A/N- Thanks again for reading! Hope you all enjoy!

Family Man

Chapter Three

Belfast, Ireland

2000

"Who keeps calling you?" Fiona grumbled when the sound of Michael's cell phone buzzing on the nightstand woke them up for the third time that night.

Michael checked his phone. "I don't know the number. Someone must just be calling it by mistake."

"Then just answer it and tell them it's the wrong number." Fiona sleepily kissed his shoulder, curling back up against him and closing her eyes.

Michael complied, seeing no other option. "Hello?" His voice came out raspy after a deep sleep.

"Michael. It's Larry. They're not fucking around anymore."

Michael kept his expression neutral, grateful for years of CIA training in hiding his emotions. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number."

"The boss man told you've been dodging the agency's calls, so he asked me to handle this personally. You're out. It's over. It's been over for a long time, but this time, you've pissed off the wrong guy. He knows who you really are. He's coming to kill you, and anyone else with you."

Michael carefully got out of bed without moving her, walking into the bathroom in Fiona's apartment and closing the door behind him. He moved to the farthest corner, speaking in an angry whisper. "What guy? What are you talking about?"

"Just listen to me. I'm extracting you myself. Tonight."

"No. No, I need more time."

"For what?" Larry scoffed.

"I need more time." Michael repeated firmly.

Larry sighed. "Fine. Fine. I don't know when you got so fucking sentimental, kid. But I'll do my best. Maybe I can reroute his flight…buy you a day, at the most. Pack up your shit, say your goodbyes, and I'll meet you at the docks tomorrow night at ten. If you don't show…I can't help you anymore. It's going to be a bloodbath, Michael. He'll have the whole IRA gunning for you soon."

Michael squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll be there," he finally said quietly.

"What? You're breaking up." Larry's voice was starting to cut out.

"I said, I'll be there." Michael repeated, clicking the phone shut and trying to resist the urge to throw it against the wall.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, startling him. Fiona had put on his white button down shirt, and was looking up at him with sleepy eyes. "Who was that?" she asked.

Michael looked back at her, flooded with the sudden, crazy thought of just dropping the McBride accent and telling her everything. Maybe she'd still love him. Maybe she'd go with him.

But he couldn't risk it. If someone wanted him dead, the best thing he could do for her is get as far away as possible. The time had come. Time to wake up. Time to go back to his real life.

But not just yet. He stepped closer to her, rubbing her arms with his hands. "Like I said, wrong number."

Fiona's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Don't lie to me."

Michael swallowed hard, trying to think of a better explanation for the phone call but unable to formulate anything. This was going to turn into a fight—as did most of their conversations— and Michael felt a bizarre sense of excitement. The six months they'd shared as a couple had been the most exhilaratingly turbulent of his life, their passionate relationship continually swinging from being madly in love and literally unable to get enough of each other to having knock-down, drag-out fights where they swore they never wanted to see each other again but always just ended up having loud, dirty make-up sex, sometimes and most memorably in semi-public locations like back alleys, elevators, and even once in a bank vault after they'd knocked the guards unconscious for a nighttime robbery that they'd just barely pulled off after getting so distracted, and the cycle would start all over again.

She brought out a danger-seeking, fuck-the-rules side of him he hadn't even known existed before Fiona, and Michael was starting to like his life so much as Michael McBride that it wasn't even pretending anymore to become him. Michael Westen was a dull, distant memory. Now he was Michael McBride, and Michael McBride was in love with Fiona. The exciting push-and-pull dynamic of their relationship had literally taken over Michael's life to a degree that he could barely remember what appeal life had held for him before her. Being with her wasn't easy or low-maintenance or any of the things he thought he wanted from a romantic relationship. It was all-consuming and dizzyingly intense, and he loved it. They couldn't have predicted it and knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but facts were facts. They were both completely addicted to each other.

He and Fiona had become so inseparable that he had practically become a part of the Glennane family, her mother and five brothers finally accepting him as one of their own. They were the kind of close-knit family Michael hadn't even believed could exist before he met them, and other than their uniformly criminal leanings, they were the most moral, loving people Michael had ever met. The thought of leaving them behind was torture. The thought of leaving Fiona behind was impossible.

"Michael." Fiona interrupted his reverie. "If it was really a wrong number, you wouldn't be sneaking off to the bathroom to answer it. Just tell me the truth."

"What exactly are you suspicious of?" he demanded.

"I know something's wrong. Something's been wrong for weeks."

"Nothing's wrong, okay? It was just a guy calling about some job."

"Bullshit."

Michael sighed. "It's late, Fi. Let's just go to sleep."

"No. Tell me who's been calling you non-stop these past few weeks. Are you fucking someone else?'

"Fiona, when would I have time to cheat on you? When's the last time we spent more than a few hours away from each other?"

"Oh, so now you want out?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." She swung her fist to hit him hard, Michael blocking the blow and pinning her arms over her head against the bathroom wall, kissing her so hard it felt like a physical blow. Fiona sighed against his mouth before kissing him back, both wrestling each other to the ground as they embraced and pulled off each other's clothes, Fiona finally straddling him on the bathroom rug as he entered her, her breath catching in her throat at the now deliciously familiar feeling of him suddenly inside her. She started to circle her hips against him, hard and fast. Michael clutched her hips with his hands, the only sound their heavy breathing as they fucked. They knew each other's bodies so well at this point that getting each other off was starting to become a thrilling second nature, and this time was no exception. Fiona's hands clenched on his chest at the end as Michael closed his eyes when she finally cried out with release, Michael groaning as he finished with a rush of pleasure so powerful he saw lights popping behind his eyelids.

She leaned down to kiss him once more before she lay down beside him, her head on his chest. Michael opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a long breath as he absently stroked her bare shoulder. "I love you, Fi."

"I love you too. Always," she muttered into his ear, kissing and gently biting down on his earlobe before resting her head on his shoulder. Their fight from moments before was, as always, lost in the afterglow, Michael's knowledge of his imminent and inevitable departure and Fiona's suspicions fading into what felt like very distant memories as they lay together on bathroom floor.

But as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Michael remembered Larry's phone call. And the truth. This was all ending. The best thing he'd ever had in his life would be gone for good tomorrow night.

Michael swallowed hard, trying to force his brain to think, but still at a total loss of how he was supposed to say good-bye to her.

"Hey, Fi?" he finally spoke again.

"Yes?" She stroked his chest with her hand, kissing the side of his neck, clearly not satiated yet.

"Could I cook dinner for you tomorrow night?"

"Mmm. I'd like that." She started to slide her hand lower, down his stomach, and then lower still, Michael's breath catching in his throat. "What's the occasion?" Fiona purred into his ear.

"I-I just wanted you to know…how much you mean to me," Michael finally said, proud of himself for still being able to form coherent sentences when his girlfriend was clearly more interested in an activity that did not require any more talking.

Fiona smiled, pulling him on top of her, looking up at him, her green eyes oddly intent on his. "We're the lucky ones, you know."

"What do you mean?"

She kissed him, over and over, in that intoxicatingly lusty way particular to Fiona where it felt like she could devour him whole if she wanted, speaking whenever their lips briefly parted before coming back for more. "Some people…go their whole lives…and never feel this way about another person."

"I know."

"Before I met you, I didn't even think it was possible."

Michael looked down at her with a small smile. "And now?"

"Now I'm never letting you go."

They didn't say another word that night, fully lost in each other, finally making their way back to the bed and falling asleep as the sun came up on Michael's last day in Belfast. They spent most of the next day walking around the city together before Michael cooked her dinner at her apartment that night, and they made love in her bed for once like the normal happy couple they sometimes accidentally allowed themselves to become.

But the next morning, Fiona woke up without him. Confused and disoriented, she hurriedly got dressed and went to his apartment only to find it empty, all of his things packed and gone, not even a note left behind to explain where or why he had gone.

"Where is he?" A burly, hot-tempered IRA associate came barreling through the door to Michael's apartment, red-faced and spitting mad.

"He's gone." Fiona said, her words sounding false to her own ears.

The man shoved the file he was holding into Fiona's hands. She flipped through it while he was talking, looking long and hard at the copy of a CIA badge bearing Michael's face and the name Westen, Michael. "He was lying to all of us, Fiona. He's a bloody fucking American who was working for the CIA to bring all of us down." His eyes narrowed as he pulled a gun out of the back of his pants, clicking off the safety as he pushed the barrel up against the underside of her chin. "Or am I telling you something you already know?"

Fiona said nothing, betrayal and rage making for a very deadly combination as a roaring sound began to grow louder in her ears. She had fallen for every lie Michael ever told her. She had been the fool. "Have you told anyone else what you know?"

The man smiled, realizing from her stricken expression she hadn't known the truth and that he might have just found a very valuable ally against Michael Westen. "Not yet. I came here to kill him myself. What do you say, Fiona? He betrayed you more than anyone. Help me find him and I'll even let you have the second shot. I'll do the bullet in his head, you do the one in his heart."

Her next movement happened so fast that the man didn't even register she had taken his gun until she fired it twice into his chest. Fiona looked down at him bleeding out on the floor of Michael's apartment, her expression emotionless, hardly even hearing his pleas for mercy as she picked up the incriminating files, walked out the door and tossed the evidence against Michael, the gun, and a lit match into the trashcan outside a nearby liquor store. The trash immediately ignited into billowing flames, Fiona not looking behind her as people screamed and called for help.

She just kept walking, mentally reviewing her options for getting a good fake passport in enough time to leave Ireland tonight, not caring where she had to start or what it would take to track him down. She would find Michael Westen—if only to kill him herself.

Langley, Virginia

2016

"Blueberry waffles, coming right up." Michael put the Eggos into the toaster, Maddy watching him with her chin resting in her hands. When she didn't speak for a long moment, Michael cleared his throat a little nervously. "So, kiddo, school starts soon, right?"

"Yeah." Maddy shrugged. "Me and mommy went to meet my teacher at the school last week with all the other kids in my class and their parents. One of the daddies asked mommy if she was married."

"What?" Michael nearly overflowed the glass of milk he was pouring for Maddy.

"Don't worry, daddy. She told him she was."

"What, the wedding ring didn't tip him off?" Michael asked with narrowed eyes.

"Everyone thinks it's just me and her. You never come to anything."

Michael sighed, talking to her like an adult as he always did. He wasn't quite sure how to talk to children any other way. "Maddy, I've told you about my job. It's not like I can just take a night off. I have to be ready whenever they need me."

"Or what?" Maddy countered.

"Or some very bad people will do some very bad things. My job is to stop those people."

"But what about me and mommy?"

"I always come back to you two, don't I?" Michael took out the waffles, placing them on her purple polka dot plate and dutifully cutting them into hearts with the cookie cutter.

"Not for long." Maddy grumbled, watching as her father spread butter on the waffles per Fiona's instructions.

Michael set down the butter knife, walking around the counter and sitting down at the stool beside her. "Maddy. Look at me."

She reluctantly obeyed.

"Tell me what's wrong."

She looked down at her hands, twisting them together, unable to look back at him as she mumbled her next question. "Do you even want to be here? Do you want to be my daddy?"

Michael breathed out, feeling like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "Of course I do."

"You promise?" Maddy wiped tears off her cheeks.

"I promise."

"And you'll always come back home?"

"I'll always come back home." Michael held out his pinky finger, Maddy hooking hers around his with a small smile. It was something they had done since she was very little, and the small gesture seemed to comfort her.

"Now. Eat your waffles." Michael got back to his feet, pressing a kiss against the top of her head before going back to his side of the counter and pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

It didn't feel like things were completely fixed between them, but the mood in the room was lighter as Maddy started to tell him more about her new school and teacher. Michael sat down with her, and eventually Fiona joined them for a very lazy morning at home. Inactivity felt very strange to Michael, but it was actually nice. He didn't get many days off with nothing pressing to do except spend time with his family.

And despite his near-continual anxiety about whether or not he would ever live up to what Fiona wanted from a husband or Maddy needed from a father— it was good to be home.

Moscow, Russia

2001

"Fiona Glenanne." Larry dropped a file on the table in front of Michael.

Michael literally couldn't find his voice for a moment, clearing his throat to buy a moment to recover. "Who?" He finally choked out.

It wasn't his most convincing performance, but Larry seemed to buy it. "She's some crazy bitch making a name for herself doing freelance demolition work. Used to be IRA, but was smart enough to figure out there's more money in working for the highest bidder instead of some shoddy would-be revolutionaries." Larry flopped down in the chair on the other side of the table. "You've really never heard of her? She was in Ireland around the same time as you."

"The name doesn't sound familiar."

Larry looked at Michael for a long moment, a brief, almost knowing smile flashing across his harshly handsome features. But just when Michael noticed his expression, it was gone and Larry was back to his usual inscrutable expression. "Check out her picture. Real looker."

Michael opened the file, his heart twisting painfully as he looked down at the mug shot of Fiona attached to the front page, taken when she was probably around nineteen, looking at the camera with a characteristic fuck-you glint in her eyes. He kept looking through the file, re-reading familiar crimes and seeing familiar pictures from security camera footage that he'd practically memorized when he'd tried to talk himself out of getting involved with her in the beginning.

"Not bad, huh?" Larry interrupted his reverie. "I mean, I wouldn't mind some bigger tits, but you're more of a happy-handful guy, right?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Where are you going with this?"

Larry sighed. "You're no fun." He took the file back. "I called her about the job—used our Russian aliases. Not like it mattered— she didn't seem to know or care who she was talking to. She's interested. You're meeting her downtown in an hour."

Michael felt like the room was starting to spin, very slowly. This could not be happening. "I really wish you would have consulted me about this, Larry."

"What? You don't like her?"

Michael sighed. "I have heard of her, okay? She's unstable. And reckless. And the last thing we need after what you did in Chechnya."

"What Idid?" Larry laughed out loud. "Oh, yes, Michael the choir boy. I forgot. You never kill anyone or fuck anyone or do anything that gets your hands dirty. It's always big, bad Larry forcing you to play his game, right?"

"More like cloak his sins." Michael said coldly.

Larry got to his feet, crossing to Michael's side of the table and glaring through narrowed, cold blue eyes. "You know, Michael, taking the path of least resistance doesn't make you innocent. It makes you weak."

There was a long, tense moment as the two men just looked at each other, too many years of shared history and stifled anger and quiet regret between them to come to any kind of resolution tonight.

"I should go." Michael finally got to his feet. "I don't really want to piss off a demolitions expert."

"Have fun, champ. Wear a condom." Larry smiled tightly, clapping Michael on the shoulder before Michael shrugged out of his grasp and left without another word.

Red Square

Michael wouldn't have recognized her right away if he hadn't been looking for her. She was standing by a park bench, her already lean body now deathly thin and her usually tan skin pale, a brutally cold wind whipping her hair and clothes as she scanned the square for her new contact. Fiona had cut off the long, gorgeous brown hair he still regularly fantasized about running his hands through when he allowed himself to remember how good it had felt to make love to her every night. Her new short hair barely reached her chin, and was dyed jet black. The Fiona he'd known in Belfast had never worn make-up— now she was wearing heavy black eye-liner and dark purple lipstick. And instead of her usual white tank top and jeans, she was wearing black leather pants and a spiderweb-like netted shirt over a black bra, leather fingerless gloves on her hands as she re-lit a cigarette with a lighter bearing the Irish flag. He'd never seen Fiona smoke once in their entire relationship.

He watched her take a long drag off the cigarette as he approached, Fiona looking the other way and not noticing him until he was barely ten feet away from her. When she finally did see him, Fiona only appeared stricken with surprise for a brief instant before forcing her features into a neutral expression, recovering from the shock with admirable speed.

"Well, well. Michael Westen. The CIA's golden boy." She crossed her arms over her chest, making sure he realized that she knew everything now. "Now they have you posing as some Russian psychopath. You screwing a local girl here too?"

"Fi…this wasn't my idea." Michael muttered under his breath, joining her by the park bench as tourists and businessmen hurried past them on their way home from work. "My partner set up this meeting. I would never…"

"Never what? Never wanted to see me again if you could help it?" Fiona hissed, stubbing out her cigarette dangerously close to his hand on the park bench. "Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you to hell."

"I'm so sorry—"

She laughed humorlessly. "Go ahead and do your Russian accent, please. Your American one makes you sound like real asshole."

"I wanted to tell you the truth, Fi."

"Then you would have." She finally met his eyes when they were standing close to each other, blinking rapidly as if trying to fight back any emotion. "You know, this actually works out nicely. I've been looking everywhere for you, and fate finally intervened and dropped you in my lap."

"You've been looking for me?"

"Yes." Fiona leaned closer to him. "To cut your fucking throat."

Michael looked down at her as Fiona slid her tongue over her teeth, Michael desperately wanting to close the distance between them and start making up for lost time. She looked completely different, but just as hot. It was like Fiona had an evil twin. An evil twin Michael really, really wanted to have sex with. "Do you want the job or not, Fi?"

"Why would I? So you can sell me out to your little government buddies and they can put me in prison for the rest of my life?"

"It's not like that, Fi." Michael leaned down, muttering into her ear. "This isn't exactly an official mission."

"Fine." She shrugged her bony shoulders, pulling back to look at him. "It will be much easier to make your death look like an accident if we're working together again."

Michael nodded, deciding at this point he'd take what he could get. "Then let's get to work."

A/N- Sorry I got a little carried away with this chapter and didn't get to everything I meant to…next time, Sam finally shows up at the house in Virginia and we see the rest of the flashback of what happened with Russian Michael and Angry Fi's mission in Moscow…might get to married Mike and Fi's vacation next chapter as well…thanks for reviews as always! You guys always motivate me to keep writing!