A/N: Thank you all for the interest and the reviews for this story. Burn Notice is the first site I found on Fanfic and I think it is wonderful that there is so many fans of the show still out there.

This is the second part of Fiona's pov, in the tale of how she nearly got her new boyfriend killed. The story is told in flashback during the events of S3 episodes Long Way Back & A Dark Road.

THE IRISH ASSIGNMENT

Two weeks after Fiona's rescue

The following days drifted into one another as Fiona and her brother began to heal and far sooner than she wished, Sean was on his way home. After her sibling's departure, it was fairly easy for her convince Michael that, as much as she loved staying with his mother, she would be better off out from under Madeline's eagle eye and back to the relative privacy of her own condo and the luxury of her 800 thread count sheets and Hungarian goose down duvet.

"I'm sure you can appreciate ten days in the company of your mother is fa -"

"You don't have to say anymore. I'll help you pack." Michael had cut her off, his expression of sympathy showed her he knew exactly how she felt.

It was only once she was home that she realized the former spy and his partner in crime, Sam Axe, had been using the time she had been distracted by Madeline's need for constant chatter to get involved in another mystery.

While she had been spending her waking moments either having the pleasure of catching up on the lives of everyone back home with her brother or the pain of getting to hear all the local gossip from Madeline, Michael had been spending most his time far away from his family home dealing with the fall out of his CIA contact's sudden death.

Even with her own prejudices against Diego Garcia, she found it hard to believe the man drank down a bottle of Scotch and then threw himself out of ten story window to crash to the ground below. But that didn't excuse him for only making flying visits home before rushing out again. Not that Michael was being very communicative even now she was away from Madeline's radar-like hearing.

Yawning and stretching, then cursing under her breath when her actions caused the stitches in her arm to pull, the petite red head rose up off the bed and walked slowly over to the bathroom across the hallway from her bedroom.

After finishing her ablutions, Fiona crossed back into her bedroom to stop in front of her wardrobe and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "Jaysus, I look like I'm at deaths door," she muttered under her breath as she ran her fingers through her limp tangled locks.

The Irishwoman had never thought of herself as vain, but a week stuck indoors and the earlier blood loss had left her looking pale and frail. Pursing her lips, she turned away from the mirror to looked towards the French doors which lead out to her private patio area.

A sharp stab of pain behind her eyes made her grimace. All the head butts she had delivered and the punches she had received in turn when fighting with O'Neill and his cohorts had possibly left her with a mild concussion… not that she was going to let Michael know as he was already being insufferably overprotective.

Maybe some fresh air and sunshine would help to drive away all the aches and pains of the worryingly close call with her past. She never had been one to enjoy lying around doing nothing, but if that was her only option she could at least use the time to improve her complexion.

A quick check of the rest of her home proved neither of her babysitters were present, which had to mean Sam and Michael were off working on who had killed Diego Garcia. Satisfied that nobody was about to demand she go back to bed and rest, the former paramilitary began gathering up everything she needed for a few hours soaking up the sun.

Having collected a bottle of spring water from the fridge, sun glasses, her favorite H&K with the silver slide, which had made a sudden reappearance shortly after her arrival back home,and the latest edition of Guns & Ammo from the coffee table, she made her way outside. Laying down on the white plastic lounger, Fiona sighed heavily as a wave of dizziness overtook her.

She was obviously weaker than she had first thought, or more likely the pain meds Michael was insisting she took were stronger than she'd been told.

"Here..." He had held out a hand with two small white pills resting on his palm.

"What's this?" She'd been nauseous, light headed and in some serious pain at the time.

"Just something to help you rest," he had used that sincere smile and trust me expression that, if she had been feeling more like herself, might have made her more suspicious. "You need some solid sleep and Mom was happy to donate from her pharmacy to the cause of your recovery."

She snorted, remembering his attempt to bring Madeline's feelings into to it to guilt her into complying. The bastard was obviously drugging her so he and Sam could sneak out safe in the knowledge she wouldn't be going anywhere.

Wriggling down until she found a comfortable position, the petite redhead closed her eyes and fell into a light sleep as the Florida sun warmed her skin...

She really was going to make Michael pay for drugging her. Oh, she knew why he was doing it, but that wouldn't save him from the beating coming his way once she was feeling more like her old self.

Her left hand drifted up to gently check the bandage on her right bicep. It had been while the boys were off taking Sean down to the docks to meet the boat taking him home and Madeline was attending an aqua-aerobics class that she had taken the opportunity to make some phone calls.

Fiona had been frustrated with all the things that had needed doing while she was lying about. She had inventory she needed to chase up for a start. There were a few of her gun smuggling friends who had been happy enough to help move her stock to Ireland, but were being less forthcoming about returning said items.

Then there was Calia, the young wife of a well-meaning idiot who had gotten himself killed taking part in an insurance scam... Now that she was injured if the advice she had given the younger woman didn't pan out she would have to involve Michael, which was something else that irritated the former gun runner.

But the deed that had been her undoing and caused the stitches which had been in for less than a week to burst open had occurred after the phone calls were finished. It was really rather silly and embarrassing: a slight bulge in her bicep as she performed the simple task of removing the twist cap from a bottle water had been all it took to send a wave of pain shooting down her arm as the small neat line of stitches had ripped apart and splattered blood over Madeline's tiled kitchen floor.

She half smiled as she remembered the stern lecture she had received when Michael had found her holding a gauze pad over the still bleeding wound while trying to clean his mother's floor and how after he had patched her back up the little white painkillers had made their first appearance.

Michael really was being such a baby about the scratch to her arm. They had both suffered far more serious injuries in the past. It hadn't been that long ago that he had gotten himself blown up in the morning and then that same afternoon insisted on taking a job to take down a group of medical scam artists... Not that she had really objected to destroying that little enterprise.

Yawning, the one time-terrorist turned her face to catch the full benefit of the suns rays, revelling in the warmth. Why was she still so tired all the time? And it wasn't long before Ms. Glenanne was fast asleep, her mind taking her back to her first experience of dealing with an injured Michael Westen, though she had known him as McBride.

It had taken her a long time to come to terms with the knowledge that the dark haired man she had so quickly let into her life had used his vulnerability to worm his way deeper into her affections. It made her cringe every time she thought back to how she'd waited on him hand and foot in those early days, driven by guilt and the fear of how close she'd come to losing the man she cared for...

()()()()()()()()()()

Belfast '98

Once Sean's doctor friend had dug out all the tiny pellets of lead, pieces of glass and metal shrapnel from McBride's hide and stitched up the worst of the wounds, she had surprised everybody who knew her with her total commitment to helping her new lover recover from his injuries.

Even going so far as insisting he moved into her new safe house in the shadow of the Divis tower blocks, deep in the heart of Belfast's Republican territory, as soon as they were given the all clear to leave the The Red Bull pub. There had been a lot of jokes made at her expense over that, especially from Sean who had suffered at the hands of her nursing skills or rather lack of said skills in the past... "Jesus, Fi, I thought ya liked the lad? You're as like to poison him with your cookin' as get him back on his feet."

Ignoring the jibes from her sibling over the following weeks, she only left McBride alone once, and that was in order to wreak revenge on the men who had killed her compatriot and nearly killed her quiet boyfriend from Kilkenny.

Her friend Daryl's body had washed up on the shore of the River Lagan a week after his kidnapping, his hands tied behind his back and a black bag covering his head. He had been shot through the chest five times at close range. Eight days later, the men who had committed the crime had met their own grisly end in a series of small explosions across Belfast and the suburbs.

It was as she walked through the front door of her new rental, her mind still reliving the happy memory of the man who had masterminded the kidnapping being turned into little more than a blackened stain on the pavement, when she noticed through the open living room door that somebody had been busy spring cleaning.

The smell of furniture polish filled the air, the three-piece suite had been moved, the scatter cushions all plumped up and the carpet covering the wooden floorboards had been vacuumed. Then she caught sight of the culprit, Michael McBride, duster in his right hand and a can of polish in the left.

"Hey Fi…" He smiled over at her and covered the space between them in a couple of strides, losing the cloth and can on the way.

In that instant, instead of feelings of gratitude for her boyfriend's housekeeping efforts, a fiery rage fuelled by concern had burst forth and as soon as the object of her anger came into range, she began to let him know exactly what she thought of his actions.

"Ya bloody idjit, have ya forgotten it's been barely a fortnight since the doctor had to dig thirty two pieces o' lead out of your worthless hide, five o' them from your thick skull? An' less than a week since ya came off the drip. Two courses o' anti-biotics, not to mention all tha bags o' blood an' saline Sean had ta steal from the hospital… Are ya trying to undo all the hard work ya put everyone to?"

Shrugging off her coat, the Irish hellcat used her forefinger for emphasis, jabbing her boyfriend right between the eyes, causing him to fall back against the hallway wall.

"Bloody hell, Fiona! I was just tryin' to do something nice for you," the new man in her life shouted back. "I wa' worried sick being locked up in here while ya was gone... I needed something to do... I shoulda been there backin' ya up."

"Backing me up? You're lucky not to have pulled any of your stitches out an' how many times do I have to tell ya I can look after me self," she had continued to scold him mercilessly as the doctor's warnings of blood poisoning due to the lead shot echoed around in her mind.

But Michael hadn't been ready to give up and had pulled her back around, one hand gliding up to cradle her cheek as he stared deeply into her eyes. "If you won't let me out, isn't there something else we could be doing? And I don't mean one more fecking game o' rummy."

She remembered how she had gasped as the fingers of his right hand had gently stroked down the center of her chest until they hooked into the waistband of her jeans.

"Tha doctor said ya were to take things easy." She had fought against her inclination to ravish him on the spot.

"We can take it easy." His lips had brushed against her cheek. "We can go as slow – or any speed ya like." While he distracted her with a long deep lingering kiss, his fingers attempted to make short work of her jeans waistband and zipper. "Whatever ya want."

"Ya should be restin'." She had captured his hands before they could do any more damage to her willpower. "Ya still have stitches in your head."

"I'll be fine as long as ya keep your hands outta me – hair."

"Back to bed with ya, McBride," Fiona declared firmly though it was taking all of her limited self-discipline to turn him down. "You've done enough today."

Somehow, she managed to guide him from against the hallway wall, up the narrow staircase and then into their bedroom without losing any of their clothing which in itself was an amazing feat.

"Inta bed with ya, Mr. McBride, or I'll be calling that doctor back for some sedatives... Something that will knock ya out for a week, ya see if I don't." Crossing her arms over her chest, the petite redhead did her best to stare him down dispassionately while he reluctantly stripped to his boxers.

But her patient's capitulation only lasted until he had settled down on the mattress and then with a sudden reach of his arm, Michael tried to pull her down on top of him, grunting with the effort. In the end, she had given in rather than risk falling on him, ending up sat astride his hips, desperately trying to hold back his exploring hands.

Even with all the bruising, cuts and grazes scattered over the right side of his torso, her lover still managed to look particularly delicious lying there underneath her, his deep blue eyes staring up, pleading with her to continue what he had attempted to start up against the hallway wall.

Fiona found her gaze sliding down his body, appreciating the sight of hard muscles under soft skin, enjoying the sensation of one part of his anatomy growing firmer and pushing against her bottom.

Releasing her grip on his hands, the petite paramilitary trailed her fingertips over his chest, careful to avoid a couple of sutures along the way, trying to use the time to attempt bring them both back to their senses and failing. It had been two weeks since they had last shared an intimate touch and when you were used to doing far more than touching at every opportunity, it had felt like a lifetime.

"Me brother's doctor friend mentioned ya have several old injuries... Like that one…"

One finger on her left hand settled over a small puck mark on his ribs. "It looks just like a bullet grazed ya ribs. And this one…" Her hand moved lower, as her resolve began to crumble. "And this one looks like ya got cut by some sorta sharp implement... I noticed them before but ya have never told me where ya got them."

He pulled her into a kiss, his own hands clamping over her shoulders before sliding down her arms to start skimming over her denim clad thighs, effectively bringing a halt her words.

"Michael…" she breathed his name when they finally broke free to take a breath. "You're still weak… I don't want to hurt ya… ya need ta -"

"What I need is ya… it's been two weeks, Fi… two weeks when the only time ya have touched me is when ya act like a nurse... I am better, I swear to ya… All I want is ya, right now."

Hands which had been caressing her thighs and back then slipped under her shirt, finally settling over her breasts, squeezing the soft mounds of flesh through her bra in a way which caused her breath to quicken.

"Michael…" she sighed his name in surrender and then in one move lifted her hips and began to kiss her way down his body, making sure to take care of all the tender spots along the way.

"Fiona, ya don-"

"I wanta." The fiery redhead looked up into his eyes and then slowly licked her lips as she pulled down his boxers, releasing his hardened length from the confines of striped cotton. Then with the lightest of touches, she swirled the tip of her tongue over the head of his manhood.

"Ya said we could do whatever I wanted an' this is it." She paused to revel at the effect she was having on the man she was beginning to fall in love with.

Fiona watched as his eyes seemed to darken and the way he bit down on his bottom lip as she breathed in his musky scent while licking him from base to tip. "I want ya ta let me do this for you."

In one move she swallowed him down until she felt him at the back of her throat and then hummed, her hands tightening their hold on his thighs as he writhed, his soft moans were like music to her ears.

Lost in the moment, she has no idea how long she lavished attention on her lover. It had been two long weeks since they had last been intimate and now she had let down the barriers, her passionate nature had taken over completely.

He was close to coming, she could taste it and feel it in the way his hips jerked and his legs twisted underneath her.

"F-F-Fi... Fi-Ona." The fingers tangled in her hair pulled her off her stroke and demanded her attention. "Come here, I want ya."

Breathing heavily, she shook her head, fear of hurting him causing her to resist his plea.

"Please, Fi, I'll be careful. Come here, me darlin' girl, me love. Come on now, ya can't be so cruel." Her wicked Kilkenny boy cajoled as his fingers left her hair to cup her cheek.

"I wanta be inside ya... Ya want it too, I can tell."

"Michael! You're gonna burst a stitch."Grabbing his wrists, she forced him to let go, and pushed his arms firmly down onto the bed.

"Dinnae make me beg, sweetheart, please...?"

Unable to resist him any longer, Fiona cautiously let go of her lover's limbs and slipped off the bed. "D'ya promise, I mean, ya will tell me if I hurt ya?"

He nodded, smiling broadly now that he had gotten his way. Lifting his right hand, Michael drew an x over his heart. "Cross me heart," he promised in little more than a whisper.

That was all it took for her to slip out of her clothing in record time, tossing the garments on the floor without a thought… well, one thought, just one.

And seconds later, the wild Irishwoman was perched above where he wanted her most, where truthfully she had wanted to be as well, with the tip of his manhood pressing teasingly against the warmth of her center.

Leaning forward until they were skin to skin and almost nose to nose, Fiona gazed deeply into his eyes. She took note of the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the way his skin glistened with sweat from their recent activities."If ya don't behave you're going to end up doing some serious damage. Now are ya going to behave?" she growled softly.

Watching as he swallowed thickly, she waited until he was smiling up at her. "If ya stop now, you're the one whose gonna be the one doing some serious damage to me, sweetheart."

"Well, we can't be having that, can we?" Smiling mischievously, a slight shift of her hips was all that was necessary for her to slowly lower herself down, feeling him after a mild resistance slide into her sleek warm depths. Sighing heavily, she threw her head back and slowly began to rock against him.

His fiery lover had every intention of remaining that same slow, steady, safe pace, but nothing prepared her for the intensity that had burned through her as McBride's hands had roamed over her body, driving her insane as his fingers rubbed, pinched and probed.

He came in a rush, pulling her down on top of him, his face buried in her hair, her name slipping from between his lips as in prayer and that slight change of angle was all it took to send her over the edge. All her good intentions flew out of the window as in a frenzy, her fingers like claws gripped his biceps tightly, her nails cutting through the stitches holding a particular deep cut closed.

The feeling of warm wet liquid under her hand, running between her fingers and Michael's yelp of pain broke the moment and with horror she had looked down at the crisp white sheet beneath her lover staining red.

"See, I told ya!" She had sat up sharply, causing his to wince. "I told ya! Ya weren't ready an' now look, blood all over me best sheets. I swear Michael McBride next time I have to go out I'm gonna knock ya out f-"

But she never finished her sentence because something abruptly interrupted her dreaming…

Miami 2009

A sound, a click followed by low voices talking in little more than a whisper and Fiona's eyes flew open. In the same instance, she flipped off the sun lounger, biting back on a curse at the pain shooting through her arm as she had instinctively raised her weapon before her brain caught up to her body.

"Fiona?" The redhead bit down on another curse as she recognized the voice of Michael Westen. "Fi?"

She barely made it to her feet and lowered her H&K as two worried faces appeared in the doorway.

"I'm fine Michael."

"No, you're not; your arm is bleeding," he contradicted, as he closed the gap between them.

"I know me arm is bleeding, I'm not a fool." She glared first at her dark haired former boyfriend and then at his partner in crime as her temper began to rise to match the growing ache in her arm.

When caught out the best defense is a solid offense... Throw out counter accusations, deflect blame on to whoever is nearest... It was a mantra which she had followed since the earliest days of childhood. After all when you are one of seven, there was always somebody else handy to take the fall. Whether it was for a broken plate left in the sink or a neighbor finding his car wrapped around a lamp post…... or hiding how much pain you were in after tumbling off a sun lounger.

"This is your fault, Michael Westen, yours and Sam's. What were you thinking trying to sneak up on me like that?"

"We thought you would be still sleeping... Here use this." With one blue eye warily watching her, Michael held out a handkerchief to staunch the blood staining her arm.

"Well, you thought wrong. You're lucky I didn't shoot you." Pressing the white cotton cloth over her wound, Fiona fought against the sudden sensation of light-headedness.

"We're sorry we startled you, right, Sam?"

"Sure, yea, sorry, Fi."

As soon as Michael had drawn her attention back to the other man present in the room, the fiery Irishwoman turned her ire in his direction. She had gotten over her lover's friendship with the man who had interrupted one of her lucrative gun deals years ago. Now she thought of Sam as a particularly annoying older, far older… brother and as such he was fair game when it came to venting her anger.

Embarrassed at the sight she must be making with the over turned sun lounger, semi dressed and now bleeding, she was in no mood for Michael being so conciliatory. What she wanted was a fight.

"You can stop talking to me like a child," she informed her caretaker curtly. "And – and you... " She turned her wrath onto Sam Axe. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have some rich widow to schmooze?"

"She's all yours, brother." The older man threw his hands up and sent his best friend a look of pity before backing away. "I need a beer."

"Stay outta my fridge, Sam."

"Don't worry, sister, I had to stock it myself. Tomato juice and vodka is no substitute for a good brewski."

"I said -" Fiona managed two steps in the direction of her target before she felt Michael's arms wrapping about her, pulling her back against his chest.

"Okay, that's enough. I think you need to calm down before someone gets hurt." The comfortable familiarity of being in her former lover's embrace, his soft breath on her neck and tickling her ear defused the sudden eruption of temper.

"Why don't we go to the bedroom and I'll stitch up your arm… again. Then you can rest up while I get lunch ready. I'll order something from Adrian's to make up disturbing you, how does that sound?"

"It sounds like you're back to treating me like a child or one of your damned clients." For all her harsh words, Fiona didn't fight as Michael slowly walked her back to the bedroom and eased her down onto the bed.

For a brief second, there was an awkward pause as they stared into each other's eyes. She knew exactly what was going through his mind as he gazed at her sprawled out semi naked figure; it was much the same as she had been thinking ever since he had grabbed hold of her a moment ago. A spark of playfulness quickly replaced the previous bout of bad temper.

"If ya won't let me out, isn't something else we could be doing? And I don't mean one more fecking game o' poker with Sam."

She watched with delight as the man who regularly faced down drug lords and hardened mercenaries without a qualm suddenly backed away his cheeks flushing. She wondered if he remembered the words he had spoken all those years ago to her. Did he ever think back to those early days in their relationship with the same fondness she did?

"Michael?"

"I, er, I'm going to get the supplies... I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere." He almost ran for the door, speaking over his shoulder as he went.

Lying back, the petite Irishwoman stifled a laugh until the pain radiating from her arm caused her to wince.

It wasn't long before her dark-haired spy was back at her side, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows, carrying a small tray in his hands containing the necessary surgical tools to repair her damaged arm along with a small bowl of water, a couple of dressings and a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

"Are you planning on knocking me out? I can take a few stitches."

"I know how tough you are, Fi. But it'll make it easier for me to stitch you back up if you're holding still." That expression of calm sincerity was back on his face. But now that she had had a chance to relax, pain and fatigue was urging her to take the easy path.

"It's really a waste of -"

Acting as though he had her permission already, Michael wasted no time. After one quick swipe with an antiseptic wipe, he plunged the needle into her arm a couple of inches above the still bleeding wound.

"OW! You bastard! A warning woulda been nice. I'm not a bloody pin cushion."

"I never said you were... You'll be feeling a lot better in a few minutes."

His gentle touch as he set about staunching the blood flow, which was little more than a trickle now soothed away her anger and she relaxed back. Stifling a yawn, she watched as he dried off her arm.

"So ,what have you and Sam been up to?"

"Nothing, we met up outside. I've spent an hour trying to gain access to Diego's apartment but they've still got it locked down tight... Sam is still looking into Strickler. I think he might have found something out, but that can wait."

"Strickler…" Even saying that snake's name left a bad taste in her mouth. "I warned you about him. If you want answers, you should let me question that bastard's friends. I'll get you your answers and I won't be needing any Aloe Vera body lotion or fancy yogurt to do it."

"No, no, I just want you to get better – and stop pulling out your stitches."

"You're the fine one to talk about pulling out stitches, Michael Westen. I seem to remember you pulling out your share of sutures over the years... Belfast, that was the first time – and the second if my memory serves me right."

"You've been thinking about Belfast?"

"Haven't you? I mean with Sean visiting and all the bullet holes in both of us, I assumed it must have brought back a few memories."

She waited as he turned away, pretending he was having trouble threading the needle in preparation to sew the wound. "Michael? I -" She frowned, unsure how to phrase her next words.

"Sometimes it's best not to dwell on the past." His words surprised her. She had hoped deep down that playing McBride again and the way he had been so attentive over the last few weeks that he was beginning to see things differently.

She sucked in a breath and turned her head away. "Maybe... Sometimes you can't help but think of what might have been."

He was smiling now, not the fake grin which set her teeth on edge, but a genuine smile.

"I like what we have now... Not this exactly, I don't mean you getting shot, but um, er." She watched with dismay as years of seeing relationships as a weakness to avoid or in the case of others to exploit won the internal battle and his words faded to a mumbled half-truth. "I like that you'll be staying in Miami… you are staying, aren't you?"

"D'ya want me to?"

"If that's what you want to do…"

Her eyes narrowed as she bit down on her bottom lip in order to hold back a curse or maybe it was tears of frustration. They were back right at the place they always ended up, with Michael shying away from commitment, leaving her to decide whether she could accept that she would rarely be the first thing on his mind. So, she decided to take another approach.

Her chance to go home was gone now thanks to Thomas O'Neill outting Michael McBride as an American spy... But there was still plenty of other places she could go... But the truth was she didn't want to leave. Not if someone could give her a reason to stay.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Fi?"

"I um, I heard what you did to Strickler, but you've never explained why, at least not to me. So, ah."

Her sentence trailed away as Michael's expression became serious, his eyes taking on a faraway look. Then when he failed to answer, she prompted, "Michael?"

He seemed to shake slightly and when he finally looked back at her, the burned spy was back to his usual composed self. "Strickler told me you were my past, that I should let you go, that you were holding me back... But... You don't hold me back, you never have."

"So, you killed him because of a disagreement?" Though her heart warmed at this admission, her eyes widened in disbelief… the thought that Michael Westen, the man who only killed when absolutely necessary had shot another over a few misplaced words.

"No, not exactly. By bringing O'Neill into it, Strickler proved to me he couldn't be trusted... And that you would never be safe while he was alive." As he finished speaking, he effectively brought an end to what was for him was apparently a painful discussion by, without giving so much as a warning, thrusting the point of the needle into her arm.

She winced and clenched her teeth, doing her best to stay still.

"OWWWW!" Tha bastard certainly had a way of ending a conversation.

"Hold still, I'm almost done."

"You are doing this on purpose." The fiery redhead let rip on her former boyfriend. Glaring up at the man she was no longer doubting she loved, Fiona turned her head away and gripped the edge of the pillow under her head as another wave of pain hit while Michael continued to close the wound.

"I'm not the one who torn your stitches out the second week in a row. Now stop moving or you're going to do some serious damage."

Her former lover's softly spoken words and the gentle touch of his hand as he wiped away a trickle of blood, reminded her sharply of his expression as he had cradled her in his arms after pulling her from the water.

But was it enough? Was him attempting to ride to her rescue every once in a while enough to build a meaningful relationship? She didn't need saving, she needed to know he was going to be around.

The former guerrilla winced again as the ex-spy began on the second suture, his light hold on her bicep tightening as she flinched away from the sharp pain.

Should she risk her heart and self-esteem on giving him one more chance? Through the haze filling her head as the sedative took effect, the Irishwoman reminded herself of the horror she had felt when she had thought she'd gotten the man she loved killed, those thoughts mingling with all the times he had risked his own life in order to help her over the years.

"I will do some serious damage to you when this is over I promise you that, Michael Westen. You have the sewing skills of an Orang-utan."

Though half open eyes she stared up at him. The man was utterly infuriating. He had shaken her faith in him more times than she had fingers and toes. But in the end, when it came right down to the line, he always had done what was right… and he had put her first when it mattered the most.

"There now you can kill me if you want to."

And she did want to kill him… Well, maybe just make him suffer immeasurably for a while anyway… Michael always made things harder than they needed to be in her opinion.

"I want to…" The words slipped from her lips as her fist flew. It is a lazy punch from a limb which felt unusually heavy and which annoyingly he blocked easily, though she was pleased with his yelp as her fist connects with his arm.

"Ouch…You should rest, there you go."

Doing your own field medicine has its advantages: No conversations with the police. The food is better and the relationship between patient and care giver is very close.

She really was tired now and the idea of falling into a deep sleep was very enticing, she just had one more thing left to do. Watching from under hooded eyelids, Fiona waited for the right moment.

Her target was smiling to himself, no doubt pleased with himself for dodging most of her questions. His touch was light as he applied the bandage to her damaged limb, which brought forth a warm glow, reminding her of when she had cared for him all those years ago.

"You're lucky these sedatives are kicking in, because I will kill you," she mumbled.

"I'll be here."

That's when it truly hit her… It made no sense, but some part of her was convinced that Michael would always be there… In the end, he couldn't just walk away from her. Whatever he might do in the future, and she was sure he'd do something she would find insane at some point soon, by killing Strickler he had proven that she meant more to him than she'd thought.

Even as her mind finally caught up with what her heart had already worked out, the tactical part of her brain was sensing that the spy's defenses were down. Michael had finished securing the bandage and was very carefully positioning her arm on the bed.

Forming a fist she took one last swing and her features broke out in a broad smile as this time she made contact with her intended target.

"Gotcha."

And that's what it was… Gotcha, in more ways than one…

She just needed to keep getting behind his defences to remind him of what she now knew he already knew down in his heart… even if it sometimes took a fist to do it…

Snuggling down, she was barely aware of him leaving the room. She wasn't worried about him not being there anymore when she awoke. They weren't just bad at this, they were downright awful… But for as long as he was around, she was going to be reminding him…who she was and who they were… together.