A/N: This was my most fun chapter to write yet. Please leave a comment. I'm feeling underappreciated in my real life, and you all are always so kind. It makes me feel great.

After rinsing off and drying off, Michael and Fiona were resting in bed for a bit. "How are you?" Fiona asked.

"Great," said Michael. "You?"

"I certainly enjoyed my tip, that's for sure. Quite unexpected."

Michael smiled.

Fiona turned to look at the clock – 11:12 pm – then turned the opposite way to look at Michael. She propped her head up with her bent arm. "Listen, Michael, I'm happy to keep going, but I know you've been tired. I'm fine if you just want to go to sleep. Really."

Michael chortled. "Uhhh, I'm awake now. I've been way more tired than this for way worse reasons than this."

Fiona rested her head on his chest and hugged him across his torso. "My thoughts exactly. Okay. Leslie?" she asked, her grin evident from her voice.

"Leslie," answered Michael, grinning himself. "Definitely Leslie."

Fiona sat up. "Okay." She looked around the room. "Okay, you go into the living room for a bit and I'll get set up. Give me . . . ten minutes."

"You got it." Michael kissed her lips and rolled out of bed. Pulling on a pair of PJ pants, he left their bedroom, closing the door behind him. Instead of going straight to wait in the living room as instructed, he turned left and walked to Charlie's doorway. The moonlight coming in from the thin, vertical opening centered between the curtains illuminated the room just enough for Michael to see a brown head on a dinosaur pillow and a leg hanging off the bed. He tiptoed into the room, lifted the leg back onto the mattress, and straightened the dinosaur comforter to cover Charlie's body. Just then Charlie inhaled loudly through his nose. Michael froze. The exhale came as Charlie turned towards the window, still sleeping. Michael tiptoed out of the room backwards and walked normally to the living room once he was a safe distance away from Charlie's door.

He continued through the living room into the kitchen, where he pulled a bottle of water and a handful of grapes from the refrigerator. Back in the living room, he flopped onto the chaise part of the sectional sofa, stretching his legs and popping grapes in his mouth. As he waited for Fiona, he played a mental game he'd played since he was a kid, which was to think back one year, two years, and so on, and remember where he was and what he was doing.

A year ago, Fiona was in prison. He didn't like that one at all. Moving on.

Two years ago, he was flying around the world with Max and several CIA teams, picking off the people named in the NOC list one by one. The people who'd worked to destroy his life. That was a better memory.

Five years ago, Michael was still so much in the dark about his burn notice. Who. How. And most importantly, why. An unsettling memory.

Ten years ago, Michael was . . . he couldn't remember where. All the places blurred together. Either Afghanistan or Pakistan. He border-hopped quite a bit. Back then, he threw himself into work more than ever before, trying everything to stop thinking about the woman he'd abandoned in the middle of the night. His friend. His love. There was a good reason – there always was – but still, it was a shameful memory.

Twelve years ago, Michael's life was about to be turned upside down. He'd studied various Glenannes as he prepared to infiltrate the Irish Republican Army. He knew Sean was the hothead, Liam was the planner, Colin was the worker bee, and the other two brothers were in prison. He'd read about their surviving sister and decided she was his best way in to the family and, in turn, the Army. Michael was a superior operative by that time, and courting/wooing/bedding assets was just part of the job. An enjoyable part, sometimes. Sometimes not, like when he was supposed to fall head over heels for Liliana, a chain-smoking Czech meth head whose next door neighbor was someone Michael needed information about. Or when he was had to allow himself to be picked up by Timofei, a Russian male escort with a long list of blackmailable clients, one of whom Michael was going to select to be his new asset. Even the most professional of spies have trouble flirting with the wrong sex.

Flirting with Fiona Glenanne, by wonderful contrast, looked as if it would fall in the enjoyable category. She had all her teeth, for starters, and he wouldn't have to pretend to be gay. Though she was Irish, Catholic, and unmarried, she didn't appear to object to dates that lasted until the next morning. So Michael thought maybe he'd get to sleep with her at some point, hopefully sooner rather than later, and everybody would have some fun. By the time she realized he wasn't going to stay, he'd be gone, and she'd move on with her life. Easily. Because this was a girl who didn't seem to fall in love. Ever.

Michael was jarred back to reality when Fiona trotted through the living room, naked. She went into the kitchen and got one of their wooden dining chairs. "I'm not here. You're not seeing this," she said, trotting back while holding the chair in front of her. His lips opened into a toothy smile as he watched her silhouette jiggle gorgeously down the hall.

He opened his bottle of water and drank a few glugs. He returned the bottle to the table next to him and returned his mind to Fiona. He'd gone to the Black Sand Pub that night hoping to get close to Fiona, and that he did, at gunpoint. Closing his eyes and exhaling deeply on the couch, he remembered dancing with her, swaying with her, smelling her hair. It smelled like gun cleaner.

It was a good memory.

Michael heard their bedroom door open, and a moment later Fiona was in front of him. "Come stand outside the door now so you can hear me tell you when to come in. I'm afraid I'll wake up Charlie otherwise." He got up and followed her down the hall. She went back inside the room, and he leaned against the hallway wall, shaking his head and laughing quietly as he envisioned what might be waiting for him on the other side of the door. About 45 seconds later, he heard, "Okay, ready."

He opened the door and burst out laughing. Fi was sitting on the kitchen chair in the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser. Her legs and feet were bare, and each ankle was zip tied to the corresponding chair leg. She wore one of Michael's old t-shirts, which she'd slashed and ripped to give a tortured vibe. And she had a navy blue pillowcase loosely over her head.

Once Fiona heard Michael close the door, she cried out in a stage whisper, "Please, please, you've got to take this thing off my head. Don't leave me like this."

Michael tried to stifle his laughs as he walked to her and pulled the pillowcase off. The laughs returned in spades once he saw the rest of her. She'd pulled her hair back into a severe bun like Leslie's, but a few tendrils hung down unevenly, suggesting the bun had been through quite a workout. And her hands were handcuffed behind her. She'd looped one of the cuffs under one of the slats of the chair back, so that her hands were locked to themselves and she was locked to the chair.

He covered his mouth with his hand as he tried to stop laughing, but it wasn't working. Meanwhile, Fi was pulling and twisting and contorting against her bindings, all the while making little grunts and moans.

"Hang on, hang on, hang on. I gotta go calm down," stammered Michael, loping to their bathroom, nearly in tears from laughing so hard. He couldn't see her huge grin. Thirty seconds later, he emerged. He took a deep breath, looked at Fiona, burst out laughing again, and jumped back into the bathroom. She could hear him cackling into a towel.

Fiona grinned again, congratulating herself silently for what, evidently, was one of her best games yet.

Finally, more than a minute later, Michael came back into the bedroom. He breathed slowly and deeply, steeling himself not to laugh. After several seconds, he felt calm enough to begin.

"Welcome, Ms. . . ." he said expectantly.

"No," she answered haughtily.

"Ms. No. Got it. Now, Ms. No, I apologize if my colleagues caused you any distress on the way here. Sometimes people in this line of work feel like they have license to act, oh, what's the word I'm looking for?" Michael looked up as if searching his vocabulary. "Indelicately. License to act indelicately."

Fiona tilted her head back and looked down her nose with a sniff.

"I trust it was no more than that?"

Fiona shook her head.

"Good. That's good. Now, Ms. No, if I may, where are your pants?"

Silence.

Michael squatted down next to Fiona. "Listen, Ms. No, I understand you don't want to talk to me, but trust me, from years of experience sitting exactly where you are, you might want to save your silence for a question that actually matters. I'm just asking where your pants are so I know if we need to send someone to find them."

"They're at my house. I was getting ready for bed when your brutes barged in."

He stood up and began circling Fiona's chair slowly. "Good. See how easy that was? Excellent. Again, I apologize for their insensitive behavior. At no time did I tell them you couldn't wear pants when they kidnapped you. I'll be sure to follow up with them on that."

Fiona stiffened her lips, trying to prevent the smile that was forming.

"And, since now you know that I sent them to kidnap you, you may suspect that I know your name isn't Ms. No."

Fiona turned her face away, refusing to look at him.

"So shall I call you Ms. Nielsen? Or is Leslie okay? I don't want to be too familiar too soon."

"I'm pantsless and tied to a chair. I'd say we're already too familiar."

"Fair enough. Then I'll call you Leslie. So, Leslie. Tell me about yourself."

She turned to face him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Please tell me about yourself. I love getting to know people."

"Fuck you."

"No problem. I'll tell you about myself!" said Michael brightly. "I've been doing this for, oh, going on 28 years now. Great line of work. I meet all sorts of interesting people. Once I had a guy who worked on the very first Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. 1924. Can you believe that? Yeah, he was, what, I guess close to 90 when I had him in the chair. Good guy. Well, no, not really a good guy, actually a pretty bad guy, but great stories. Great stories. I don't count him in my body count because I'm pretty sure he had a heart attack before I threw him overboard."

Fiona stiffened.

"Speaking of which, I'm proud to say I've got the lowest body count on the team. Been at 99 for six months now. I'm not in any hurry to move into the triple digits. So don't you worry about that. Being kidnapped and interrogated doesn't have to be an unpleasant experience. Not at all. It's all in what you make of it. You know? It's like life. What's that they say? Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you react to it? Something like that, anyway. I may have my numbers wrong. Point is, if you tell me what I want to know without too much hassle, I'll have got what I needed and still be in a pretty good mood. That's always good, right? But if you drag this out, then, wow, whether or not you eventually tell me, I'm going to be annoyed, probably mad if I have to cancel plans, you know. Not in a good mood is what I'm saying. Does that make sense to you?"

Fiona made her best scared face. She still didn't look all that scared, but she was trying, and Michael appreciated that.

"You seem like a smart lady, so I'll assume it makes sense. But hey, if at any point you need me to explain it again, you just let me know. Be glad to."

"Fuck you."

"Now, Leslie, you already said that," he said, smiling. "No need to get repetitive." He sat on the foot of the bed. "So. I assume you already know what this is about, yes?"

Silence.

"Leslie?"

Nothing.

"Come on, Leslie, we were doing pretty well there. You want me to start with something easier? Okay. No problem. Ummm, what's your favorite food?"

Fiona stared at him.

"Myself, I like beef. Rare is fine most places, but I do prefer it raw. Mmmmm. You ever had it? Nothing like it. But, it's hard to get these days, so I've learned to live with rare. You like beef?"

Crickets.

"Chicken?"

Silence.

"Don't tell me you're a veal woman. You know what they do to those little calves?"

"I am a pescatarian."

"Hey! Look at that. A pescatarian. That's fish, right?"

"Seafood."

"Oh, so any seafood? Like crab and shrimp and all that?"

"Any seafood."

"Mussels?"

"Any. Seafood."

"I gotcha. Just checking. Tell me, what's the difference in your mind between eating a formerly live thing that lived in the water and a formerly live thing that roamed the land? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't see the difference."

"I don't do it for political reasons. I do it for health reasons."

"Really. Now that's interesting. Tell me more about that."

"Seafood provides all the protein I need. There's no need to eat other meat."

"But other meat is good. Don't you miss the taste of a good burger every now and then?"

Fiona turned her head away.

"Oh, now, wait. We were having a good talk. What happened?"

Nothing.

"Hey, can I make you more comfortable? You want me to undo your ankles?"

"I will kick your balls through your throat."

Michael burst out laughing. "Oh, Leslie, Leslie, Leslie. That's admirable. You're taking every opportunity to show me you're tough and you're not afraid of me. That's good! But, see, you also just told me you'll kick me in the balls if I untie your ankles. So, I'm not going to untie your ankles." Michael leaned forward to Fiona. "Next time," he said quietly, "you may need to swallow your pride just a little bit so that you can achieve what really should be your goal, which is to get free. Just a suggestion. I know you're new at this, so I just offer my observation for what it's worth. Like I said, I've been in your seat plenty of times.

"So, again. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Anything besides untying you, I guess I should say. You want something to drink?"

"Listen, you godless piece of shit, I – "

Michael and Fiona both turned their heads suddenly to identify the noise they heard. Little thump, little thump, medium thump, medium thump. They looked at each other at the same time, panic in their eyes.

Michael leapt off the bed and slammed himself into the bedroom door just as it was starting to open.

"Uncuh Micuh, I wanna come in!"

"Charlie, what are you doing up, buddy? It's bedtime," Michael said as Fiona started hopping her chair a half-inch at a time towards the bathroom.

"Iss not bedtime! Yuh light is on! Weh-uh's Teefee?"

"Uhhh, just one second, Charlie," Michael called. He looked back at Fiona and grinned, shaking his head. He opened the door a crack and slid out without letting Charlie in, closing it firmly behind him. He leaned down and picked Charlie up.

"What are you doing up, Charlie? You're supposed to be asleep." Michael walked with him towards his room.

"I had a good dweam!"

"You had a – wait, you had a good dream?"

"Yah!"

"Not a bad dream? Not a scary dream?"

"No, a good dweam!"

"Well, that's great, Charlie. You can tell us about it in the morning. Okey dokey, here we are. Climb up into bed and I'll tuck you in."

"I need to go potty."

"You need to go potty. Of course you do. Alright, go ahead. I'll wait right here for you." Charlie toddled off to the bathroom next to his room. Michael heard Charlie step on the little stool next to the toilet and get himself situated. But he didn't hear the sound of water hitting water. Instead he heard some grunting.

Seizing the opportunity of an extra minute or two, Michael said, "Charlie, I'll be right back. You stay right here and wait for me, okay? Don't come to our room. You got it?"

"I goddit!"

Michael jogged to their bedroom and went in. Fiona had gotten herself more or less back to where she began. They looked at each other and cracked up.

"You okay?" Michael asked, still laughing.

"Yeah, fine. Frankly, I'm amazed this is the first time it's happened."

"Heh. Yeah. Do you want anything, seriously? A drink?"

Fiona looked sheepish.

"What?"

"I forgot to pee before. I was rushing so much to get everything ready."

"I see," said Michael. "So you want me to untie you?"

"Yes, please."

"You won't kick my balls through my throat?"

"Well, not on the way to the toilet, anyway."

Michael got the handcuffs key and his pocket knife from the dresser. He unlocked the cuffs, and Fiona wiggled her hands back to the front. Then they heard a flush and those damn thumps again.

"Uncuh Micuh, I weddy!"

Michael dropped the pocket knife in Fiona's lap and leapt to the door again. He had remembered to close it, but neither of them was bright enough to remember to lock it. "Charlie, you were supposed to wait for me there, remember?" he said through the door.

"What?"

Michael slipped out through the door again as Fiona cut the zip ties off her ankles. "You were supposed to wait for me in the bathroom, I said. Don't you remember?"

"I fohgot."

"Ahhh. Come on, let's go back to your bed," Michael said, lifting Charlie up and sitting him on his shoulders.

"I wanna pay wif you and Teefee!"

"Oh, Charlie, it's very late. Auntie Fi and I are going to sleep."

"No, yuh laffing! I huhd you."

"Yes, we were laughing before, but now we're going to sleep. Everyone's going to sleep. Now, climb up and I'll tuck you in."

Charlie got in bed. "I wahn you to stay," he told Michael.

"Charlie, buddy, it's very late. Time to go to sleep."

"You stay wif me. Peez?"

Michael smiled at him. "Okay, I'll lie down with you for a couple of minutes while you fall asleep." He crawled over Charlie and lay next to him in the queen sized bed. In the quiet, Michael heard Fiona tiptoeing to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.

Charlie turned onto his stomach and settled in to his pillow. "I love you, Uncuh Micuh," he mumbled. A second later, he was snoring.

Michael kissed him on his visible cheek. "I love you, too, Charlie," he said softly.

Back in their bedroom, Michael saw Fiona had brought a little picnic from the kitchen. She was slathering brie on a piece of apple. "He okay?" she asked through a full mouth.

"Yeah. He had a good dream that he wanted to tell us about." Michael sat next to her on the bed and doctored up his own apple wedge with peanut butter.

"A good dream?"

He nodded.

"Well, lucky him." Fiona sighed contentedly. "This is fun." Her eyes twinkled.

"Indeed. Though I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at Leslie tomorrow."

"Half the fun of doing something naughty is having to keep it a secret. Think of it like that."

"I'll try, but you need to be prepared to cover for me if I have to run out of the room. I'll fake a coughing attack or something."

"Deal."

They munched on apples and caressed Dove dark chocolates in their mouths for a while longer. Fiona sipped her wine and Michael finished his water.

"Do you want to keep going?" Fiona asked, brushing off her hands.

"I'm happy to keep going, Fi, but now I understand if you want to go to sleep."

"No. I'm into it. I'm thinking that Leslie's situation needs to get a bit direr, though."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Any ideas?"

"Oh, I think I'll leave it up to you. You can be very creative when you need to be."

Michael grinned. "Alright, let's get to it. You need to pee again?"

"So far, so good."

He tossed her the open handcuffs. "Hook yourself back up. I'll be back in a minute."

Michael took the food remnants back to the kitchen and got another bottle of water. He leaned against the counter for a few moments, thinking, then headed back to their bedroom. He opened the door and found . . . nothing. He closed the door – and locked it – and walked to the bathroom. Which is where he found Fiona attached to their ceiling-mounted pull-up bar. The handcuff links were over the bar. But since suspending even her slight weight by a few links of metal would've broken the cuffs and likely her wrists, she had pulled the kitchen chair under the bar to stand on.

Michael, no surprise, burst out laughing. But he was prepared this time, and he shoved the towel into his mouth immediately.

"I don't know what's so funny, you sadist. Why your thugs decided to dangle me from a warehouse ceiling is beyond me," Fiona spat. "You think this is going to change anything? This changes nothing. I'm not telling you a goddamn thing. How would you even know if I was telling you the truth or if I was just saying whatever I could to get feeling back into my arms?"

"Oh, Leslie, I'm proud of you. You've identified the key challenge in interrogation!" Michael patted Fi's bum a few times in congratulations. "You gotta apply just enough torture to make 'em take you seriously, but not too much or they'll lie to make it stop. Or they'll die. Die or lie. One or the other. Either way, it doesn't help me. But good for you, Leslie. I think you'll go far in this business if you ever get down from there."

Fiona huffed and stage-kicked Michael in the tush.

"Oh, come on now, Leslie. Let's not start with that business again. I'd hate to have to attach your feet next to your hands up there."

He reached for the bottle of water and opened it. "Want some?" he offered.

Fiona shook her head defiantly.

"Now, look. You just saw me open the bottle. You saw it was factory-sealed. This might be the one time you're offered something to eat or drink that you don't have to worry has been poisoned. You really should drink some."

"Fuck. You."

"That really is a favorite of yours, isn't it? I don't know. It's okay, I guess, but it seems like you could be more creative. You strike me as the type who has a way with words. Is that why you worked on your school paper back in Eau Claire? 'Cause you like words?" Michael took a sip and stared at Fiona. He flashed a tiny but devilish grin.

Faux-rattled, Fiona faux-composed herself. "What makes you think I didn't fabricate a whole back story just for assholes like you?"

"Well, now, that's a good point. I suppose if I'd just learned about it today then I wouldn't know. But when Doug went to visit Williams High a few weeks ago, he got pretty friendly with that Karen Mitchell in the front office. You believe she's still there? Talk about dedication. Anyway, so he was out to dinner with Ms. Mitchell one night, and they were talking about how it's a shame everything's gone digital these days, and wasn't it nice when you still had books. And she told him there's an archive of all the Williams High yearbooks down in the basement dating all the way back to 1956 when the school opened."

Fiona was quiet but obviously interested in where this was going.

"So the next time he came by the school to pick her up for lunch, he asked if he could go look at those yearbooks. She seemed so happy that he was interested. A real bibliophile, I guess, even if it's just yearbooks and not real books. Anyway, he found the ones from 1995, '96, '97, and '98, and guess who's in there every year?"

Fiona did her best to look terrified. She was getting better at it.

"Well, show is always better than tell. Hang tight for a second and I'll show you." Michael went into the bedroom and got Fiona's purse. He took out her wallet and pulled out one of the few photos she had from her childhood – a candid from a carnival she attended with her parents when she was eight. He also grabbed the current edition of Guns & Ammo from her night table.

He returned to the bathroom and held up the tattered photo. "Well, look at this! One Leslie Nielsen, class of 1998. See that? And look who else is in this '98 yearbook." He opened the magazine to a random page – an ad for gun cleaner, coincidentally – and pointed to the top of the page. "One Gregory Nielsen, class of 2001!" Michael paused dramatically. "Your brother? Cousin?"

"Brother," Fiona whispered.

"Brother. Exactly. That's good, Leslie. That's good. You're not wasting energy anymore lying to me about something I clearly already know."

"What do you want?" she asked softly.

"Oh, no need to get into all that now. I just wanted you to understand that Doug's keeping an eye on Karen, as well as her cat and dog and parakeet, and Miguel is checked in to the St. Regis in Vail. You know the one? Beautiful place, right at the top of the mountain. You'll never guess who's the front-of-house manager there. Such a coincidence."

"Gregory," she whispered. She was trying to conjure a tear or two, but it wasn't working. Baby steps.

"Gregory. Yes. So Doug's in charge of Karen and her menagerie, and Miguel's got Gregory if need be."

Fiona and Michael were both quiet for a moment.

"So is the situation becoming a little clearer to you, Leslie?" Michael asked.

Fiona nodded.

"Good. Very good. So here's what I propose. Let's talk about the laptop your group lifted off Guillermo Saldana last week. You wanted his contacts list so you can get a good idea of everyone currently taking a bribe from him. I can understand that. Bribe takers are no good. Too much corruption all around.

"I have really good news for you, Leslie. I don't care about the bribes or the people. I don't even want the laptop. I just need to make sure it's completely wiped. You probably know old Guillermo is a bit of a playboy, and, not to talk out of school, but he's a real moron as far as I can tell. So anyway, Guillermo's girlfriend sent him these racy photos of herself, and Guillermo, being the idiot that he is, saved them on his personal laptop, which was, at the time you all stole it, protected by the password GUILLERMO. I shit you not, Leslie. That's how dumb this kid is. You know who Guillermo's girlfriend is?"

Fiona shook her head.

"Daughter of the president of the Bank of the Emirates. Now this guy's a good guy. Real progressive, real reformer. Real believer in capitalism. And he's on the brink of doing a whole lot of good things for that area of the world. But if his daughter's tits and ass wind up on some website somewhere, this guy's gonna lose it. Might start a war with Mexico, even though Guillermo is Panamanian. That's how out of it he'll be. And nobody can afford for this guy to lose it. Everyone needs this guy to be very happy. You follow?"

She nodded.

"Now, as far as we can tell, those pictures haven't wound up anywhere yet, 'cause he'd just saved them an hour or so before you guys took the laptop. We'll keep an eye out, obviously, but I think we caught a break. So all I need is to know where the laptop is. If you guys are already done with it, fantastic. We'll take it and incinerate it. If you're still working, well, it's a little trickier, but it's doable."

"How?" Fiona whispered.

"Weeeeeeell, it just means we'll need to send a guy to babysit whoever's working on the laptop, and I guess probably someone to babysit that person's family, and you'll need to stay here until it's done. I mean, it's no trouble for us. We've got plenty of room. I can arrange to get you hung upside down if your arms need a break while you wait. Just whatever works for you."

Fiona bit her tongue to keep from laughing. "And if I tell you? What happens to me and Gregory and Karen and anybody else you're watching you haven't told me about?"

Michael gave a huge smile. "Aw, Leslie, again, I really am proud of you. Of course we're watching some other people! Good for you. But to answer your question, I give you my word everyone will be fine. Totally untouched and none the wiser of how close to death they came."

"I don't know if I can trust you."

"Leslie, Leslie, Leslie. Have I lied to you yet? No. I've been entirely forthcoming. I've got no skin in this game, Leslie. Some guy about eight pay grades higher than me is shitting bricks worrying about this bank president seeing his daughter in her birthday suit. Erasing the laptop appears to be the path of least resistance to make sure that doesn't happen. I'd just like to go a full hour without my phone ringing asking when we're going to get this done."

Fiona shifted her weight from foot to foot and bit her lip. "If I tell you, what happens right now? Can I go?"

Michael snorted. "You know, it's actually endearing for you to say something once in a while that reminds me you're so new at this. No, Leslie, you'll need to stay here until I can verify whatever you tell me. But like I said, I can get you arranged in some other position if you'd like. Upside down, strapped to a bed, a chair, whatever. Makes no difference to me. And that water is still yours for the taking."

Fiona groaned. "Fine. You win. We're done with it. We dumped it in the dumpster behind the Casa Olé in Dakota Square."

"Leslie, you've made an excellent choice. Let me just call one of the guys to go check it out." Michael stepped into their bedroom and quickly straightened the blankets on the bed. He ran to the kitchen, quietly, and poured her another glass of wine. Back in their room, he fluffed up her pillows and put the wine on her night table. After checking one last time to make sure the bedroom door was locked, he went back to the bathroom.

"Okay, he's on his way to check. It'll probably be, what, an hour? That's when I'll expect to hear from him. In the meantime, how can I help? Where would you like to be?"

She sighed dramatically. "I guess on a bed if you've got one. The sheets better be clean," she warned.

"Clean sheets put on this morning, as a matter of fact." Michael reached high above his head and felt around for the keyhole on the handcuffs. He found it and got Fiona unlocked.

And that's when Fi sprang into action.

She sliced her arms down through the air onto Michael's back. The impact was soft, of course, but Fi is a very good actress, and she made all the right fight sounds. While he was pretending to be down, she kneed him in the chin. Then, when he straightened out from the impact, she kicked him in the chest. He fell backwards and pretended to be knocked out. Fiona picked up his hands and dragged him backwards into their room. She picked him up and threw him on the bed. (Or, for those without an imagination, he quietly got up and laid himself on the bed haphazardly, as if he'd been thrown by Wonder Woman herself.) She used the handcuffs she'd been wearing to lock his right wrist to the headboard. Then she bounced to their closet, dug into her suitcase of goodies (already open, of course, because that's where she got the goodies to lock herself up), and found another set of handcuffs. Now the left wrist was attached.

Michael pretended to regain consciousness slowly. "Wh – uhhh – what's going on?" he slurred. He tried to sit up, then made an awfully big production of rattling the handcuffs around the wood of the headboard. Then he stopped suddenly, petrified he'd woken Charlie up. Fiona must've been worrying about the same thing, because she was reaching over to muffle the sound. They smiled little smiles at each other, then quickly got back into character.

"Leslie, Leslie, Leslie, you magnificent bastard," said Michael. "Well played, Leslie Nielsen, well played. Tell me this. Is the laptop where you said it was?"

"As a matter of fact, it is. I'm not comfortable with lying."

"Leslie, you never cease to amaze me."

Fiona grinned and pulled the pins out of her ridiculous bun. Her hair fell down, and she was kind enough to let it tickle Michael's face and upper body. He made his happy sounds. Quiet happy sounds, though, because they were both still freaked out about Charlie.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble tonight, you know," she said. "I was brushing my teeth and didn't get to rinse, so this whole night I've had that gross toothpaste glue on my teeth and tongue."

"They wouldn't even let you finish rinsing?" Michael asked in horror. "That's it. First thing next week, we're going to one of those corporate team-building things where you fall out of trees and shit. Jesus. No pants and no rinsing. Clearly we need to work on communication and expectations. I do apologize for that, Leslie. Really."

"I suppose I'll survive. Tell me something. How did you find out about Ms. Mitchell and Gregory? Did you really go there?"

Michael guffawed (still quietly). "Hell, no, Leslie. Facebook. You need to fix your privacy settings. I do think it's really nice that you still keep in touch with Ms. Mitchell, though. She seems like a nice lady. Although she does do a lot of cat posts."

Fiona forced her grin back into a frown. "Well, I am a woman of my word. I told you I'd stay here until your guy calls back, and I will."

"No shit. Really?"

"Really. I told you I'm not comfortable with lying. But while I'm here, you are going to entertain me. Because I'm very comfortable with multiple orgasms."

And out came that toothy grin we love so much.

A/N redux: I hope you enjoyed it. I loved writing it. And please do comment! I get so excited when I get the email notification that someone's left a review. It makes my day.