A/N- Thank you guys so much for your encouraging reviews! I absolutely loved reading them, and you all gave me the inspiration to keep going with this story. I appreciate your input so much, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Two!

Family Man

Chapter Two

Dublin

1999

"Damn it, Michael, they're right outside! You have the file?" Fiona's voice came through Michael's earpiece as he finally navigated the cabinet's lock, the building's alarm ringing through the building. It was nearly midnight, and she was watching the headquarters of the extremist IRA faction they were working together to take down through binoculars from a room in an abandoned hotel across the street.

Michael hastily grabbed the file they needed, tucking it into his jacket and hurrying towards the exit. "Got it."

"Good. Now get the hell out of there. And once you do…I'd take cover."

Michael smiled, using his shoulder to get through the locked door leading to the back stairwell. "I've got to say—I'm excited to finally see your work."

"You should be," Fiona said, and Michael could tell she was smiling too. "See you on the other side, Michael."

"See you, Fi."

He had never called her that before. Fiona shook out her hands and clicked off her comm system, knowing she needed to focus. The sound of Michael's voice was not helping keep her mind on the mission.

As soon as she saw that Michael was safely clear of the building, she employed the remote detonator with her thumb, and as the line of explosives throughout the building went off in perfect time, billowing fire lighting up the night sky, Fiona closed her eyes, letting out a long breath and feeling totally at peace.

"Holy shit…" Michael finally lowered his arms from over his head, stepping out from behind the bench where he'd dived for cover when Fiona's bombs went off.

He had been expecting a distraction to put off the bad guys—not something akin to the fucking apocalypse. Michael had heard rumors that Fiona viewed explosives not only as her work, but as her art, and that she had earned every bit of her "mad-bomber" reputation. But seeing her work with his own eyes was very different than reading about it in a file, and while Michael was impressed—and even, bizarrely, turned on—by what she could do, he was also worried about whether or not she had been hurt. The detonations had taken out more than just the extremist headquarters— the force had shattered the windows of the abandoned hotel across the street where Fiona was stationed. If she had been standing too close, she could be seriously injured. Even killed.

He put his hand to his ear. "Fiona? Fi?" He tried to reach her over the comm system, but there was no answer. Michael felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. He raced across the street, kicking through the back door of the hotel and hurrying up the stairs, his heart pounding in his throat.

This wasn't just concern over a fellow operative. This was something else, something he'd never felt before. Something that scared the hell out of him.

Michael had always just passively observed people coming in and out of his life with little to no emotional attachment or feeling when they were gone. Last night, he'd ended things with Samantha, and there had been no tears, no pleading, no soppy goodbyes, on either of their parts. She had just listened without argument or interruption to his lame explanation of saying that he thought they wanted different things, it wasn't fair to ask her to wait for him while he was in Ireland, and that his job would just inevitably keep coming between them, etc. etc. etc. When Michael had finished his explanation and said he was sorry at least a dozen times, there was an unbearably awkward silence before Samantha finally said anything, her words short and clipped—

"It's fine. Have a nice life, Michael. And don't call me again."

Before Michael could say anything else, Samantha had hung up and that had been that. An almost-marriage ended in about five minutes, and Michael had fallen asleep afterwards, not at all heartbroken but just guiltily thinking about Fiona. Wasn't there supposed to be some kind of celibate mourning period after a relationship ended? He had no clue. But at least Michael knew he had done the right thing breaking things off—although that meant he had to actually address what was happening with Fiona.

Unless she was already gone. What had she been thinking, setting off enough bombs to destroy a city block? His head pounding with a curious mixture of worry, anger, and adrenaline, Michael ran down the hotel hallway towards the room where Fiona had told him she was stationed.

"Fiona?" He opened the door, stumbling across the threshold to see Fiona calmly packing up her supplies in a duffel bag, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder and looking up at him with a small smile.

"How did you like the show?" she asked.

Michael walked towards her, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion, shards of glass from the broken windows crunching underneath his shoes. He could hear police and fire truck sirens from across the street, but they sounded very far away, as if he and Fiona were miles above everything else.

He finally reached her, Fiona standing up from the ground to look him in the eyes, seemingly confused by his somber expression. "Michael…" She reached up to his cheek.

Michael caught her hand with his, almost desperately pressing his lips against her open palm before turning back to her. "You didn't answer on your radio. I thought you'd been hurt, or…"

Fiona looked up at him, suddenly her clothes unbearably hot when Michel looked at her like that. Maybe if she just took everything off. Maybe if they both did. "I'm sorry. I turned off my radio. I needed to focus on the job." She licked her lips. "You don't make it easy, you know."

"What?"

"Being professional. I mean…it's hard to care about a job when I all I want to do…" Fiona's eyes slid down to his mouth, and Michael swallowed hard, his heart speeding up for a very different reason now.

"I know." Michael's hands were on her hips, his fingers resting on the sliver of bare skin between her black t-shirt and tight jeans. He leaned forward, Fiona tilting her face up towards his as their lips barely brushed, gently, almost experimentally. Michael took a deep breath when they parted, still just inches apart, the space between them electric with anticipation. "We should…I mean, we probably should get out of here…they could come looking for us."

Fiona shook her head, her mind made up. She had never been the biggest fan of anything gentle or tentative. "I'm done waiting." She closed the space between them, his face in her hands as she kissed him with bruising force, Michael responding eagerly, both pulling at each other's clothes as they stumbled over to the bare mattress on an iron bed frame in the corner of the room left over from the days when the hotel had been in business. Michael lowered her onto the mattress, hurriedly kicking off his shoes, Fiona tugging her t-shirt over her head, tossing it to the ground before ripping open his shirt, buttons rolling away uselessly.

Michael unhooked her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders before kissing her neck, Fiona sighing with pleasure as his lips followed his hands and moved down to her breasts, his tongue flicking lightly over her right nipple as he unbuttoned her jeans, sliding one hand between her legs and putting his hard-earned knowledge to work, Fiona's breath hitching in her throat as a steady thudding sensation began to pulse through her body at his touch.

"Michael…" she breathed out, her accented voice throaty and low in his ear, Michael getting so hard he didn't know if he could stand much more foreplay.

Thankfully, Fiona didn't seem to want to wait any longer either, shoving him down on the mattress to undo his pants and slide off the rest of his clothes before she jerked him back up to her, kissing him again with an animalistic fervor that Michael was surprised to find himself not only liking, but returning.

Fiona broke the kiss for a moment, her arms still wrapped around his neck. "Wait, Michael…do you have…" she breathlessly looked towards his pants on the floor.

It took Michael's addled mind a moment to realize she was asking him about protection. "Y-Yeah, in my wallet…" He grabbed the pants, fumbling for his wallet before hurriedly putting on a condom, secretly glad Samantha had made him so much more adept at these things. Samantha had been on birth control, but still made Michael wear condoms every time, telling him there was "no fucking way" she wanted kids with him or anyone else.

But disturbing memories of his past relationship faded away as he watched Fiona take off her jeans and underwear, Michael's eyes glazing over with a dazed kind of happiness before Fiona pulled him back up to her, kissing him again and falling back on the mattress with a weak cry when Michael finally thrust inside her. After that, everything went a little hazy for them both. There were no instructions, no demands, hardly any words at all—it was almost like their bodies just moved together to some instinctive rhythm. They didn't stay in one position very long, first Michael on top of her, then Fiona pinning his arms down against the mattress, her knees spread wide on top of him, then Fiona clutching the headboard with Michael behind her, then finally they left the bed, Michael holding her up with her legs wrapped around his waist, her back against the wall next to the open window, Fiona's frenzied breathing turning into gasps as she moved her hips against him, finally bringing each other to a climax but trying not to attract unwanted attention from the fleet of police outside their window, Michael's head buried in her shoulder as he let out a groan of release, his hand covering Fiona's mouth as she cried out his name against his palm.

Afterwards, he gently helped her back down to standing on two feet. Fiona leaned her head against his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat and holding onto his shoulders, her shaking legs barely able to support her. Michael stroked her long dark hair for a long, quiet moment before she looked back up at him. There was nothing to say after such an encounter that would do it justice, so they just stayed silent, both still breathing hard, completely exposed. Until now, neither had ever opened up to anyone without regretting it afterwards. But now the line was crossed, and they weren't sorry.

Michael leaned forward to kiss her once more, Fiona's hands tightening on his shoulders as she kissed him back, a deep, slow embrace that felt both passionate but oddly comfortable, like they could come home to this for the rest of their lives. Fiona broke the kiss, letting out a long breath. "Holy hell, McBride. Don't kiss me like that if you expect me to stay standing."

She walked past him, lying down on the mattress, still completely naked and seemingly unconcerned. Michael, usually a much more modest person than his behavior of minutes earlier would attest, returned to his normal, saner self, retrieving his boxers from the floor and stepping into them before picking his way across their self-constructed war zone of scattered clothes, used condoms and broken glass. Michael had a sudden, juvenile flash of the scene in Die Hard where John McClane had to walk across glass in bare feet—but this was even better. There was a beautiful, naked woman waiting at the end of this particular scenario. Michael fought down a smile, laying beside her on the bare mattress and thinking that after all his years as an international spy, this was still the first time he'd ever really felt cool.

Fiona rolled onto her side, leaning over and kissing his chest. "Why are you getting dressed?"

"Well, we're not staying here for the night, are we?" Michael grinned, stroking her bare back with his hand.

"Oh, you don't like the room I've chosen for us?" Fiona asked with mock offense.

"Broken glass on the floor and police sirens across the street don't really set the mood for me, Fi." Michael smiled.

"Yeah, right." She leaned down, kissing him, this time on the mouth. "Can I be perfectly honest with you?"

Michael nodded, having a flash of panic that she was about to tell him she was married or something.

"That was the best shag of my life." Fiona smoothed his dark hair back off his forehead.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Fiona rolled her eyes with a small laugh. "Michael. I think I left teeth marks on your hand. Yes, really." She kissed his chest again before looking up at him curiously. "Did you think this was going to happen tonight?"

"You mean, did I think we'd end up in bed together in an abandoned hotel room after you nearly took out a city block with your own personal artillery?" Michael asked, tracing the curve of her left breast with his hand. "I didn't get that specific."

Fiona sighed with impatience. "But you thought we'd end up sleeping together?"

Michael didn't answer right away, wondering if he was allowed to say yes. Fiona smiled at the panicked expression on his face. "You can say yes." She crossed her bare leg over his. "I've been wanting this since the moment we met."

"Me too." Michael finally admitted, smiling back. "Should we get out of here? Finally get that drink?"

Fiona sat up slightly, swinging her leg further over to fully straddle him, leaning down towards him, her long dark hair falling around his face and flooding Michael's nostrils with the fresh, citrus scent he'd come to associate with being close enough to touch her. "You really want to leave?" Fiona purred, kissing him before gently biting down on his bottom lip.

"That hurts." Michael protested weakly, but Fiona felt his body responding to her despite his objections.

"You can bite me back," Fiona muttered against his mouth.

They never did get around to that drink.

Langley, Virginia

2016

"Did you call Sam?" Fiona asked, her speech slightly obscured by the electric toothbrush currently in her mouth as she and Michael got ready the morning after he returned home.

Michael nodded, finishing shaving and toweling off his face. "Yeah. He said he can't wait and they'll book their tickets for getting here early Friday morning. And he said if we leave a six pack in the fridge, he won't even guilt trip us about the favor."

Fiona spit out her toothpaste in the sink, wiping off her mouth as well. "Good. Thanks for calling him."

"No problem." Michael smiled at her. "You glad you married me?'

Fiona smiled back. "Sometimes." She leaned over, kissing him briefly on the lips.

Michael caught her by the waist, kissing her again, longer this time. "What is that? Cinnamon?"

"New toothpaste." Fiona grinned as he looked her over, clearly wanting his favorite morning activity. "Seriously, Michael? That's enough to turn you on?"

"I was gone for three weeks. It's enough." Michael smiled, his hand sliding under the t-shirt she was wearing to the waistband of her underwear. "Hey, Fi…"

"Yes, Michael?" She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I think we still have some catching up to do—"

"Mommy? Why is the door locked?" They both heard Maddy's voice on the other side of their bedroom door, her little hand twisting the doorknob back and forth from the outside.

Fiona sighed, putting a finger to Michael's lips. "Hold that thought." She reluctantly stepped away from her husband, unlocking and opening their bedroom door to reveal a very annoyed looking Maddy.

"Mommy, you're late. You always come read to me in the mornings." Maddy crossed her arms over her chest.

Fiona bent down to her daughter's eye level, brushing her sleep-mussed brown curls back behind her ear. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Mommy was just spending time with Daddy."

Maddy looked at her father, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "You don't get to spend time with Mommy in the mornings. I do."

Michael smiled. Maddy sounded just like her grandmother when she got like this. "I think we're going to have to learn to share, kiddo."

"Why?" Maddy pouted, clearly having woken up on the wrong side of her little jungle bed. "You're the one who's always leaving."

"Maddy. Don't talk to your father like that." Fiona blinked with surprise.

"It's true." Maddy shrugged her small shoulders.

Michael and Fiona exchanged a look, Fiona coming to a sudden decision. "You know what, sweetheart, I'm going to take a shower." Fiona told Maddy. "Go downstairs and have breakfast with your father, and I'll be there soon, all right?"

Maddy shook her head. "I want you to come too."

"I'll be right down." Fiona kissed the top of her daughter's head as she stood back up again. "Daddy will make you waffles."

"Like how you make them?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Maddy shuffled off towards the kitchen, and Michael turned towards Fiona, looking slightly alarmed. "How do you make waffles?"

"Blueberry with butter on top. And make sure to cut them into hearts with the little cookie cutters in the silverware drawer." Fiona explained.

"Heart-shaped waffles?" Michael smiled. "That's verging on adorable, Fi."

"I know. I told you. I really need to start blowing things up again."

"Soon." Michael promised with a smile.

Fiona let out a contented sigh. "I love you."

Michael laughed, his hand on her hip as he kissed the side of her neck, his response quiet. "Love you too, Fi." Still, even after being married almost five years, he usually mumbled his way through I-love-you's. Michael hadn't grown up saying I love you to anyone, and it was still a learning process to get comfortable with saying it, even to his own family.

He walked past her and down the stairs to the kitchen, Fiona closing the bathroom door after him and shivering slightly at the pleasant lingering smell of his woodsy aftershave and the visual of his blindingly white smile and muscled body under his thin gray t-shirt and boxers. They'd been together for so long, but all time had really done to Michael's appearance was give him more gray hair around the temples. Her husband was and would always be a damn good-looking man, and it still gave Fiona a little possessive thrill that he was all hers.

She stripped off his Army t-shirt and her underwear, turning the shower faucet to the boiling hot temperature she preferred, and wishing Michael could join her as she stepped under the pulsing showerhead. This shower was much nicer and more expensive than the one they'd shared in Michael's Miami loft, but Fiona remembered rather wistfully that they'd had much more sex in the slightly cramped, forever dripping shower in the loft than they'd ever had in this immaculately tiled, two-person model they'd spent a fortune installing in their Virginia home.

Fiona shook her head with a small laugh. This was just sad. She actually missed the loft. She and Michael had spent some of their best times together there, even though it was barely fit for human habitation when she first moved in. She knew it was silly and pointless, but thinking about the loft always made her nostalgic for Miami. Fiona couldn't shake the rather gloomy feeling that they had left just when it started to really feel like home.

A/N- Next time—father/daughter breakfast, Sam comes to town, Michael and Fi's vacation, and a flashback to their first encounter after Ireland where things get a little dark and twisted…I love reviews! Until next time…