Disclaimer – I do not own any of the Burn Notice characters. All I own is an over-active imagination!!

A/N – First of all, I want to apologize for taking so long to update this. My life has taken a crazy hectic turn and doesn't look like it will slow down anytime soon, but I'll try to update at least once a week.

I also wanted to address one of my reviews. First off, yes, the prologue is pretty much a copy of an episode with a few minor changes and some added dialogue. It is just a prologue and I wanted to use it to set the stage for what is coming next, which as far as I have planned, will definitely not be a re-do of a prior episode. Hopefully that is understandable.

As for it being "fluff," well, that is up to the reader. In my opinion, in the categories I have it placed, romance and humor, yeah, that is pretty much fluff, the stuff that chic flicks are made of. It's not meant to be heavy or intense, but rather light and fun. Is it realistic to the show? Not particularly. We all know that Fiona is badass and hard core, and of course, being pregnant doesn't quite fit into that category (not to discredit any mothers out there, as I am one myself). Is it something that would likely be on the show? Nope. But then again, it's not intended to be. I had a request for more pregnant Fiona, so that's pretty much what this is, just something for fun. I hope you enjoy it!

Month 1

When you are a spy, you can only plan things out so much. Sometimes things crop up that are unexpected, and you do your best to work through them. Spies sometimes get sick. It's a fact of life and while it can be an annoyance, most spies just suck it up and carry on.

The job went as well as a job could go. Everything went quite smoothly with no unexpected obstacles thrown in the way. Michael, Sam and Fiona were headed back to the car when Fiona stopped dead in her tracks.

"Fiona?" Michael asked, "Are you okay?"

She just stood there, not moving, looking rather pale with a slight greenish tinge to her skin.

"I'm fine, I just…" she started to say and then ran over to a bush and threw up.

She stood there hunched over, hands on her knees waiting to see if there was more coming.

"That's just nasty!" Sam exclaimed.

Michael slapped his friend on the shoulder and shot him a warning look.

"Fi?" he said as he walked over to her.

Fiona straightened up and pulled a tissue out of her bag to wipe her mouth.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked her, concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine," Fiona said, embarrassed that they had just witnessed her tossing her cookies. "It's just the heat," she said, making an excuse for her display. "That and I haven't eaten yet. I just felt a little queasy, but I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive," she answered.

"Well," said Sam impatiently, "let's go to Carlito's and get that taken care of!"

Fiona sat in the back seat and laid her head on the interior of the door all the way there. When they pulled up, Michael looked back at her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he inquired.

"Yes, Michael, I'm fine!" she snapped. "Let's go eat!"

At the table, Sam ordered his usual mojito, while Michael opted for iced tea.

"I'll have water with a slice of lemon," Fiona ordered.

"Water?" Sam asked her. "What's up with that? What kind of a celebration calls for water?"

"I'm not sure beer is a good idea after what happened back there," Michael said.

"My thoughts exactly. I am absolutely starving, though," Fiona said.

"We'll take one of those big orders of nachos," Sam told the waitress. "With everything on it!" he added.

The three of them sat there making small talk until the food arrived. Michael watched Fiona sip on her water and felt satisfied that the color had returned to her cheeks and she seemed to be doing fine. That is, until the nachos arrived and the smell wafted in her direction.

Fiona bolted from the table, hand covering her mouth, making a mad dash for the ladies room.

"But she loves nachos! What's the matter with her?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Michael answered, "but I'm getting kind of worried. Do you think I should go knock on the door and make sure she's okay?"

"Nah, not a good idea. You know women, they like to keep things like that private."

As they sat there, Michael looked at his watch every minute or so. Finally after about ten minutes he stood up to go check on Fiona. Just about that time she walked up to the table and flopped down in her chair. The sickly pallor of earlier had returned and she looked disheveled and miserable.

"Boys, I'm not feeling so well. I think it's time for me to call this celebration over," Fiona said.

"I'll drive you home, Fi," Michael stated.

"Well, I'll just celebrate by myself then. That just means more nachos for me!" Sam laughed.

At the mention of tacos, Fiona cringed.

"I think we better leave now," said Michael.

"Hope you feel better, Fi!" said Sam, raising his glass.

"You need to get a car with some A/C, Michael," Fiona said, almost hanging her head out of the window to get some air.

"Sorry, Fi."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, Michael."

"For what?"

"For ruining the celebration. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Michael reached over to brush a strand of hair out of her face. He felt her forehead. While it was clammy, it was also cool.

"Well, at least you don't have a fever."

"Michael, stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car! If you don't stop it right now, I'm going to make a mess!"

He stopped the car just in time for her to open the door and vomit on the pavement. Finishing up, Fiona groaned, shut the car, and laid the seat back as far as it would go.

"Drive fast, if you don't mind," she told Michael.

Fiona shut her eyes and concentrated on breathing slow and steady, willing the nausea in her stomach to go away. She was half-dozing as they pulled up to her condo.

Michael got out of the car and came around to her side. He scooped her up like a doll, despite her objections. After getting her door open, he carried her straight to her bed, took off her shoes, and tucked her in. He brought her a cold wet washcloth and put it across her forehead.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Michael told her. "Just rest."

Not fifteen minutes later, Michael was back at her condo, letting himself in. In one hand was a large bottle of pepto bismol, in the other, a 2-liter bottle of ginger ale. He heard sounds of retching coming from the bathroom and went in to make sure Fiona was okay.

Fiona was hunched over the toilet. He went to her side and held up her hair, murmuring soothing words to her.

"It's okay," she said. "I've got nothing left to vomit up. It's just dry heaves."

"I think you have some kind of stomach virus."

"I'd say that's a fair assumption. I just hope you and Sam don't get it."

"That makes two of us."