A/N: So this is my first foray into Burn Notice fanfic. I've just recently become obsessed with the show. (Just finished watching seasons 1 and 2 for like the third time, am headed off to re-watch the first part of season 3 on my DVR). This popped into my head, and I figured that there just wasn't enough BN fanfic out there, so I decided to post it. This one takes place sometime between episodes 2.7 "Rough Seas" and the end of 2.10 "Do No Harm". I guess you could consider it a bit AU, or you could just consider it a bit of a between-the-episodes look at Fiona's past (it kind of explains her reaction to Tanya's plight in the season 2 episode "Hot Spot")… Rated M for language, adult content, and mentions of rape. You've been warned!

Mentions of Fiona/Campbell and Fiona/OC, but Fiona/Michael through and through.

Enjoy!

I've been told that Fiona Glenanne is a scary woman. Maybe it's her ability to drop a three-hundred-pound armed mercenary with little more than a flick of her tiny wrist. Maybe it's her extensive knowledge of anything that shoots a bullet or holds an edge. Perhaps it's the way she takes seemingly random household items and turns them into lethal explosives. Whatever it is, I just don't see it. No, this intense, passionate, sometimes dangerous side of Fi is the one I met in Dublin ten years ago. It's the one that has saved my ass more times than I can count. It's the one I fell in love with—though I'll never admit that. It's the Fi I see and deal with every day. It is not, however, the side of her that makes fear coil in my gut.

No, the Fiona Glenanne that sends chills down my spine is the one that peeks out only on rare occasions and then only for certain people. It's the side I see when something hits too close to home. It was the look in her eye when she touched the deep line in my throat after the pencil-pusher-turned-assassin took a garrote to it not long after my return to Miami. It was the silent desperation in her kiss when we said good-bye before I left to follow my burn notice. It's the catch in her breathing when she's backed into a corner with no apparent way out. It's the soft, soul-wrenching look in her eyes when we make love. This is the Fiona that scares me.

Because for this side of Fiona to make an appearance, means that she is either scared or vulnerable…or both. And this makes me vulnerable; more likely to screw up, to miss something, to get us killed. Because, whether I admit it or not, there is a direct correlation between Fiona's well-being and my ability to function in a well-though out, effective manner.

So when I walked into my loft that day to find Fi sitting cross-legged on my bed staring off into space with that soul-wrenching look in her eyes, you better believe I was scared.

"Fi?"

She didn't answer, simply continued sitting there, staring at nothing from what I could tell.

"Fiona?" I said a little louder, moving slowly and cautiously towards her. Best not to startle a woman like Fi. There's no telling what kind of firepower she has tucked up inside her mini-dress.

"I don't know what to do," I heard her say quietly.

I took the last couple of steps and sank down beside her on the mattress.

"Fiona?"

She blinked once and looked up at me. From the look in her eyes, I could tell that she was genuinely surprised to find me there. That fact alone scared me more than anything. Fiona Glenanne is never unaware of her surroundings.

"Michael."
"What's up, Fi?"

Her eyes widened fractionally before she glanced down at the floor, over towards the kitchen, anywhere but at me.

"Fiona?"

"Hmm?"

"Fiona, look at me."

After a moment she did and all trace of legitimate emotion was gone from her face. In its place were a fake smile and a tinny laugh.

"I'm fine, Michael. It's nothing."

I hadn't asked her if she was alright. I hadn't asked what was wrong. Clearly she wasn't paying attention or she'd know she was giving answers to questions I hadn't posed.

One of the most important rules in my trade is to only give as much information as is absolutely necessary. It's only common sense that you don't give intel that the interrogator hasn't even asked for.

"It's nothing," she repeated, and I wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, me or her.

It wasn't nothing. It was so far from nothing the two might as well have been in different solar systems. But the look in her eye told me all I'd achieve by pushing her further would be a whole lot of zilch, and maybe a black eye to boot.

"So, where's Campbell this fine day?" I asked, changing the subject. I stood and moved to the fridge to pick out a yogurt.

She said nothing for so long that I turned around to see if maybe she'd slipped out while my back was turned.

She was still sitting on the bed, staring at me but clearly not seeing me. Her view was turned inward and I could tell that she was debating what to tell me.

"We were together earlier," she finally said. "And now we're not."

"And now you're not," I repeated. "Way to state the obvious, Fi."

I watched her for another couple of moments before taking a bite of my blueberry yogurt.

"You sure you're okay, Fi?"

She nodded quickly. "Of course, Michael."

She flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, clearly in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact. We both knew she was lying to me, and we both knew it was a matter of time before I got the truth from her. Fiona Glenanne is an excellent liar, but I'm better at getting the truth.

"So, umm, what'd you and soup-boy do today?"

She remained still, but I was watching her closely and I could tell that she was struggling to keep from squirming.

"Since when do you care, Michael? You always tune me out when I talk about Campbell, and you never want to know details."

"Well, I want to know now."

I flopped down into my favorite green-leather-and-duct-tape chair and watched her over my yogurt. Her eyes remained studiously on the water-stained ceiling.

"We met at Enriqueta's on Tenth and he bought me breakfast. Then we strolled the shops along Trenton Avenue," she finally told me. "I bought a new pair of shoes."

I have to admit that my gut unclenched a little when I heard her say that they'd met at Enriqueta's. To me, this implied that they hadn't spent the night together. In my head, I knew that they were sleeping together, but the rest of me didn't want to accept that she could ever find any sort of pleasure in another man's arms. I was a sick fuck; not willing to claim her, but also not willing to let anyone else have her. It's why I'd been covertly ruining all of her plans with him for a couple of weeks now.

"Then we went back to my place."

I focused back on what she was saying, and my eyes narrowed.

"And then what?"

She was tense again, and this time she couldn't stop herself from grasping my sheet in one hand and moving her shoulders and neck back and forth.

Now to be a spy, you have to be really good at reading people. Give me a mark and I'll tell you whether he's lying, what he's lying about, the importance of what he's hiding. It's all about eye movement, body language, and an ability to notice the other subtle clues that the body inevitably gives. Give me a little more time with said liar and I can usually extract the hidden information.

I don't need to be a spy to read Fiona. She and I have known each other for so long, and been involved in so many different situations together, that I can read her better than anyone. And in this moment I was sure of three things: Fiona was hiding something, it had to do with that sleazebag Campbell's Soup-boy, and I was going to do everything in my power to figure out what it was and how to fix it.

"And then I came here," I heard her finish.

"I think there's something missing there, Fi."

She finally turned her head to look at me. Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously and her hand gripped my sheets a little tighter.

"Is this an interrogation, Michael? Are you trying to find inconsistencies in my story? Are you hoping to catch me in a lie?"
"I don't know, Fiona. You tell me."

She sat up quickly, her eyes never moving from mine.

"We screwed like rabbits, Michael. Is that what you want to hear? We went back to my place and fucked each other silly."

I flinched inwardly at her choice of words, but my gut remained calm. Campbell might have been screwing her silly, but he hadn't been doing it today. Fiona was lying.

"And then what?" I asked quietly, setting my half uneaten yogurt down on the table next to me.

"And then…" She raised her hands and let out an irritated sigh. "And then I came here, Michael. I already told you that."

I nodded slowly. "Okay, so you screwed soup-boy's brains out, and then you came here. Is that right?"

She shot up from the bed and stalked to the kitchen. "Yes, Michael," she hissed from the refrigerator where she was extracting a beer.

"And where did Campbell go?" I asked while she was distracted trying to get the cap off of her beer.

I held out my hand and she reluctantly came over and placed the bottle in it.

"I imagine he went home," she said flippantly.

I unscrewed the cap and handed the beverage back to her.

"You don't know?"

"No, he was still…" She froze.

We were both silent for several heartbeats before I reached up and grasped her wrist in my hand. Her pulse flittered beneath my fingertips.

"Fiona."

Her eyes remained fixed in front of her, her beer frozen halfway to her lips.

"Fiona, look at me."

Her head turned slowly until her eyes met mine. I stood and faced her.

"Fi, we both know you're spinning tales here. Why don't you just tell me the truth about what's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me, Michael," she answered automatically.

"Fi."

"No really, nothing's…"

"Fiona."

"I used to be good at this," I heard her mumble.

I squeezed her wrist gently. "We both know you didn't cut your day of fun with Campbell short just to come over here and watch me make listening devices."

She blinked a few times and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Fiona," I whispered gently, my thumb stroking the inside of her wrist where I held it. "Talk to me."

"I can't," she practically whispered.

"Why not?"

She yanked herself out of my loose grasp and stalked across the room.

I turned to find her perched on a barstool gulping down her beer.

"Calm down, Fi. That beer's not going anywhere," I joked.

She answered me with a glare and a renewed concentration on her beverage.

I sat down in my green chair, picked up my yogurt, and decided to wait her out. If I knew Fiona, I knew one thing; she couldn't stay silent about her problems forever. Fiona enjoys complaining like Fiona enjoys guns and shoes. Anytime she can find someone to regale with her troubles, she spills like an overfull bathtub.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes and two beers later I heard her sigh.

"I think there's something wrong with me."

I turned slowly in my chair until I had her in my sights. "Fi, there are a lot of things wrong with both of us," I told her with a half-smile.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That's not what I mean and you know it, Michael. I think there's really something wrong with me."

I watched her carefully. "You haven't been hanging out with my mom lately, have you?"

She huffed over and smacked me on the arm before slumping down onto the bed once more.

"Not physically, Michael. My health is fine. I mean…I mean psychologically. And before you say anything, no, I don't mean that I'm bonkers."

She shivered as she expelled a long breath, blowing wisps of hair out of her face. She was being serious here and the last thing she needed was me reducing her confession down to a couple of jokes. She was looking for understanding and support and, by God, I was going to give it to her.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Fi," I told her quietly.

She looked up and her tear-filled blue eyes met mine. And as much as I wanted to look away, as much as I couldn't stand to see her pain, I forced myself to hold her gaze as she began to speak.

"I left Campbell at my place."

I nodded, turning this over in my mind. It didn't make much sense to me. If Fiona wanted Campbell gone, Fiona could have made him gone—in the temporary and the permanent sense. "Why did you do that, Fi?"

"I just had to get away from him. Besides, he probably won't want much to do with me from now on anyway. I think I may have broken his nose."

My eyebrows rose almost of their accord.

"You broke his nose?"

She shrugged. "I really don't know. I was more focused on putting my clothes back on and getting out of there than on his physical well-being."

I nodded. That made sense. Wait… "Hold the phone, Fi. Putting your clothes back on? What the hell happened?"

My yogurt was forgotten and I moved to sit beside her on the bed, my eyes searching hers for any hint of what was going on. But she was back to avoiding my gaze.

"I was…uncomfortable with where things were going, so I might have elbowed him in the gut, kicked him in the testicles, and broken his nose."

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Disbelief and rage were warring within me to the point that all I could do was clench my fists and hope I didn't yell at her. What reason could there possibly have been for Fiona to be defending herself against Campbell? Without her clothes on. Only one reason came to mind.

Fiona's eyes met mine and I watched hers widen in realization. "Oh no, no Michael, it's not what you're thinking…"

"Good fucking thing," I gritted out, "because what I was thinking would result in Campbell taking his last breath in a swamp full of alligators."

"…well, not really anyway," I barely heard her finish.

"What the hell do you mean, not really anyway? Either he tried to rape you or he didn't."

I hadn't realized that I'd stood up until I found myself on the other side of the room gripping the stair-rail like it was Campbell's scrawny neck.

"Well, at first it was most consensual, Michael, but then…"

An image of her in bed with Campbell burned through my mind. His hands on her body, her head thrown back in passion, that part of him inside her…where no man other than me ever belonged. I growled low in my throat.

"Don't tell me this. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you asked," she yelled, rising from her seat, hands fisted on her hips, blue eyes blazing. "I can't tell you what's wrong without telling you this. If you don't really care, then I'll just leave."

She snatched her fanny pack up from the floor and was halfway to the door before I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, ready to inflict pain, but I grabbed her fist and trapped it at her side.

"I care, Fiona. Of course I care. Please, come sit back down."

Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she wrenched herself out of my hold and stomped back to the bed.

"I'm sorry," I said as I retook my seat across from her in the green chair. "I just…." How could I explain to her that the thought of her with another man made me physically ill? I was trying to keep my distance here. We just never worked out. It wasn't my fault I was a jealous bastard.

I decided to skip the explaining. Ignoring my little outburst for the time being, I figured I'd just jump right back in where we were. "Please," I said quietly, "continue."

She watched me carefully for a moment before taking a deep breath, looking down at her hands and speaking.

"Despite what I may have led you to believe," she said slowly, "Campbell and I have never…we haven't…"

She looked up at me as if expecting me to fill in her blanks. If she was suggesting what I thought she was, I was going to make her say it.

I raised my eyebrows. "You've never what, Fi?"

Her eyes rolled so far back into her head that I was kind of afraid they might get stuck that way. "You know what I'm saying, Michael."

"Hmm. No, Fi, I don't think I do. Maybe you better spell it out for me."

She gave a disgusted sigh and threw her hands up in the air. "We've never been intimate, alright?"

My heart soared at her admission. Sure, I knew that I wasn't Fi's first, and I knew that I probably wouldn't be her last, but that was a long way from having to see the guy she was screwing on a regular basis; having to look him in the eye and know that he was in her bed at night instead of me. It went a long way towards improving my mood to know that they hadn't been sleeping together after all.

"Intimate, huh?" I said carefully. "A minute ago you were screwing like rabbits and fucking each other silly, and now you've never been intimate?"

Her eyes squinted up at the corners and she pointed one long, tapered finger at me. "Shut up, Michael. We both know I was just trying to get you to back off."

I raised my hands and inclined my head. "Fair enough."

"Anyway, I guess we both sort of decided that we would end this non-intimacy today, and one thing led to another…"

"You ended up in bed together," I finished. I had to force myself to unclench my teeth. Okay, I told myself, it could have been worse. She could have been screwing him for two weeks now instead of just this afternoon.

"Well, almost," she said quietly. "It never actually got that far."

She looked up at me and I motioned for her to continue.

"Well, actually it did. The bed part, anyway. We were still…partly clothed. Well, I was. And we were in bed kissing and…"

She fell silent again and I could tell from the way she was wringing her fingers that she was nervous.

"And what, Fi?" I moved to sit next to her on the bed and took her hands into my own.

She looked up at me, indecision spelled out clearly on her face. She bit her full lower lip, a completely un-Fiona action, and my heart broke for her.

"You can tell me anything, Fi. You know that, right?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, blinking rapidly to stem off the tears which were threatening to fall.

"And then he…he flipped me over," she finally whispered.

Understanding crashed in like a well-prepared extraction team.

"Aw, Fi. What happened?"

"I tried to tell him not to. I tried to get him to let me flip over, but he wouldn't listen. He was too into the moment. He told me to…to relax, that he wasn't going to try any 'funny' business, but he just wanted to…to… He told me how good it would be this way, how deep he could go. Michael, I tried to tell him no, but he wouldn't listen." By now the tears had won their battle and were coursing down her cheeks.

I've only seen Fiona cry a handful of times, and every time it's like a bullet to the gut. I don't like seeing any woman cry, but to watch the normally strong, kickass Fiona fall apart before my eyes is like watching someone you care about being tortured while you're strapped to a chair. You want to do everything in your power to stop it, but you just can't free your hands quickly enough and everything you say just seems to make their pain worse.

So instead of saying anything, I pulled her into my arms and stroked her long hair down the length of her back.

"I guess my survival instincts kicked in then. I really didn't want to hurt him, Michael. I really didn't."

"Shhh," I tried to comfort her. "I know."

"But he was there behind me and I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop my mind from going…there. So I threw my head back and when he sat up to put his hands to his face, I elbowed him in the gut and kneed him in the groin. And then I threw on this dress and I ran. I ran here, Michael. To you. And I don't know why."

I had an idea of why. It was the same why that had her so intent on getting my opinion of her boyfriend. But I wasn't about to enlighten her. It'd probably just scare her off anyway. I was just glad that here was where her subconscious mind had told her to run.

I cradled her in my arms and stroked her back, all the while whispering nonsense words of comfort in her ear.

My mind flashed back to Dublin, nine years ago. We'd known each other for a little less than a month. We'd ended up in bed twice before that night, but I'd been too in lust, too sex-starved after a long stint in Iran to really see the woman I was with. I'd felt her—God had I felt her—and I'd certainly heard her, but I hadn't really been watching her reactions very carefully. This night had been different. This night I had noticed the way she seemed to soften and transform into this vulnerable little creature when I touched her. It was a side of her I'd never seen before. One I hadn't been expecting considering the way our night had begun; with a high-casualty shootout in the Dublin warehouse district. It is a side of Fiona that I've cherished ever since.

You see, to Fiona, violence is like foreplay. Let her set off a bomb or gun down a Russian warlord, and she's ripping my clothes off as soon as the bedroom door shuts. Everything is teeth and nails and tearing clothes. That is, until I'm inside her. As soon as I'm inside her, everything changes. The Fi that was a moment ago clawing trenches into my back is now soft and sweet and staring up at me with eyes so warm and deep that I swear I could lose myself in them. Her breath catches in the back of her throat and her legs come up around my hips. Her fingers in my hair are both desperate and gentle. My name is a whisper on her lips. And when she finally reaches that peak, when all of my careful ministrations come to fruition, it's like I can see her soul in her eyes. I pray every single time that I'm the only one to see this side of her.

This night in particular, we got to the sweet, soft Fi part, but we never reached that glorious peak. Because halfway through, I decided that things were getting a little too personal, that watching her eyes was making my chest just a little too tight, so I pulled out and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. It was a mistake I'd never make again. To say that Campbell got out of things lightly is putting it mildly. Let's just say I've got lasting mementos on three parts of my body from that fight.

I hugged Fi a little tighter and felt her relax into me as her breathing began to calm.

"Fi, I…" I stopped and took a deep breath. I wasn't really sure I wanted to open this can of worms, but I had the feeling that if she never talked about it, her issues would never go away. I mean it had been nine years since that night between the two of us and she clearly still had issues with that specific sexual position. Actually, I'd discovered over the years—though not quite so painfully as that first time—that Fiona has issues with any position that doesn't allow her to see the man she's with. I took a deep breath and plunged in. "Fi, after that night…in Dublin...you never…Well, I mean you've never really explained…"

"Why I'm so messed up?" She asked, pulling back to look up at me.

I wiped the tear stains from her cheeks and kissed her forehead lightly. "You're not that messed up, Fi. We all have baggage. I just think that…I think it would help if you talked about it."

She stared at me for several long moments. I have to admit, I began to feel a bit uncomfortable. I mean, who was I to ask her to rehash some obviously painful part of her past? I rarely ever talk about any of the not-so-pleasant parts of my previous life. But I knew the statistics and I knew that talking was proven to help, so I forged on.

"Look, it doesn't have to be me, Fi. I mean, I'm here if you want to tell me, but… You could discuss it with…Campbell, maybe. I guess he has more of a right to know than…"

She put a finger to my lip, effectively silencing me. "No. I could never discuss it with him."

I nodded slowly. "A counselor, then?" I asked around her finger.

She smiled slightly and shook her head like she was sure I'd lost my mind.

"You're the only one I could ever even think about discussing this with, Michael. I think you're the only one who would understand."

I shook my head. "That's not true, Fi. Lots of people could understand being hurt so badly that the effect continues long afterward."

She nodded once, and then looked down at her hands for a few moments. I let her have her time. I knew firsthand how difficult it was to talk about painful memories.

Finally she lay back on the bed and tugged at the back of my t-shirt.

"Fi?"

"Lie down, Michael. I'm just not…sure I can look you in the eye when I tell you this, okay?"

I nodded and lay back beside her slowly, both of us staring at the ceiling, not touching, but close enough to feel each other's presence.

It was another several moments before she started to talk. And then I almost wished she hadn't.

"I was in Belfast about four years before I met you. I was young, impulsive, stupid. There was this heroin dealer, Foley, selling to the local children. Two of them had already died from overdosing. I thought that I could handle him on my own. Sean and Liam were still in Dublin at the time. They begged me to wait for them to help me, but I got restless and I went in on my own.

"I posed as a prospective client, someone wishing to earn a few extra dollars by helping him push his products. The plan was to get in and see the operation, and then plant some explosives and blow it sky-high."

That's my girl, I thought with some affection. She was always for the little guy, especially if the little guys were children. And the plan was just so her.

"You were just going to blow it all up?"

"I was, Michael. It was how I used to do things. And I maintain that it is usually more effective than many of your plans."

"Maybe in the short run," I conceded. "But…"

"Forget it, Michael. I thought you wanted to hear my story."

"I do," I assured her, reaching over to take her hand into mine. "I'm sorry. Please go on."

"Anyway, things were going well, but Foley must have somehow caught wind of who I was or what I was up to, because one day I walked into his office expecting to speak to him about the deal we were making, not knowing until it was too late that it was a trap."

Her fingers gripped mine tightly, and I wasn't sure if she was aware of doing it, but I squeezed hers back just to let her know I was still there with her.

She took a deep breath. "I walked into the office, but he didn't appear to be there. I was just about to turn back to ask his man where he was when the door slammed shut and Foley grabbed me from behind. I tried to fight him, but he was prepared and he was strong. He bent me over the front of his desk and held my hands above my head with one of his. He pushed my skirt up and…and he pulled my underwear aside. He had my legs pinned to the front of the desk with his, and…I couldn't fight him, Michael. I tried, but I just couldn't."

The last word came out on a sob and I sat up and dragged her into my lap.

"I know, Fi. I know. You did all that you could. None of it was your fault. Do you hear me? He was bigger and stronger and you weren't prepared. You did all you could," I repeated. "It wasn't your fault."

She sobbed into my shirt and for the longest time I just held her and repeated my litany over and over again.

"Liam and Sean showed up before he could kill me, but the damage was done. Now I can't stand…I just can't stomach not being able to see who I'm with, you know? My mind goes back to Foley and…" She shivered violently and I held her tighter.

"I know, Fi. It's okay. I understand. We're all a little damaged, Fi. Even me. Hell, especially me."

We sat there like that for several moments before her tears stopped and she peered up at me. "I can't believe I just told you that. I've never told anyone that. Liam and Sean are the only ones who know and only because they walked into the aftermath."

My arms tightened around her and I buried my face in her hair. "I want to kill him."

She laughed softly. "You don't really think I'd let him get away with that, do you? I put one in his head and turned his operation into kindling."

"I want to dig up his bones, reincarnate him, and kill him again. And again, for good measure."

She grasped my hair and pulled my head down so that I was at eye level with her. "Oh, Michael. You know how to make a girl feel loved."

"Fi, I…"

"I know, Michael."

I nodded once and then placed my forehead against hers. "Thank you, for sharing that with me. I know it was painful."

She shrugged lightly. "Somehow it doesn't feel quite so painful now."

I felt the corner of my lip tip up. "I guess that's what happens when you share part of the burden; it doesn't feel quite so heavy."

She smiled a moment before she leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips. "Thanks, Michael, for sharing the burden."

"Anytime, Fi."

The next day, things were back to normal. We both went about like nothing had happened, like she hadn't bared her soul to me just a few hours prior. She and Campbell had clearly made up, though I doubted she'd explained her actions from that day. In fact, Campbell seemed more and more confused by her, and irritated with her secrecy. I mean, the guy might have been named after soup, but he was smart enough to know that none of us were soil scientists.

And then not even a week later, shortly after we put an end to Rachel's pharmaceutical scam, she told me that they'd broken up. I didn't ask who'd done the breaking or what it had been over. Inside I was having a secret celebration party, while damning myself for my inability to just tell her how I felt and see where it took us. But I just couldn't risk that. I needed my life back in order to protect those I cared about, including Fiona. And if we did get together, I was sure that neither of us could survive when I finally got back in and had to leave her again. Besides, there was always the off-chance someone might try and use her to get to me. I couldn't let that happen. No, I had to keep a distance in order to keep her safe. If only I truly were the soil scientist Campbell believed me to be. It's the soil scientists who get the girls, right? Ah, the complications of being an ex-spy.

A/N: So I know the "I want to kill him" bit was a little OOC for Michael, but hear me out. I haven't got the fabulous and wonderful Jeffrey Donovan here to convey all of his rage and violent intentions with a mere look, so I had to put in a little more effort. I know I could have made it a silent "I want to kill him", but I think we needed the impact of him saying it out loud. Plus, he made Fiona feel loved :) so that's always good.

Thanks so much for reading! And if you have a moment, please let me know what you thought!

Oh, and if any of you are waiting for updates on ItMotN or The Ex, I apologize vehemently for the long wait. I hope to have updates for those up in the next week or two.