December 2, 2015.

You only thought I'd been eaten by a dragon. I'm alive and well and trying really hard to get back into my stories. I couldn't figure out how to get to where I wanted to go in this story, and eventually I realized I wasn't happy with chapter 47 as originally published. You might remember it involved Michael telling Fiona his purpose was bigger than their life in Miami. Many of you thought Fi wouldn't have stood for that shit, and I agree. So I changed the chapter a bit, specifically to delete that part but generally to get out of their molasses-like fight a little sooner.

More chapters are on the way, though I won't insult you by estimating when. Rest assured I'm on it.

Thank you as always for reading my story and putting up with this ridiculous delay!

"Okay, home sweet home," Jesse said brightly as he pulled into Michael and Fiona's driveway. They were the first words anyone had said in ten minutes. His two passengers got out silently. "All right, then!" he said, clapping. "I think I'm gonna take off now. Fi, thanks for letting me drive; she's a great ride. Mike, buddy, you just . . . uhh . . . yeah, I'll see you later." He hurried back down the driveway to his car parked a couple of houses over.

Michael unlocked their front door and pushed it open, gesturing for Fiona to go in first. She did without a word, kicking off her high wedges as walked. He came in behind her and draped his suit jacket over a chair in the living room.

"What time is my mom bringing Charlie back?" he asked.

"After dinner."

He looked at his watch. "We've got a couple of hours. So go ahead. Finish telling me what I can't do." He sat on the couch and leaned his head back into his interlaced fingers.

She huffed. "Forget it." She walked down the hall to their bedroom. He waited for the door to slam, but she left it open. A few minutes later, she reappeared, then sat next to him on the couch.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Michael," she said. "I don't. I'm tired."

He put his arm around her and guided her head down to rest on his shoulder. He stroked her hair slowly and waited for her to continue.

"You've served your country. It's someone else's turn."

"I don't think of it that way, Fi. I . . . I don't know how else to explain it. This is the work I was made to do."

"But why is it all or nothing? Service or family but not both. It doesn't have to be that way. You're choosing to make it that way, and I don't understand why."

"Because my service puts my family in danger, Fiona. Don't you get that?" His tone grew louder. "I work with psychopaths and despots and terrorists, and my job is to piss them off or kill them. You don't think that puts you at risk? Puts Charlie at risk?"

"Of course it does, which is why I don't understand why you're not even trying to figure out a way to serve that doesn't! Why you're so hell bent on being a martyr." She stopped to take a couple of breaths. "Michael, this teaching thing – it's the only time in your career you haven't been daring someone to kill you. What's so bad about that? If you don't want to teach, fine; we'll find something else. And we'll keep looking until we find something you like. But you've got this romanticized notion that honor and duty and service have to come with a body bag, and they don't."

Michael made horse lips and blew out a mouthful of stress. After a moment, he said, "Let's put aside the abstract for the time being. Lauren's got a real problem. A big one. She's asked me for help, and I can help. I know I can. You know I can. I'm just supposed to say no?"

"You're supposed to figure out a way to help that doesn't involve you walking out of Charlie's life for the foreseeable future and maybe forever."

"Such as?"

"Such as you ask Jesse to do it. You ask Sam to do it. You help out from here. You don't put on a disguise and insert yourself into this mess."

Michael looked interested. His eyes brightened, and Fiona noticed. She sat up straight.

"What? Did I hit it?" she asked excitedly.

He contorted his face as if weighing all the possibilities. "Maybe I could ask Jesse. He's counter intel, after all."

"He's counter intel, after all!" she repeated gleefully. "Jesse is counter intel! This is what Jesse does, Michael! Let him do it. He'll want to; you know that."

He nodded.

"And Michael, if there's a solution for this problem, there'll be solutions for other problems. I promise. I'll be here, and Sam and Jesse'll be here, and we'll figure things out. We will figure them out."

"Yeah." He sounded a little nervous, but he wasn't packing for London, so Fiona took it as a good sign.

She sighed happily and nestled back in to Michael's torso. "Oh, Michael, I feel like you've had a massive breakthrough. This must be what it's like to watch your child make their first headshot at the gun range."

"Mike, you're alive," Jesse said as he answered the phone a few minutes later. "How many bones did she break?"

"I'm still in one piece. We came to an understanding. Apparently." Michael looked towards the kitchen in time to see Fiona marching over to him on the couch. She snatched the phone out of his hand and pressed the speaker button.

"Yes, Jesse, we came to an understanding, which is that Michael finally understands he's being an idiot and now he's listening to reason."

"And what's reason? I mean, Fi, we can't just let a mole get away," said Jesse tentatively.

"I agree, and that's why you're going to do it."

"Me?"

"Yes," Fiona said, at the same Michael said, "Well, I'll be involved from here," at which point Fiona repeated, "Yes," except louder this time, and also she punched Michael's arm, and then said, "You, Jesse," at the same time Michael said, "Ow."

"Oh, so it's okay for me to die, just not Mike."

"Yes."

"Nice, Fi. That's nice. I was gonna say I'm just screwing with you, but that's when I expected you to at least pretend you don't want me to die. Guess I know where I stand."

"If you had a child, I wouldn't want you to go, either. I'd send Sam."

Jesse snorted. "Probably as good as I'm gonna get, I suppose. All right, so what now? You gonna call Lauren, Mike? You think she'll go for it? I'm a total stranger."

"Well, like I said, I'll be involved from this end if I can lock Fi in a closet somewhere." He reached his hand out to Fiona, who was standing near the couch, and pulled her to sit next to him. He draped his arm around her, cradling her neck in the crook of his elbow. "I'll call her and see if we can meet tonight. You free for dinner? Fi's buying."

"Say no more. I'm there."

"Let's say the Carlito at 7:00."

"All right, man. I'll see you then."

Michael drummed his fingers on Fiona's head. "You think my mom can keep Charlie a little longer? She's probably in nicotine withdrawal by now."

Fiona took the phone and called Madeline. "Hi, Madeline. . . . How're things? . . . Oh, yeah? . . . Did he like it? . . . Huh. We'll have to remember that. . . . Listen, Madeline, are you okay with Charlie staying a bit longer this evening? . . . Oh, Madeline, you're going to be so happy when I tell you why. We have a meeting in which Michael's going to tell the C.I.A. to go fuck itself."

Michael rolled his eyes. This time he took the phone and put it on speaker. His mom was mid-sentence.

" . . . and you know I've been telling him for years that those assholes will see him dead before they appreciate ev – "

"I'm not telling anyone to go fuck themselves, Ma," Michael broke in. "We're having a meeting for a job I'm consulting on."

"Consulting on? What the hell does that mean?" Madeline said.

"It means I'm helping out a colleague."

"It means," Fiona said loudly, "that he's not running away to play cloak and dagger, because he recognizes his nephew and maybe even the women whose lives he's turned upside down are more important."

"Oh, Michael! Oh, Michael, I knew one day you'd come to your senses," Madeline gushed. "Just wish it hadn't involved you getting shot so many times first," she muttered.

"Ma, look, Fiona's . . . overstating it. I was asked to help on one job, and for this one job, instead of going in the field, I'm going to consult from here. It's not like I'm going to work for the post office and coach Little League."

Madeline gasped. "Oh, Michael, you should coach Little League! I was just saying to Laura the other day that I bet Charlie would like tee ball. Oh, he'd love it if you were the coach." Her tone turned serious. "But you've got to give them snacks, Michael. Decent ones, with real sugar. I mean, they deserve a damn cookie."

Michael closed his eyes and shook his head.

"It's a very good start, Madeline," said Fiona. "Although he's not getting paid for this job." She smiled broadly at Michael, knowing what was coming next.

"Jesus, Michael," Madeline whined. "You've got a child to support, you know. You think your clients' gratitude is going to send Charlie to college?"

Michael just shook his head some more. "So we'll come get Charlie around 9:00."

"No, no, no; he's going to sleep here. Fiona deserves a proper celebration for putting up with this nonsense for so long. You do whatever she wants, Michael; you hear me?" She cleared her throat. "I mean intimately," she whispered.

"Ma, I can put up with a lot, but I draw the line at you giving me sex instructions. Here's Fi. I'm going away now."

"Don't worry, Madeline," Fiona said as Michael strode out of the room. "I've got a list."

I promise I'll try to update regularly!