An update! But I want to take just a moment to thank everyone who reviewed the new chapter of Moments In Time and said all those kind words. I appreciate all of them! We're just thankful that no one was killed or seriously injured during the tornadoes. And to make up for the gap between updates, I tried to make this chapter even longer than usual. Lots of meat and potatoes stuff. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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"Why haven't we gone outside?"

Fiona almost choked on the yogurt she was eating. It had been three days since Michael really became aware of what was going on, and in those three days everyone had settled into a routine of sorts. Sam would come over first thing in the morning, giving Fiona a break to take a shower or run down to the convenience store around the corner for more yogurt and beer. Madeline would show up sometime around noon with what she proclaimed to be actual food, and she would sit down and talk with Michael. Fiona was impressed by how calm and normal Madeline acted, given the circumstances. Madeline would usually stay until just after dinner, then she would head home. By the time Sam left, Michael would be asleep, and Fiona would check all of the doors and windows before crawling into bed with Michael. It was a strange routine, but it worked for them. They did not take Michael outside because he still had no idea who he was or what he did for a living, and he would be defenseless against anyone who wanted to cause him harm. Fiona refused to take any chances. How could she explain that to him?

"Because…this is a bad neighborhood, and you aren't feeling like yourself yet." That was the half-truth.

"Oh."

They were sitting on the bed together. He was at the head, reclined against a stack of pillows. She was at the foot, absently disassembling and reassembling her beloved Walther, half-hoping that the sound would trigger something in Michael's clouded mind.

"Tell me about us."

Startled, she almost dropped her gun. But to her credit, she recovered quickly. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Everything…" she mused. "That's a lot of history."

He smiled. None of his memory had returned, but he knew that he cared very deeply for this woman.

"Okay…" Putting her Walther away, Fiona scooted up to the head of the bed and settled beside Michael. "We met in Ireland fifteen years ago."

"We've been together fifteen years?"

She chuckled lightly, and he delighted in the sound. "Not exactly. Our relationship has been…complicated."

"Complicated?"

To say the least… "Yes. Our…work kept us apart a lot." Well, that part was definitely true, at least on his behalf.

"Our work? What do we do?"

She had been hoping to put this off for as long as possible. What could she tell him? That he was a burned spy trying to get back in the government's good graces and helping people in his spare time? How would he absorb that information? "We both have government jobs," she finally supplied.

He seemed satisfied, at least for now, with that response. "So… we live together, and we're dating?"

"I think we're beyond dating, Michael." They didn't use labels, because there wasn't a label for what they were. He was her lover, her shoulder to lean on, her defender and her best friend. She was his protector, his confidant and the hand he reached for in the deepest part of the night. They completed each other in ways that no other person could even dream of doing.

A small smile tugged at his handsome mouth. "I like the way you say that."

"Say what?"

"My name." He leaned closer to her, reveling in the warmth of her body.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, drawing him into her side. "Michael…"

His hand found her leg, and after only a brief hesitation, he ran his palm along her soft skin.

Goosebumps raised up on her skin. "What are you doing…?"

"Touching you…" His lips found the soft hollow of her neck and began exploring.

She wanted so badly to lose herself in his touch, but she had to stop it. Reaching down, she closed her hand around his curious fingers. "Michael, we can't."

"Why not? We're together." There was a pout to his lips, one that Fiona was very familiar with.

"Because…"

Finally he pulled away. "Because I'm blind and lost my memory?"

"That's part of it."

He let out a weary sigh. "What if my memory never returns?"

She had refused to let herself even contemplate that outcome. Even if he never regained his memory, the government would still refuse to let him travel out of state. He wouldn't be able to protect himself from the enemies of his past. If he was lucky, and the higher-ups actually believed that he had lost his memory, they might give him a new identity and relocate him. A cold knot formed in her stomach at that thought. What about her? There was no way they would give a former IRA member and trained guerilla warfare expert a nice little house in the suburbs with the man she loved. No, they would sooner throw her into a dark hole in Guatamala and throw away the key. Either way, Michael was in danger until he regained his vision and memory.

He sat beside her, turned slightly toward her voice, and waited patiently for her answer.

"If…" she started carefully. "If you don't regain your memory… We'll figure something out then."

His expression told her that he wasn't quite as certain, but she quickly changed the subject.

"Why don't I tell you how we wound up in Miami?"

"Okay."

"I was in New York five years ago, helping an old friend, when I received a call from a maid who worked in a Miami motel. She said that you had been unconscious for a couple of days, and she was concerned, so she went through your pockets and found your wallet. I was listed as your emergency contact, so she called me." She watched his handsome face as she weaved her tale. Next came the more difficult details, and she was careful to edit what she told him. "I flew down and tracked you down to this rundown little motel. You were still unconscious, and it looked like you had been in a bad fight."

"I fight?"

"You later told me that you were very drunk." Okay, so that wasn't entirely truthful, but there would be time for that later. "I took care of you for a full day before I finally woke you up with a boot to your ribs."

"You kicked me?"

She laughed, and any confusion or upset he might have felt was washed away. "You are an incredibly stubborn man, Michael. A kiss wouldn't work."

"Did you try?"

She thought about that long and hard. Of course she had been tempted to kiss him awake that particular day. She hadn't seen him in years, and when she'd gotten that call, her only thought was to get to him. It didn't matter that he'd left her in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye note. All that mattered was that he was hurt, and he could very well die. And when she saw him lying in that bed, wounded and alone and desperately in need of protection, her every instinct had screamed at her to go to him and do just that. But she hadn't.

"No, I didn't. The kicking worked very well."

"I guess it would have."

Fiona reached out and brushed his hair back. "Don't pout, Michael. You've told me on several occasions that I've made up for it many times over."

"I have?" Instinctively he leaned into her warm touch.

Her free hand came up and gently cradled his head. "Yes." She kissed his forehead. "No matter what happens, Michael, you're safe with me."

He couldn't help marveling at how able she was to read his mood. He was still leery of this whole situation. He knew that he liked and trusted the man who called himself Sam, and the woman who said she was his mother. But with Fiona, he felt completely safe. He trusted her without reservation, and he found himself wanting to be close to her at all times.

When he didn't respond, she drew him into a protective embrace and rested her head against his. "We'll get through this, Michael," she swore fiercely.

He leaned into her embrace, not saying a word. She sounded so determined, so sure of herself…

"Do you believe me?" The question was so soft, he almost missed it.

"Yes."

And that was all they needed to know.

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When Sam came back to the loft, he saw that Michael was sleeping in his bed. He searched the loft until he found Fiona standing in the kitchen, polishing a throwing dagger. "Hey, Fi."

Fiona looked up from her dagger. "Sam."

"Is Mikey okay?"

Although she knew he meant nothing deeper by it, she felt her hackles raise up. "Of course he is."

"Easy, sister. I just noticed he was sleeping, that's all." He placed several bags of Chinese food on the counter. "You hungry?"

Slowly she relaxed. "I suppose I should eat something." She began sorting through the cartons of rice and sweet and sour chicken.

"Great." Sam reached for an egg roll. "So how's our boy been doing?"

"He asked about our past earlier."

"What did you tell him?"

"Not much." But he had seemed satisfied with what she did tell him. "I didn't want to overwhelm him."

"What are we going to do if he doesn't regain his memory anytime soon?"

Fiona looked around the loft. What was once so cozy, familiar and easy to defend suddenly seemed like a huge liability. They really needed to be in a place where no one would think to look for him. But at the same time, she was reluctant to move him anywhere. He seemed comfortable, and taking him outside greatly increased the chance that someone from his past would see him. That was a risk she was not willing to take. "I don't know yet, Sam."

He finished off his egg roll before speaking again. "There's going to be risks everywhere, Fi. Whether we move him or stay here, there's a chance of danger."

Her slender shoulders slumped. "I know this, Sam."

Sam gave the loft a once-over. "It wouldn't be too hard to make this place more secure. A few more locks, maybe move the bed against the wall…"

His voice rang in her ears, but she barely understood the words.

Michael, come back to me.

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The next morning, Fiona awoke suddenly in the bed she shared with Michael. Sam had decided to stay the night, and he was snoring softly as he lounged in the chair a few feet from the bed. At first, Fiona wasn't certain what had disturbed her sleep. Sam's snoring never bothered her before.

She started to lie back down, her hand reaching across the bed for Michael. But all she found was an empty expanse of bed where he should have been, and panic started to take hold. She was not the kind of woman to panic, except when it came to him. She could kill a man, but with Michael… she couldn't even begin to explain what she felt with him.

"Michael?" Trying to keep her concern under control, Fiona slid out of the bed and started to search. First she checked the bathroom, in case he was using the toilet or taking a shower. But she didn't hear water running, and when she pushed the door open, the room was empty. Her panic intensified as she went into the kitchen. "Michael?"

He was nowhere in the loft.

By the time she realized he was gone, panic was overwhelming her. She went to Sam's chair and shook him awake. "Sam!"

He shot up in the chair, reaching for the gun he kept strapped to his ankle. "What is it, Fi? You okay?"

"I can't find Michael."

"What are you talking about, Fi?"

"I can't find Michael!" she repeated, her voice increasing in volume.

Sam got to his feet and did a quick check of the loft. Just as Fiona had said, Michael was nowhere within the confines of the loft.

Fiona looked afraid. "Where the hell could he have gone, Sam?"

"I don't know." Sam reached for his phone. "I'm going to call Maddie."

"You don't think he could have gotten that far, do you?"

"He has to be somewhere, Fi."

Frustrated, Fiona grabbed her keys and went to the front door of the loft. If she had to drive around all of Miami, she would find Michael. He couldn't have gotten far.

Pulling the door open, she was surprised and deeply relieved to see Michael sitting on the stairs that led up to their loft. She poked her head back inside. "He's here, Sam!" Then she closed the door and joined Michael on the stairs. "Michael?"

He heard the fear in her voice, and he felt guilty for having caused it. "I'm sorry… I just needed some air."

Her arm went around his shoulders. "You can't do that, Michael. It's not safe for you out here." Her heart was still pounding ruthlessly against her ribcage.

He looked frustrated. "Why isn't it safe? Why can't I sit on these stairs in the fresh air and just think?" he demanded.

"Because… there are people out here who could hurt you very badly if they chose to."

"Why would they choose to, Fiona?"

She was quiet for a long time. "Because of our work."

"I thought you said we worked for the government."

"We do. We've also made enemies. Enemies who would think nothing of killing you if they found out about your injuries."

He hadn't considered that, and without thinking he leaned into her.

She kissed his head softly. "It wasn't fair of me, to try to keep you locked up in the loft. But Michael, I'm just trying to keep you safe. You're very vulnerable right now."

Sighing, he nodded. "Maybe we should go back inside."

Now she felt guilty. She stood up, then took his hand and led him back inside, where Sam was waiting with a relieved look on his face.

Michael heard the door close with a heavy thud, and he missed the warmth of the sun.

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Back outside, an older man with graying hair stood by the Caddy that was parked by the building. He had been listening to the conversation without being noticed, and he began to hum to himself as he walked away from the building.

But he wouldn't stay gone for long. No, he wouldn't be gone long at all.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Ooh, a new POV! What do you guys think? Friend or old foe? Let me know what you think in a review! Thanks for reading!