Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own creations.

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When Michael Westen said he had a plan, he was usually telling the truth and he did in fact have a plan. That the plan was not fully formed at that particular moment and may take time to be fully evident was irrelevant – but the one thing he had forgotten once again to factor into this 'plan' was the death grip of the woman next to him.

The first step of his plan involved him picking free her cuffs. As her restraining binds had been a spur of the moment instigation on their captors' behalf, they were all leather and were held together in a buckle. Each of her arms were held together by a double buckle: one buckle just below her shoulder, and the other at her wrist. He just needed one buckle pin. Just one.

He had to ignore the pain and the chaffing that he knew his movements were causing upon himself as he tried to shift his body to the left and stretch out his left hand in order to get his fingers as close as possible to Fi's right cuff.

Gaining access to the buckle pin actually ended up being the easiest thing: it was the realisation that he'd put himself closer to Fi's hands that had been harder to accept. And he found out soon enough that she was taking good advantage of his closer proximity.

Slowly and painfully, he set about unbuckling Fi's cuff. The leather flap was extricated within seconds, and so now it came to the harder part. He had to exert the right amount of pressure and manipulation in order to get the pin free of its corresponding frame. Every time he got just close enough, he found himself losing his grip when Fi crushed his hand as she rode through another contraction.

He knew better than to complain – or even make the tiniest little comment on it – but he did send an internal memo to himself that he really needed to pick up the pace if he wanted to make progress before the next contraction came around.

Victory was finally his after an hour and a half of poking, prodding, squeezing, pushing, pinching and ripping. And so now came the hard part.

Fi's other cuff was positioned in such a manner on her upper arm that it was not possible for her to reach up her newly freed hand and unstrap herself. And so that left them with one other option – his cuffs. Unfortunately his own were positioned at such an angle that it wasn't possible for him to reach the hole that he needed using his own fingers and the pin, and so he now needed to rely on Fi to undo them for him.

It was slow going.

Over the next five hours – as the light shining through the grate became dimmer and dimmer – Fi worked at getting his cuff open. The henchmen would pop in suddenly at various times, and he would have to scramble to cover up Fi's loosened cuff, but thankfully they weren't particularly inclined to enter, just flashing them a cursory peek to check they were still there. As Fi fought through contractions, he had to keep her spirits up and concentration solid. He'd lost track of the insults and various curses that she was throwing his way and, honestly, he'd stopped listening. There had been a few occasions where Fi had dropped the pin – but thankfully it was still within reach.

The cuff finally fell open off at the same time that Fi let out the most quiet scream that she possibly could and he realised with horror that her screams were getting closer and closer. He snapped into action. With one hand free, it was only a matter of time before he had loosened his three other cuffs, wincing at the raw skin rimming his wrists and ankles.

Turning to Fi immediately he brushed her hair from her face and rubbed a hand over her rippling belly. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes. Any words of comfort that he could offer – or indeed any chances of unstrapping her – were brought to an abrupt halt when there was a movement in the hall and the door began to open.