Family Man
Chapter Four
Miami, Florida
2012
Michael felt like he'd been sleeping for a week straight. He would only wake up to pick at room service food or drink a glass of water, sometimes surf through a few channels before drifting off again. Even just walking to the ice machine made him feel exhausted.
They had tried everything. He, Sam, his mother, and Jesse—even Agent Pearce, with some cajoling—had done everything they could to exonerate Fiona. But it had all been for nothing. She was never getting out—Anson had made that perfectly clear. Michael wasn't even allowed to visit her. It had been three months since he'd seen her, three months since he stood outside the police station, shouting her name, begging her not to turn herself in.
But she had. And there was nothing he could do about it. And without her, what was the point? Michael felt lethargic to the point of being incapable of action without her, and he could barely stand to be at the loft (or anywhere else, really) any longer. Sam had suggested Michael get out of town for a little while. Both he and Jesse assured him they would keep trying to help Fiona while he was gone, but both privately thought that if Michael didn't take some time away from these crushing, continual disappointments in his quest to free Fiona, he was going to put a gun barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger soon enough. Apparently some people within the government had been whispering the words "death penalty" when it came to Fiona Glenanne, and everyone who knew Michael knew that if that happened, he would lose it completely.
Michael mercifully had not heard those rumors yet, and had agreed to leaving town for awhile mostly just to get them off his back. He hadn't quite made it out of town, just pulling over at the first shitty hotel he'd found in Miami and checked in for the week. His phone kept buzzing with calls, but he figured it was just his mother and he really didn't want to fend off her millionth "please-don't-kill-yourself" call. Finally on the fifth call, Michael picked up the phone, turning it off completely and rolling over in the bed. He hadn't even bothered really getting dressed after showering last night, just pulling on a gray t-shirt and boxers and sprawling out on his bed.
He fell asleep again, even though it was the middle of the day, and only woke up when he heard knocking on his door. Michael, even in his beleaguered state, still had the presence of mind to pull out the loaded gun from underneath his pillow, thumbing off the safety and moving slowly towards the door. It was probably just Anson, tailing him to laugh in Michael's face, gloat over the fact that he'd reduced him to this, from superspy to brokenhearted joke. Or maybe Sam or Jesse had seen his car parked outside the hotel, and wanted to see if he was hanging from the shower rod. This hadn't exactly been his most stealthy plan.
He walked to the door and didn't even bother to look through the peephole. If it was someone coming to kill him, Michael honestly would just be more relieved than anything else. He swung the door open, yawning hugely before looking up to see who it was.
He honestly thought he was hallucinating when he saw her standing there at his door.
"Michael." Fiona's voice broke just saying his name, tears already spilling down her cheeks.
His gun fell to the carpet, Michael too shocked to question what was happening, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her so tightly that it must have hurt. But Fiona returned the embrace just as fiercely.
He pulled back slightly to look at her after a moment, smoothing her hair back off her face, shaking his head. "What…how…"
"All Sam and Jesse told me is that Agent Pearce managed to negotiate my release in exchange for their evidence against Anson. I'm sure there's much more to it…but that's all I know." Fiona shook her head, smiling slightly. "What does it matter? I'm here now."
Michael didn't ask anymore questions, not wanting to jinx it, not wanting to wake up if he was dreaming, just kissing her hard, pushing her back against the hotel room door as they slammed it shut. And suddenly his questions didn't matter. His mind could process nothing but Fi kissing him back, the way he remembered, the way only Fiona ever could, animalistic and hungry. But this time, Michael felt himself responding in kind, just like the old days, the need to feel her bare skin against his consuming all else, and soon he had ripped her thin white t-shirt down the middle to get it off of her before they sank down to the floor in the corner together and Fiona straddled him against the wall for the kind of violent, desperate sex they'd both been missing like a drug. They said things during, and after that they had been running from for years, three words in particular over and over, words so long overdue that it almost seemed beside the point to say them now.
But they did say them, clinging to each other after they'd made love, their limbs tangled and intertwined as they huddled together in the corner of the room, refusing to let each other go. It almost felt like the moment their skin wasn't touching, it would all end.
They didn't leave the hotel room for three days, not taking calls or even speaking to another soul. When they finally did reemerge, they rarely let each other out of their sight, Michael holding her hand or keeping his arm around her wherever they went.
And even though they spent every moment together, Michael and Fiona's conversations stayed mostly frivolous and surface level for the first few weeks, both returning to old, familiar avoidance habits of letting great sex largely replace the intimacy of deep conversation. Neither of them were feeling all that talkative anyway, Fiona clearly unwilling to tell him about prison yet and Michael ashamed to tell her how completely he'd fallen apart on his own.
They went to dinner with his mother every Friday, and occasionally ventured out for groceries or to see Sam and Jesse, but neither seemed to really like leaving the loft. Agent Pearce called them both in for separate debriefings about the deal struck for Fiona's release, but Michael and Fiona hadn't discussed it much afterwards. What was there to say? According to what Pearce told Michael, she'd basically ransomed Michael's services to the government and Jesse and Sam's information on Anson's criminal acts (including the bombing for which he'd framed Fiona) for Fiona's release. They gave Michael his girlfriend back and expunged her record, but in exchange, he was theirs. Forever. He could never refuse another mission or even give someone a look they didn't like, because now, yet again, he belonged to them.
But Michael didn't care. If that's what it took to have Fi beside him, then fine. He wondered if Pearce had explained everything so bluntly to Fiona as well. He knew Fiona would despise the thought that he was a slave to the government for her sake. So he didn't dare bring it up, hoping Pearce had spun the truth a different way to Fiona. They returned back home after the debriefings, both lost in their own thoughts on the drive home. No more than a few words had been spoken about the meetings during that drive and subsequent return to the loft, where they were both more than happy to disappear back into their own little universe.
After about a month and a half of this self-imposed semi-isolation, they had been sitting on Michael's bed together, Michael eating yogurt and Fi painting her nails while they watched (and occasionally mocked) some stupid spy movie on TV when Michael realized Fiona hadn't made any wry comments about the movie's glacier-sized plot holes in awhile.
He looked over to her. 'You okay, Fi?"
She blew on her fingernails, giving no response but a furrowed brow.
"What's wrong?" Michael sat up slightly. Fiona looked very nervous, and he sensed that something big was about to happen. Maybe the time had finally come for them to talk, about prison, about Anson, about Pearce's deal, about all of it. "You can tell me anything."
"I hope so, Michael."
Michael muted the TV. "What is it?"
Fi looked up at him, letting out an irritated breath. Michael wracked his brains for something he had done that warranted an apology. They hadn't really done much lately but bum around the loft. Maybe that was what he was doing wrong. Maybe she wanted him to take her out, do something nice to celebrate her freedom instead of just eating take-out and having sex all the time.
He put his hand over hers. "Look, Fi, since you got back home, I know I haven't exactly been—"
"I'm pregnant." Fiona snapped, and when Michael didn't—or couldn't—formulate a response, his blue eyes almost comically large and stunned, Fiona eventually sat back on the pillow and unmuted the television, her lips curving into a smile as she patted his shoulder. "It's okay. I did the same thing for about three hours when I found out. Let me know when it sinks in."
Langley, Virginia
2016
"Mommy, can't you just pack me?" Maddy giggled, crawling inside Fiona's enormous suitcase and closing it over herself. "Daddy, help me zip it."
"Honey, get out of there." Fiona called from the where she was picking out shoes in the closet, Maddy giggling even harder when Michael lifted up the suitcase with her in it. "I'll make you my carry-on, Mads, how about that?" Michael grinned, carrying the suitcase over to the bed where they'd been stacking up the rest of their luggage.
"Put me down!" Maddy squealed, pretending to gasp for air when Michael set the suitcase down and she crawled out very dramatically, snuggling up into the pillows of her parent's bed as she watched them continue to pack. "See, Daddy, I would be a great spy. You could just hide me in stuff."
Michael raised his eyebrows. "You want to be a spy?"
"Of course. Just like you, daddy. Stopping the bad people." Maddy said, playing with the zipper on his suitcase.
He could practically feel Fiona glaring at him before he turned around to look at her, standing in the closet doorway. Fiona furiously mouthed "Say something!" to him, but Michael just shrugged, holding his hands and mouthing back "What?"
Fiona walked out of the closet and crossed to her daughter, sitting beside her on the bed. "You can be anything you want to be. You know that, right?"
"Yes." Maddy nodded. "But daddy said spies stop bad people. That's what I want to do. And once I'm a spy, I can go everywhere with you and Daddy."
"We'll only be gone for a week, baby." Fiona said as Maddy snuggled up under her arm. "And then we'll all be together again, okay?"
"Daddy too?" Maddy looked skeptical.
"Daddy too." Fiona said when Michael didn't respond or join them on the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. He was back to packing, when his daughter clearly needed him to engage. She felt a familiar annoyance brimming up inside her, remembering countless times he'd tuned her out when he started to move into job mode. They weren't leaving until the next morning, but once Michael got like this, he might as well be gone already.
That night, after following her mother all over the house and being unusually clingy and whiny, Maddy had fallen asleep between Michael and Fiona in their bed while they had all been watching a movie. Michael had been on the laptop for most of the movie, preparing for the Monaco job.
"Can't you do all of that on the plane?" Fiona asked quietly as she looked over at him. "We have a twelve hour flight tomorrow, Michael."
Michael kept typing. "I really need to finish this."
Fiona reached over, closing his laptop and nearly slamming it down on his fingers before he pulled them away just in time. Michael turned to her, whispering furiously— "Damn it, Fi—"
"Keep your voice down. She's sleeping." Fiona hissed back. They both looked down, seeing Maddy stirring slightly but remaining asleep.
Michael sighed, running a hand over his hair before looking back up to Fi. "What exactly are you pissed off about now?"
"I can't believe you told our daughter to be a spy."
Michael sighed, setting his laptop on his bedside table. "I did not tell her to be a spy—"
"That's what you want for her? You want them to take over her life too?"
"We shouldn't talk about this now."
But Fiona was undeterred. "Because I'll be damned if I have to watch my daughter give up everything for that same organization that's ruined your life, and mine too, a hundred times over—"
"They saved your life, Fi! And the only way they'll let you keep it is if I keep working for them." Michael finally just said it.
Fiona blinked with surprise. "No. They let me go in exchange for Sam and Jesse's evidence against Anson."
Michael shook his head, unable to lie to her anymore, needing her to understand why he could never just walk away. "That was only part of the deal, Fi."
"What are you talking about?" Fiona sat up in bed, and the sudden movement woke Maddy up, Maddy stretching and twisting in the sheets between them.
She looked up at her mother and father with sleepy eyes. "Why are you fighting?"
Fiona tore her eyes away from Michael. "We're not fighting, baby. We were just talking."
"You sounded mad."
"It's nothing, sweetheart." Michael assured her. "Time for bed." He went to pick her up to carry her to bed, but Maddy twisted away from him, bursting into tears and clinging to her mother. "NO! I want to sleep here!" She looked up at her father. "Go away! You ruin everything!"
"Don't talk to your father like that." Fiona said sharply.
Maddy just shook her head, burying her head in her mother's t-shirt, her voice muffled when she spoke again. "I don't want you to go, mommy."
Fiona sighed, lifting her daughter into her arms and getting out of bed. Maddy was never like this, but then again, Fiona had never been away from her for longer than a few hours. "I'll be back," she muttered to Michael, walking out of their bedroom.
But she hadn't come back that night. Michael went to check on them around four in the morning, and found that Fiona had fallen asleep with Maddy in her bed. He didn't sleep at all that night, feeling like a stranger in his own home. He just sat up in bed, trying to work, staring at his computer screen but not really comprehending anything. He just kept thinking about Maddy yelling at him to go away and Fiona wearily taking their daughter to bed. Something had to change, that was becoming very clear. But what? He felt like if he changed one thing, it would all fall apart. The fact that he even had a family of his own always made Michael feel like he had gotten away with something, like soon life would catch up with him and take it all away.
Michael rubbed his eyes, closing his computer and leaning his head back against the headboard. He wondered if Fiona would even want to go with him tomorrow after their argument. He wondered what she would think of the bargain of selling his life to the government for hers. He wondered, as he did so often, if they could really make this work as a family.
And he reminded himself of the one thing that always comforted him when he and Fiona had problems—they had definitely survived worse.
Moscow, Russia
2001
"Tell them what you like, baby." Fiona crouched down over Michael, standing over him on the table, holding him up by the collar of his shirt.
Michael looked up at her, speaking in flawless Russian, just one word—"Pain."
Fiona smiled, looking around at their audience around the table. There was one man in the back, in particular, she wanted to impress. He was their contact, but had told them over the phone that, before he gave them the information they needed, he wanted to make sure they were "his kind of people." Fiona and Michael had very little idea what that meant until they showed up at the specified address and discovered he'd sent them to a hardcore S&M underground Russian sex club.
Luckily, Fiona's new look always made her look like she was going to an hardcore S&M underground Russian sex club, and tonight was no exception—she was wearing some crazy backless dress that looked like it was made out of chain mail and black lace-up combat boots, her jet black hair pulled back and black lipstick on her lips.
"You didn't happen to bring leather pants, did you?" Fiona had looked up at the boring suit Michael was wearing.
"No, sorry."
"Nipple clamps?"
"Fi."
"Just asking." She shrugged her thin shoulders, lighting a cigarette and ringing a rather ominous looking doorbell on a gothic style door outside the club. They waited there together for a moment, Fiona taking a long drag off her cigarette.
Michael looked down at her, trying to fill the awkward silence. "I thought you didn't smoke."
Fiona blew the smoke directly in his face. "Fuck you."
I guess she's still mad then. Michael coughed slightly, waving the smoke out of his face. Ever since their first encounter at the park bench, Fiona had followed up her death threat by being oddly polite to him as they prepared for their mission. He should've known that wouldn't last. And Fiona being polite was just too weird. He much preferred her like this anyway.
And now they finally had the chance to prove themselves to their contact, who had approached them and just said in halting English, "I am waiting to be impressed." Fiona hadn't even hesitated, bodily heaving an unsuspecting Michael onto the ominously blood-stained wooden table in the middle of the room, the audience exchanging excited glances, the circle of spectators tightening around the table as Fiona climbed up onto the table, standing over him and picking him up by the collar of his shirt. Michael had caught on at this point, playing the part of submissive oddly well. Fiona seemed oddly comfortable with her dominant role, definitely selling it, looking coldly businesslike as she shoved him back down on the table.
Someone had wheeled over a table of tools at this point, and Michael tried not to look nervous as Fiona ran her hand over a pair of pliers, a cat-of-nine-tails whip, and a serrated knife. She finally selected the pliers, looking around at the crowd, speaking in Russian.
"What do you think? Should I start with his fingernails or his teeth?"
Everyone cheered for fingernails, and Michael looked up at her as Fiona seized his left hand. He gave a small shake of the head, actual fear rising in his chest. Surely she wouldn't really do it. Not for a cover. He felt the pliers clamp down on his fingernail, and suddenly thought maybe this wasn't part of a cover. Maybe this was his punishment. He wouldn't have thought even Fi was this crazy, but she looked pretty damn committed to the idea. Her eyes flicked to his briefly, and he saw her hesitate.
Suddenly she set the pliers aside, the crowd groaning with disappointment. But she didn't seem to hear them, her hands closing around his throat as she leaned over Michael. "Fuck it." She practically growled. "I don't need any fucking tools."
And she proceeded to kick the living shit out of him, the crowd cheering again at each blow, Michael knowing that even if he hadn't been undercover, he would have just laid there and taken it. This was what he deserved. And there even was the smallest, secret part of him that did like it. She was like an animal—scratching, clawing, kicking, punching—all her hurt and fury finally expressed, and soon Michael could barely even feel it, all the pain starting to blur together as he just looked up at her through swollen eyes. It became so vicious that even the bloodthirsty crowd fell silent, watching the attack as though it was a piece of performance art. Suddenly, he heard a choked sound escape her lips and Michael realized she was crying, and vaguely he realized tears were slipping down his bruised and bloody cheeks as well. And then it was over. Her muscles were trembling with exhaustion, her knuckles cracked and bloody, when she finally sat back, still straddling him, the crowd stunned into silence.
Michael looked up at her, his entire face throbbing with pain, tasting blood in his mouth. He turned his head and spit the blood and one of his back teeth out on the floor, gingerly pushing himself up until he and Fiona were face-to-face. "Thank you," he said, his hand clenching the back of her neck as he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. The crowd finally erupted into applause, pleased with the show as Fiona kissed him back, and when they finally broke apart, their contact had stepped forward, looking pleased. "Perhaps I should show you two a place to get cleaned up." He nodded his head towards a back room, and Michael and Fiona knew they were in. Fiona climbed off of him, Michael following her off the table, the faces of the crowd swimming in front of his eyes as he realized he should probably be hospitalized after the beating he had just taken. But he just followed her, focusing very hard on walking straight and hoping he hadn't suffered any permanent brain damage.
"I think the swelling's going down." Fiona examined his black eye clinically after she removed the ice compress at their hotel room later that night.
"Really?" Michael asked skeptically.
"No." She grinned. Her dark make-up had mostly worn off at this point, and she looked much more like her old self.
"Don't laugh." Michael glared. "You nearly killed me."
She put the compress back on his eye, staring at him evenly. Something about kicking the shit out of him had really calmed her down. She had seemed almost friendly after their meeting, helping him stumble back to the hotel and now even tending to him like a concerned girlfriend. A concerned girlfriend who had just beaten him to a bloody pulp. Michael would have been confused and disoriented even if he hadn't been seeing double of everything at the moment.
"You deserved worse," she said quietly, Michael wincing as she gently traced the cut where she'd split the skin over his cheekbone.
He reached up, putting his hand over hers. "I'm really sorry, Fi."
She pulled her hand away, removing the compress and putting it back down on the washcloth on the bedside table, refusing to look at him when she asked the next question. "Was I part of the job? Did they tell you to fuck me?"
"No. No, not at all. As far as anyone at the government knows, I never saw you again after that first job we did together. I was supposed to walk away a long time ago. But I kept putting it off."
"Why?"
"Because I fell in love with you, Fi."
"Bullshit." She shook her head. "You would have told me the truth."
"I was trying to protect you. I pissed someone off, someone higher up in the IRA, and they said he was coming to kill me and anybody with me."
Fiona's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Don't ever do that again."
"What?"
"Try to protect me. I know all about the man who wanted you dead. I put two bullets in his chest. You should have known, Michael. You should have known I could take care of myself, that I would never let anyone hurt you…" Fiona's voice caught in her throat.
"Except for you. It's okay if you hurt me." Michael smiled. "You're right, Fi. I should have known. I should have taken you with me."
She wiped impatiently at her cheeks. "We're still not even close to even, Michael."
"Your knuckles are bleeding." Michael caught her hands in his, examining her hurried tape job. He peeled the tape back, examining the cuts and bruises. Michael cleaned them off with the washcloth, Fiona watching him with a tense, cautious expression. He expertly taped them back up, turning her hands over in his and kissing both of her palms, slowly and deliberately.
Fiona's eyes slid shut, miserably shaking her head. "Michael. Don't."
He didn't listen, his hand sliding to her back as he pulled her closer and started to kiss her neck, right above her collarbone, where she liked. He reached up, untying the strings of her dress at the back of her neck. "I miss you, Fi. All the time." He mumbled the words against her neck, and Fiona started unbuttoning his shirt.
"You miss fucking me, you mean." She slithered out of her dress, throwing it aside as she lay back on the bed and pulled Michael on top of her. "It's fine. I miss fucking you too. No one ever made me come like that. Ever." She kissed him, starting to undo his pants, smiling against his mouth. "Look at you, in your boring business suit. No one else has any idea, do they? No one else knows the Michael who nearly went to federal prison to steal a security tape of us fucking in a bank vault. You still jerk off to it?"
"Fi. Stop. Stop it." Michael took her face in his hands. "It wasn't about the sex."
Fiona raised her eyebrows, and Michael went on quickly. "I mean…it wasn't just about the sex. Not for me. And I don't think it really was for you either."
She squirmed slightly under his gaze, looking suddenly like she wanted to run for the door. If it wasn't just about that, she had to face what it had been about. And the fact that it had meant something, to both of them. Something they had to face. Something from which they obviously couldn't escape. They'd both run halfway around the world, and still ended up in each other's arms.
Fiona finally sighed heavily, looking up at him. "I was going to hate you for the rest of my life."
Michael smiled down at her, his face still massively swollen and bruised. Fiona laughed, playfully pushing his face away. "Ugh. I can't even look at you, you're such a bloody mess." They wrestled on the bed for a moment, ending up kissing again, Fiona on top of him this time as Michael slid off her underwear. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her underwear still in his hand.
"What are these, latex?"
"Don't even act like that doesn't make you hard." She pinned him down against the bed, kissing him and feeling the cut on his bottom lip pressed against hers as he kissed her back, Fiona hurriedly unzipping his pants. When he finally entered her and Fiona started to move her hips against him, they both breathed out with the strangest feeling of relief. Every moment they'd been apart felt like they'd just been biding time until this. Somehow they ended up tangled in the sheets on the floor at the end, Michael staring up at the ceiling afterwards, clutching his shoulder.
"Ow."
"What's wrong?" Fiona looked over at him.
"I think something's broken."
"Oh, don't be such a baby." She grinned. "Love hurts."
"Right." Michael looked down at her. "Then I love you too, Fi."
She smiled. "You think you'll be able to walk tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Our new cover may be the recently paralyzed man and his kindly caretaker."
Fiona rolled her eyes. "Hot." She climbed to her feet, holding out her hand. "Come on. Get up."
Michael sighed, tentatively taking her hand and letting her haul him to his feet. His shoulder really did hurt like hell and the injuries to his face were still throbbing, now even more so, but he managed. He didn't think he could have done it for anything less than the sight of Fiona looking like a total bad-ass, naked and sweaty and gorgeous, but that had definitely been motivation enough.
Washington National Airport
2016
"Starbucks." Michael held out her cup of coffee, Fiona looking up from where she had been sitting with their luggage at the gate. "And magazines." He held up a bag from the newsstand.
Fiona smiled slightly, accepting her airport essentials. "You know me well."
Michael sat down next to her. "They should start boarding first class soon."
She just nodded, sipping her coffee. Michael watched her, thinking his wife looked remarkably pretty for having slept only a few hours in her daughter's cramped little bed. She was a gray cashmere sweater and jeans, her long dark hair wavy and still slightly damp from her shower. They had gotten ready in a hurry that morning, Sam, his wife, and his stepkids showing up right on time to stay with Maddy. Once Sam was there and she had other kids to play with, Maddy seemed distracted enough to not throw a fit about her mother leaving, and she had hugged Michael good-bye, last night's grouchiness mostly forgotten. But last night still hung very heavy between Michael and Fiona, and she had been cold and distant all morning.
When their flight started boarding, Michael and Fiona stood together towards the back of the first class line, Fiona still obstinately staring off across the airport. Michael sighed, fiddling with his wedding ring. "Look, Fi, I should haven't just dropped all of that on you last night—"
"No. You shouldn't have. You should have told me four years ago." She said in an angry whisper. "But you didn't, because you knew I would never let you agree to something that basically just made you their prisoner instead of me." Fiona took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead wearily. "Forget it. Not here."
But Michael refused to drop it. "I didn't have a choice."
"You always say that!" Fiona snapped, her voice louder than she intended. Her outburst got them many snobby looks down the noses of the other first class denizens. But Michael didn't seem to notice or care. "What would you have done, Fi? If you'd been in my position, what would you have done differently?"
Fiona finally looked up at him, breathing out, her green eyes softening after a moment. "Nothing. I would have done the same thing. For you."
Michael put his arm around her, kissing her temple. "We'll talk about it later, okay?"
"Okay." They walked forward, presenting their tickets and boarding the plane, still getting some furtive looks from other passengers who were clearly dreading a flight with a couple who was already fighting before the flight had even taken off.
But they sat down together very peacefully, Fiona starting to flip through her fashion magazines as they waited for take-off. Michael reached over, resting his hand on her leg.
"Hey, Fi?"
"Yes, Michael?" She looked over at him curiously.
"We're finally going to the French Riviera." He squeezed her knee. "See, I listen."
"Well, I was never very subtle about this request."
"You're never very subtle about any request." He laughed.
"Because I know the man I married." She sat back against her seat. "I can't believe I'm actually out of the house. It's been four years. Four. Years."
"Don't worry. It'll all come back to you, Fi. Like riding a bike." Michael offered her a piece of gum so her ears wouldn't pop during take-off. "You'll be blowing things up in no time."
"Shh." Fiona laughed, folding the piece of gum into her mouth. "That's probably not the best thing to say on a plane, Michael."
"Right." Michael looked over at her. "And if they had searched your bag, they would have found…"
"Nothing more insidious than designer shoes." Fiona smiled mischievously. "Of course."
"Of course." Michael shook his head with a laugh, a temporary peace restored as the 'unhappy' couple everyone feared held hands during take off.
A/N- Until chapter five! I'm so happy Burn Notice is back- I feel so inspired. I hope everyone's enjoying the story—reviews=love!