bout of flu, or possibly food poisoning, Fiona had declined the offer but told Michael to go.
Michael had arrived early, taking up their regular table at Carlitos. When he had seen the couple stride along the pavement towards him, his heart had sunk. Dani Pearce's pale drawn features and her body language had been as good as screaming her distress and he had known this wasn't to be a strictly social call.
In the end, it had been up to Jesse to explain the reason for the meeting. Dani had been going through some of the documents Anson Fullerton had stored in his house when she had found one with her name type written on the cover. She should have handed it over to another agent, but instead she had opened the file and discovered how Fullerton had planned to manipulate her into working for him.
Anson had managed to find the name and the location of the man who had killed Dani's fiancé, Jay Tunberg. Mr. Ahmed Damour was living a life of luxury under the protection of the CIA, using the information he had stolen from Jay as his ticket to the sweet life at the agency's and her fiancé's expense.
Michael had listened to Jesse's and Dani's plan to go after Damour and had pointed out that if she did it her way, she would at the very least lose her job. He had a better idea, but his voice had died away when he remembered his promise. The urge to help had been strong, but Fiona was sick; she'd been barely able to get out of bed and hadn't been able to keep any food down for the previous forty eight hours.
"Go," Fiona had ordered when she'd found out the reason for the meeting. "I've already told Dani you'll help. We owe her and Jesse. I'll be fine."
So he had gone along with Agent Pearce and Mr. Porter, and, with the assistance of Sam, Madeline and Nate, had helped to bring the murderer of Jay Tunberg to justice.
Fiona had spent the whole time her husband was away worrying that the call back to a government job, to returning to the life of a spy, would be too strong. She'd prepared herself for the call that would tell her he had been asked to complete one more job. But instead of a call, he had returned to her and fallen into bed.
"Was it fun, being a spy again? Tricking a target into revealing his secrets?" she had asked.
"No, I like our life," had been his short answer, and then he had set about showing her how much he had missed her.
The third and final trial had began a month later, Fiona was still suffering from the occasional bouts of nausea. She had gone off seafood completely, the mere smell of fish being enough to send her racing for the bathroom. Deep down in her heart, she knew what was wrong and she'd known that eventually she would feel better. But now her favorite jeans would no longer zip up and she had noticed Michael watching her sometimes with a look akin to that of a scared bunny rabbit.
After a trip to the pharmacy, followed by a visit to the bathroom, she had come out looking pale and shaky. Later that night, she had sat her husband down to give him the news.
"Michael," she smiled nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. "I – I think we need to talk."
He smiled back and reached over the table to hold her hand. "You're pregnant."
"How? How do you –?"
"I wasn't sure, but -" He held up the receipt from CVS for one pregnancy test kit. "You dropped it on top of the trash - and I was curious."
"And you don't mind? You're okay with this?"
He got to his feet and moved around to kneel at her side, his head resting on her lap.
"I guess you're goin' to want those puppies and kittens, too?" He smiled up at her before she leaned down to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips.
"Only one thing, this kid..." he declared, as they broke apart, his hand splaying over her tiny baby bump. "This kid doesn't get to tote a gun. At least not until they're are old enough to ride a bike."