A/N: This is the fourth part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 2 in "Reconnecting."
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6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 4
An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception
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Georgetown, Grand Cayman, 2012
Michael followed the ghost of Fiona Glenanne back to his hotel room in silence, fearful of breaking whatever spell had returned her to his arms. Due to the unending heartache and the copious amounts of alcohol he had been consuming recently, he wasn't fully convinced she was truly there, but he was willing to go on a little faith.
The phantom of his lover took the key to his room from his pocket without asking and led him inside, switching on the wall lights to bathe the large en-suite room in a soft warm glow. Hearing the double click of the door locking, he took his first clear look at her.
Drenched to the bone with rainwater dripping off her and making puddles on the floor, she was still in his eyes the most beautiful thing in the world. As he stared in awe at the vision before him, he felt the layers of desolation and loss surrounding his broken heart begin to loosen and fall away.
With eyes as big as saucers, she stared back at him. For all her small size and delicate appearance, he had never thought of Fiona Glenanne as fragile. But at that moment she looked to be made of glass.
A shudder ran through his body. She had died, cut down by thirty bullets, traces of her blood had been found in the car, strands of her hair containing her DNA had been discovered trampled into the grass and a few strands draped in the bushes surrounding the clearing where the massacre had taken place... How was this happening?
His mouth moved, but no words would come out. But it was enough to release the tension filling the room. All of a sudden her bottom lip began to tremble and a solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye, mingling with the drops of rainwater running down her face. As if in a trance he stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch her cheek and thumb away the errant teardrop.
"Michael…" she breathed out his name and, at that instant, the wall he had so carefully built up to hold his emotions in check shattered into a million pieces and the spell was broken.
He couldn't speak. His words were frozen in his throat and all he could think about was his desperate need to feel her, to feel all of her, to reassure himself she was real and in turn reassure her that she was all he ever wanted.
With a faint moan of longing and desire, he devoured her mouth hungrily. The hand which had rested so lightly on her cheek was now cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading through her wet and tangled auburn mane and holding her into the kiss while his other arm snaked about her tiny waist.
As she leant into his body, returning his ardour, he slowly deepened the kiss, becoming more tender. He lost himself in a fiery sea of passion, the touch of her arms around him, the feel of her hips pressing up against him setting him aflame.
"Michael!" Fiona gasped as he began to ravage her neck. "Michael, we should get out of these wet clothes."
He was barely aware of her unbuttoning his shirt. It was only when she eased the soaked garment down his arms that he realized it was gone. Taking hold of her hands, he lifted them to his lips, peppering butterfly soft kisses over her knuckles before turning her hands over to kiss her palms and pulse spots on her wrists.
He continued to stare into her eyes, worried that this was all a dream, that he was indeed passed out in the bar and that she could still vanish. The feelings he had were nothing to compared to that moment he'd discovered her in the loft alive after he'd thought her dead in a fire. That had only been hours of torture, this had been days.
He tried to remove her shirt, but the soaked material and the clumsiness of his trembling touch made it impossible to unbutton properly and he ended up rending it open, the part of his brain that wasn't awash in alcohol chuckling at the irony and revelling in her startled gasp.
Slowly he dropped down onto his knees before her, rubbing his cheek over the front of her soaked jeans. Then with a touch akin to reverence, he unbuttoned and unzipped the heavy denim fabric and pushing the denim and delicate clothing underneath down her legs.
He leaned forward to remove her shoes and then helped her out of her jeans and thong.
"You're cold," he commented in a low husky tone as he ran his hands up and down the backs of her legs.
"You'll warm me u-p," she told him dreamily, a little hitch coming into her voice as his tongue licked from her right knee up her inner thigh and then down the other leg.
He peered up at her, his hands cupping her bottom keeping her before him. "Stay," he requested.
"Always, me darlin' man." She smiled down at him.
"Stay," he pleaded more forcefully, a soft Irish lilt coming naturally when she looked at him that way.
He breathed in her scent, his nose brushing over the thin strip of soft hair at the apex of her legs. Kissing her tenderly, every touch of his lips to her skin ignited another molten wave of passion in both of them. Soon, she couldn't bear his gentle teasing any longer and her fingers combed through his hair, tugging and urging him to deepen his touch and he willingly obliged.
Tightening his hold on her thighs, he spread her legs further apart and delved deeper. He had thought he would never get another chance to do this, to taste her again. This had to be real because he couldn't bear it if it wasn't.
His own heart soared as he felt her whole body convulse above him, while her fingernails scraped across his scalp and she called out his name. This was real, she was his again to hold.
He couldn't hold back any longer. Climbing to his feet, he lifted her easily and placed her down on the bed. She lie back watching him as he stripped away his clothes, her face flushed from her orgasm. Smiling back at her, he let his eyes flicker over her naked body laid out before him.
"C'mere," she murmured an invitation. Reaching out with languid hands, she drew him to her until he covered her like a blanket.
A shiver went down his spine as she stretched up to kiss his neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of his throat before her lips sought out his ear lobe, causing his whole body to jerk when her soft warm breath tickled his ear.
"I need ya, Michael," she purred. "I need ya now." The fingers trailed down his back pressed on his hips while her legs rose to capture him and hold him in place.
He paused, as they locked eyes, and then he pushed into her as slowly as he could. They both sighed at the familiar sensation of completeness which settled over them. Being sheathed in her warmth, her slick muscles holding him firmly brought on another wave of emotion and a hot rush of adoration. He couldn't remain still any longer. He started slowly and took his time, savouring every moment, every sensation, as if he might never get the chance to hold her, to have her again.
Then it became impossible to remain in control. As every movement, every thrust brought them closer to oneness, it suddenly couldn't happen fast enough for either of them. They clung to each other, whispering words of endearment as he took her to the edge of ecstasy and then, in a frenzy of thrashing limbs, they tumbled over together.
Afterwards they lay cocooned under the bed covers, Fiona wrapped his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. He looked down his body to where her fingers were splayed out over his chest and a hazy feeling of peace settled over his bruised and battered soul.
Kissing the top of her head, he snuggled down into the pillow behind his head. As his eyes flicked before finally staying closed, one word wrapped itself around his heart: Home...
While he lay with Fiona Glenanne, he was home.
And that thought allowed him enough comfort to get a few hours of rest as the storm outside his hotel room gradually faded like the one in his heart.
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Fiona was fully aware from the moment Michael withdrew his arms from around her and slipped out of the bed. She kept still and feigned sleep as tears welled in her eyes. He was leaving. They had all warned her, he wouldn't forgive her easily. She strained to hear the sounds of his departure, waiting to catch the soft creak of the door opening and then closing behind him, all the while trying to decide if she should attempt to stop him or if she should maintain her dignity and let him go.
When the room remained silent, she turned over and opened her eyes just a slit, peering through the darkness to see him sitting in one of the room's large comfy chairs beside the French doors. Satisfied that at least for now he wasn't running away from her, she slowly drifted off to sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was to the sound of water splashing down. Fiona gave thought to joining him in the shower but refrained. The previous night they had both been caught in throes of passion and he had been more than a little drunk. But now in the cold light of day, sex before they spoke about what she had done to him would only muddy the water. So, instead she stretched and then snuggled down under the covers.
Drifting in and out of a light sleep, she watched him dress and then open the doors leading out on to the balcony. Curious about what he was up to, she continued to feign sleep when a soft knock came at the door.
The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room and she knew he had ordered room service. This was good - wasn't it? She made a big performance of stretching and yawning and he was immediately at her side, holding out one of his white dress shirts for her to wear.
"You did all this without waking me?" She sat up and looked out on to the balcony.
"I couldn't sleep." He held out his hand to help her out of bed. "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 he helped her button the shirt closed and then let him lead her out to the balcony and pull out a chair for her to sit down. Was this to be his equivalent to a last supper? He had done it before... back in Ireland.
They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was like they had traveled back in time fifteen years. He was confusing her with his soft smiles and constant feather light touches. He should be angry, demanding answers... But she held her tongue, waiting for him to make the first move. All of a sudden, he got to his feet and and moved restlessly over to the balcony wall, where he stood peering over the edge at the street below and still not a word of her betrayal left his lips.
While she finished the last mouthful of her egg white only omelette and picked up her cup of tea, she took her time to study him. She could see the tension in his arms and in the set of his features. There was a war going on inside him. It was written all over his face and suddenly she just couldn't wait any longer.
"I'm sorry I had to put you through that. Making you believe -" she blurted the words out.
"I know why you did it, Fi. You don't have to explain," he said, turning so his back was against the balcony wall, his arms folding over his chest.
"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. Now she had started, she might as well finish and get it over with. "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; we were getting close to beating him."
And there it was, the same old song sung by Michael Westen. "I would have found a way." She was sick to her back teeth of those words. In fact, if he ever uttered them again...
Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, she got to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him. Her hands went to his hips, her thumbs hooking inside his waistband and she looked up at him through narrowed eyes.
"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?" There, she had said it.
What happened next surprised her. Because instead of her words sparking an argument, his expression had softened and his arms had unfolded to reach out for her
"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked as he avoided eye contact by playing with her hair.
What did she want?! What did he expect her say? She stared up at him trying to work out what he really meant by the question.
"I'm out of the CIA. 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."
How dare he!
"And all it took was for me to die." A flame of anger burst in her chest and vicious words bubbled up in her throat threatening to spill out.
"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out...It's over, Fi."" The look of horror on his face just before he drew her fully into his arms lessened her pique. Her ear pressed against his chest informed her just how wildly his heart was beating and the kisses he peppered over her head and face calmed her tongue.
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... I want you to be happy."
Was that tears she saw in his eyes? He was smiling, but how long would that happiness last? How long before he grew bored of her?
"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, his blue eyes stared back at her and piercing her soul. She could see no deceit in his expression, only open honesty, and it scared her more than she thought possible.
"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."
Was he serious? If he had truly left the CIA behind him... Could she trust him with her heart yet again?
Taking a couple of steps back, she put her hands on her hips. If he touched her, or if she touched him, all her determination to get their relationship back on an even keel would fall apart. He was offering her whatever she wanted and she truly, madly, deeply wanted to believe 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?"
She watched him pale and a shudder run through his body as she told him her heart's desire. Admittedly, what she had just asked for was what she had wanted as an eleven year old school girl chatting about boys with her best friend, Maria Kennedy, on the playground steps of St Augustine's Primary school. In the end, she could take no more and, with a chuckle, put him out of his misery.
"I don't need any o' thot." She grinned, stepping back into his arms, her own snaking around his neck. "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."
Pressed up against him, she could feel the effect she was having on him and abruptly holding him close wasn't enough. She needed more, more of him. They had wasted far too much time, fighting and arguing. Combing her fingers through his hair, she tightened her grip and dragged 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'." And with that she backed up, her fingers working on the buttons of the shirt.
By the time she was inside the room, the crisp white dress shirt lay on the floor and she was beckoning him forward.
He came at her in a rush, but she was ready for him, and she threw him easily using his momentum and a little bit of Aikido. Watching him land heavily on the floor next to the bed, she grinned wickedly and pounced, landing astride him.
"Fi, Fiona... We break anything, I'm going to have to pay for it," he gasped.
She caught hold of his wrists and pinned them down as her mouth descended on his, stopping his complaints with a deep bruising kiss. When she finally broke the kiss, he lay quietly beneath her, openly admiring her lithe naked figure.
"You've got too many clothes on." she remarked playfully. "How I cannae show ya when there's so many layers between us?"
Wriggling backwards until she was sitting on his hips, she helped him pull his t-shirt over his head and then had to bat his hands away as he palmed her breasts.
Shaking her head. she pinned him back down.
"It's my show, remember?" She kissed his forehead, right between his eyes.
"You get ta lie there..." Another kiss, this one to the tip of his nose.
"And watch..." A peck to his slightly open mouth and then she was on the move again, trailing kisses over his chin, all around his throat and down his chest.
As she kissed her way down his body, her fingers scraped over his hardening nipples, causing him to moan in pleasure and arch up into her touch. Reaching the waist band of his linen pants, she paused to look up at him and, while her eyes remained watching his expression, she used her lips and teeth to pop the waistband button before working on the zipper.
He was breathing heavily now, his hips bucking as her nose brushed against the cotton boxers covering his very sensitive length.
"Fi, Fiona..." He reached for her head, unable to resist as she tugged both his pants and boxers past his hips.
"What d'ya want, Michael?" She ran her tongue over her lips.
"You," he answered simply on a sigh, his eyes alight with both devotion and desire.
"Me? You have me. And now..." She blew softly over his manhood and his moan of pleasure brought a smile to her lips. "I'm... gonna... have you." She kissed the head of his penis, sucking lightly as his fingers tightened their hold of her hair.
She kept him still as she took as much of him as she could, holding him down by sitting on his legs and planting her hands on his hips as he writhed underneath her, panting and calling her name in adoration as she succumbed to his urging to go faster. When he came, she drank him down, still holding him captive as his body shuddered and convulsed in ecstasy.
Only when he stilled and his hands fell away from her hair did she begin to inch her way up his body, kissing and licking every inch of him along the way. When she reached his cheek, he folded his arms about her and sighed tenderly, returning her kisses while his fingers stroked over her back.
Lying there on the floor of Michael's hotel room, cuddling and exchanging kisses, Fiona could have happily stayed there for the rest of the day. However, after a few minutes, Michael shifted and, despite her protests, got to his feet pulling her up with him.
"We have a perfectly good bed." He stood behind her, his arms draped around her waist, as he breathed into her ear. "And before this show and tell goes any further, I'd like to move things somewhere more comfortable."
His hands moved to palm her breasts, massaging the firm pliant flesh, rubbing over her sensitive nipples, while his mouth sucked on the tender spot where her shoulder and neck met.
"Ya seem pretty comfortable right now," she answered breathlessly, pushing her buttocks against his growing hardness.
"Thot I am, but I t'ink thar's somewhar else which is even better, me luv."
One of his hands traveled lower, down her torso and across her belly, until it settled between her legs, one long finger sliding into the warmth of her center.
"How's thot?" he asked, nipping her earlobe. Another finger joined the first. "Thot better?"
She leant back against him, grinding her backside into him while his hands worked her body into a frenzy. Just as her orgasm began to build, he stopped and eased her down onto the bed.
Lying beside her now, he grinned as she climbed back on top of him.
"My turn," she purred seductively. Taking hold of his throbbing manhood, she slowly impaled herself, sheathing him fully.
Kneeling astride him, she leant back against his raised knees, letting her head fall back as she rocked her hips. His hands roamed over her body, bringing her a multitude of pleasures as she lost herself in the moment.
Slowly, as the rapture began to build, Michael pulled her forward and, before she could object, he flipped her onto her back. Lifting her legs until they were wrapped around his chest, he pushed in deeper and deeper until blessed release came for both of them.
In a daze of post coital bliss, they pulled the bed cover over their still entangled bodies and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. Of course, no matter how long they spent entwined in one another's embrace, gloriously naked and sated, it would never be enough. So it was no surprise to be awaken by Sam Axe's almost frantic text message, urging Michael to return to Miami.
"We can run," he spoke the words without hesitation. "If I go back, I could still face charges. We could still be -"
Twisting in his arms, she looked up at him and placed a finger over his mouth to stop his words.
"If you remember, when I suggested that before you shot me down. We would be on the run for the rest of our lives. Running would be enough to declare you guilty of anything they wanted to lay at your door... You have to go back."
"But -"
"But nuttin'," she stated firmly. "If it comes to it, I'll bust ya out of whatever hole they throw you in."
She edged up his body until they were face to face, her eyes were wide.
"D'ya remember that block of T4 I used on Larry? Well, I was keeping this from you, but it's one of twenty I got as payment for a nice little job I lent my expertise to last year. I can blow a hole in the side of any prison they care to throw you in."
She captured his mouth in a long, lingering deep kiss, threading her hands through his short dark hair and scraping over his scalp. When she finally released him, they were both breathless.
"Go home and let them all know we're alright and then come back to me or else I'll come hunting for you, Michael Westen."
And he knew it was both a threat and a promise, one he would be happy to fulfill.