A/N: I know it has been a while, but I am back writing now so I hope to wrap up the tale of what might have happened if someone else besides his former girlfriend had been the one to discover our favorite spy unconscious in a Miami motel room in the next few weeks.

In this very belated chapter, Sam Axe and Fiona Glenanne finally come face to face while in the background Larry Sizemore continues his plan to separate Michael from his new-found friends.

TWO HOURS TOO LATE

Chapter Fifteen

"Thanks for the ride, Fi." Her dark haired passenger had his hand on the truck's door handle as soon as the Ford crew-cab glided to a stop alongside the small strip mall he had directed her to. He half turned and his expression was uneasy as he continued to speak. "I can walk from here. Honestly there's no need for you to hang around – " His words faded away, leaving an awkward silence as Michael pressed down on the handle and with an audible click, the heavy door swung open.

"You did say you didn't want to help pick up Sam's shopping, so ah – " The usually eloquent spy stuttered as he disembarked. "I think it's probably better for everyone if I go alone. So – er – I'm going to go now."

With one hand on the ignition key, Fiona stared stonily at the dark haired man as he faced her, his feet now firmly on the pavement, looking as if he was about to bolt or as he would call it, make a strategic retreat.

"We talked about this, remember?" His nervousness would have been amusing, but the Irishwoman wasn't laughing. Instead her blue-green eyes narrowed. She had a rather beautiful and exceptionally sharp butterfly knife in her purse. A well placed bullet would make too much noise after all.

"Thanks for the ride. I'll—er, uh, I'll call you tomorrow." He finished hastily, ducking his head and slamming the door shut, unaware that his action caused the woman inside to flinch.

And then he was gone, striding along the pavement towards the small strip mall without a single backwards glance.

For several seconds, the petite red head sat immobile her eyes remaining narrowed as she stared intently at the back of the tall leanly built man until he disappeared into the mini-mart. It was too late now. A butterfly knife makes a terrible throwing weapon. With that last thought and Michael no longer in sight, she slowly let her muscles relax and leaned back against the leather seat while her fingers began to idly tap on the steering wheel.

He had left her again. He had chosen to be with someone else – again. For no other reason than an aged SEAL, who was most likely spying on him for the FBI, not that Michael would admit to it, might be able to help him get back in favor with the organization that had thrown him away.

She thought about all the other times he had left her, and of the assurances he had given her, every single time. The pledge of retiring from the CIA and their moving forward with their relationship being the last one he had made and broken back in Berlin at the start of this year.

Fiona had been forced to go back to work the prior year. The money launderer who'd been managing her ill-gotten gains had been stupid enough to rip her off and had paid the price for his ignorant audacity when she'd blown bits of the man all over Belfast. The Irishwoman had gotten her revenge, but she'd had to flee, starting over again in a new country, this time in New York.

Somehow they'd both ended up working a job in Berlin at the same time with objectives they'd been able to combine for a prosperous outcome for the pair of them. The celebration of their mutual successes had culminated in a passionate night in a stolen hotel room. In their post coital bliss, he had let his guard down apparently. She'd been asking about them having a future working together.

"When this is all over, maybe we could work together again…" he had offered before kissing her soundly and then settling into sleep, holding her naked form tightly in his warm embrace.

Later, when things had gone wrong as they invariably did, she had run the blade of a different knife across his bicep while cutting him free of the ropes that had bound him and then buried that same blade in the wall right next to his head as soon as it had become clear that he wasn't planning on keeping his promise he had made that time...

She chuckled mirthlessly at the thought. No wonder he had looked like at har like a rabbit staring inta tha headlights. He musta been waiting fer me ta shoot ham in tha leg – or sommit worse.

She was no twit. She knew exactly what sacrifices a woman made when she loved a man who was wrapped up in a cause, whether it was fighting for a united homeland or driven by the love of adventure or motivated by some unfathomable obligation to a faceless soulless government.

"Ya cannae carry on like this, Maeveen me girl... I know Aiden needs all tha help he can get an' Am nae such a hypocrite ta suggest I wouldnae want Patrick ta do whot wa' necessary ta remain free... But me brudder has a family o' his own he should be protectin'. Tha British donnae have his name yet but they will soon, mark me words, an' then whot? If he is caught helpin' Aiden, twill be tha end. He should be puttin' tha lot o' ya first. How long has he been away this time?"

She had been seven years old, small enough to hide and eavesdrop on the adults' conversations.

"Ya're livin' hand ta mouth, even wit' whot Pat Jr is bringing in tis still barely enough ta pay tha rent... Thot brudder o' mine is gonnae get hisself killed an' tis ya an' yar babbies thot are gonna end up on tha streets... Tis about time he realized thot he doesnae need ta be tha one ta take all tha risky assignments." Her aunt had waited until long after the dinner dishes had been cleared away and the children sent off to their beds before she'd broached the subject with her sister-in-law.

"He is doin' whot he is doin' fer us," her mother had answered firmly. "Ya know thot, Claire... Until we finally drive out tha British an' tham thot support tham, thar cannae be any peace..."

"Ya have nae argument fram me about thot, me luv. But donnae ya think thot after all these years, after everythin' Patrick – thot we have all sacrificed, thot he should take a step back fram tha front lines? Ya have all given so much. Junior is a man nar. Liam is away at university. Seamus – ha-ha I donnae think it will be long befer thot young fella will be startin' a family o' his own... Donnae ya think tha rest o' yar babbies deserve whot tha other's dinnae have, a chance ta know thar daddy, befer it tis taa late?"

The Irishwoman remembered well the conflict that had warred within her own heart, part of her angry that her Aunt Claire had dared to suggest her father should put his and his family's comfort above fighting against the soldiers who regularly smashed down their doors and carried away her father and eldest brother without consequence. Someone had needed to teach them all a lesson!

"They know thar daddy just fine, thank ya very much…" had been her mam's stilted reply.

"Am sorry, Maeve, if ya think Am speakin' outta turn. But when thot brudder o' mine comes home this time, please think about whot I said. I love tham kiddies o' yars more than me own life an' sometimes I hate how tha young 'uns end up comin' second ta an ideal."

And as much as she wanted to remain as dedicated to the Cause as her daddy was, there was also a part of her that couldn't help but wish her father could find a way to spend more time at home.

"I fergive ya, Claire, an' I donnae think ya're speakin' outta turn. I know ya love our children an' ar' only speakin' outta love. But it donnae matter if we all come second, when tis bein' second ta somethin' thot is as big an' as important as this. Tis every one o' us and so much more thot Patrick is fightin' fer. Me children know thot come whot may, thar daddy is a hero."

Thirty seven year old Fiona stared blindly out the windshield of her borrowed Ford, still sorting through the memories of trying to resolve the conflict in her heart about the first man she'd loved.

"What I do is important, Fi... You might find it distasteful, but what I do saves American lives and that means something to me."

She shook her head. The petite paramilitary couldn't remember the exact time he had uttered those actual words, it was while they sat opposite to each other over a restaurant table somewhere hot. But he had said similar things to her so many times over the years the place didn't matter. Now thinking about it, Fiona also remembered seeing the same fanatical look in his eyes when he spoke about such things as she had seen in her own father's eyes as well as in the eyes of her siblings.

"Ah me darlin' girl, come har, sit on me knee while ya tell me whot has ya lookin' so sad?" It had been two days after she had eavesdropped on her mother and aunt that she had awoken to find her father sitting beside the dying embers of the living room fireplace.

"Junior says ya're goin' away again an' thot ya will likely still be gone fer me birthday."

"Tis true, me love," If she concentrated hard enough, the redhead could still remember the feel of Patrick Glenanne's work hardened hand on her cheek as he cradled her head in his palm. "But ya know I wouldnae be leavin' unless it wa' really really important. Whot Am doin' is fer Ireland an' all tha people, ya understand thot?"

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Of course ya do, me brave little angel." He had drawn her long hair back and kissed her cheek, his smile lighting up his whole face. "Ya're me fearless Fiona, so ya ar' an' donnae let any o' yar brudders say otherwise. Ya must promise me nar thot ya will be good fer yar mammy an' thot ya will be nice ta wee Claire while Am gone."

Over the years, the former urban guerilla had seen how her own mother, Sean's wife Rosie and even her oldest surviving brother's long-time girlfriend Jeannie had sacrificed their own happiness at times, so that their partners could continue the fight for freedom. Ms Glenanne had watched in wonder at the way her brother Seamus' wife Isabelle calmly kept their ever growing family together and provided a safe haven for when her husband returned from his adventuring on the seas and in some of the most dangerous places in the world. She knew exactly what it meant to be the second most important thing in someone's life… and she knew it wasn't what she wanted for herself.

Fiona had decided long ago that, while she respected what her female relatives did for their families, she wanted something different. She was as capable as the man she loved and she wanted to be at his side, working with him, making decisions with him, sharing the spoils and sharing the pain. Only Michael Westen was too dense and stubborn to understand what she was offering him.

Scowling, she made her decision, easing the truck away from the side walk and driving into the nearby industrial area. The slender redhead knew the place the missing spy was headed had to be close by… a nightclub next to the water. Pulling over, Fiona left the truck half hidden behind a row of dumpsters and made her way on foot towards the river. She came to a drawbridge and looked around before spotting a sign for The Warehouse

That was the name of the club she had heard Sam Axe mention!

From there it took her only a couple of minutes to find a set of high metal gates leading into a small courtyard with steps which ascended to what she assumed to be the loft above the club and to the side at ground level was another door, presumably a separate apartment or store room.

Slipping inside the gate, it took the Irishwoman mere moments to find a suitable place to wait for Michael's arrival and while she stood concealed behind piles of old furniture from the club and an overflowing bin, the former PIRA strategist continued to analyze her ex-lover's situation.

Mr Westen was a bit dense where relationships were concerned. But right now he was out in the cold, his carefully ordered world had been turned upside down. She would just prove to him how badly he needed her support... If only she had managed to get on an earlier flight... She would have gotten to him before whoever it was who had killed those two agents and really made a mess of it.

Ms Glenanne bit down on her bottom lip. If she had gotten to him first, none of this would be happening. They would have been out of this city within a day of her arrival. She would have seen to it...

Fiona stopped her thoughts right there, realizing if they had indeed left, Madeline would have never gotten a reunion with her son and Javier may well have been facing a long jail sentence, his son left to grow up in an orphanage. She shivered thinking about the horror tales of Irish orphanages.

Before she could go any further, the creaking and metallic groaning of the gate to Sam Axe's lair brought her attention to the object of her quest. The burned spy was loaded down, trying to balance a pizza box and two six packs of beer as he shoved the gate open and made his way towards the industrial style steps.

"What's up, bro? You new around here…?"

Fiona stiffened at the sound of someone coming up behind Michael. Then as the owner of the brash voice stepped into her field of vision, she relaxed and smiled. This was going to be good.

With both his hands full, her former lover turned to face the newcomer, a tall skinny twenty something punk with bleach blond short cropped hair dressed in a baggy white tracksuit.

"Er, yeah... I'm going– " Michael gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the staircase.

"Oh, you're friends with the new guy?"

The Irishwoman continued to study the over confident Eminem character, noting that he was concealing a rather cute early model Smith & Wesson 5906 in his right hand which was held tightly down by his leg while he waved his left arm about in an amateur attempt at a distraction.

Oh, this was going to be very good.

"Well, my name is Sugar and I'm here to warn your friend to mind his own business. We got off to a bad start and he needs to know what's waiting for him if he tries anything like that again."

"Take it up with him." Michael looked the younger man up and down before dismissing him and beginning to turn away. His actions caused the petite redhead watching to pout at the thought of him walking away from what had promised to be a very entertaining encounter.

"What's your problem?" The young thug reached out with his left hand, pulling the older man back around and causing Fiona's grin to immediately reemerge.

"My problem right now is a pretty boy drug dealer with a bad dye job who is standing in my way."

Faster than Michael could react, Sugar whipped the gun up, shoving the hard barrel into the former spy's already sore ribs. Her hand went to her own gun, fingers tightening around the handle as the former CIA agent gasped in pain, almost collapsing as he dropped the pizza and beer to the ground.

"Did I hurt you, bro? Don't start fights you can't finish," the cocky kid crowed obviously unaware that there was a Walther being aimed at his back by a homicidal former terrorist.

But within a split second, the petite paramilitary relaxed and a smile came to her lips once more as Michael reacted with all the style and grace she admired so much. Ignoring the pizza box which was now soaking in beer from a broken bottle, he spun around and captured the younger man's wrist, then in a continuation of the move, he caught ahold of the blonde's thumb and twisted it viciously.

"I'll break it. I don't want to but I will if I have to."

"Alright..!" The punk who had introduced himself as Sugar cried out as he was now the one down in the dirt on one knee. "Alright… Let go…. Let go!" he pleaded.

"Hey Mikey, whatcha doing?" Fiona looked up, her eyes locking on the man standing at the top of the stairs dressed in a pair of board shorts and a stained white vest. Sam Axe had changed… This was not the man she remembered. Her lip curled in disdain. Why on earth would Michael want to have anything to do with this sodden oaf?

"Nothing… I was just taking out the trash." Michael released his opponent and then stared down at the wrecked food. "Well, I think I can salvage some of the beer."

"Oh man, hey, grab that pizza. We'll check it out inside. Hell, it all goes down the same way. A little bit of beer dressing isn't going to hurt." Sam came down the steps, and then stopped half way, producing a Beretta 92FS from somewhere to aim it at Sugar. "You need to skedaddle, fella."

"Whot tha hell…?" Fiona hissed, her whole attention suddenly on the blonde, who Michael and Sam had dismissed so easily, instead of the one-time SEAL she longed to put a bullet in. The former urban guerilla watched the way the younger man stared up at Michael's back, tensing when she thought he might be reaching for a back-up weapon. But Sugar had slowly turned away, the hand reaching into his pants pocket producing a cell phone.

"Hey, it's me. I gotta a job for you. Bring the hardware and be at my place in twenty minutes."

As the pretty boy drug dealer passed her hiding spot, the Irishwoman stepped out behind him and used handle of her Walther PPK/S to hit him on the back of his head, dropping him to the ground. While he was writhing there, momentarily stunned, Fiona kicked the phone out of his hand before retrieving it from the rocky surface.

"Don't move, Vanilla Ice." Now she was the one pressing the barrel of a gun to an opponent, his head this time, and was pleased when he obviously understood the seriousness of the situation.

"I donnae know whot tis about feckin' Miami, but I have had ta take care o' more lowlifes in this last week than I have since leavin' home fer tha first time," she thought to herself as the redhead redialed the last number the loser had called, continuing to send a death glare his way.

"Don't bother coming around Sugar's place today," she told his goon in her American accent. "He's decided to sort this out without your help. Don't come and don't call if you know what's good for you." Dropping it back into the dirt, she crushed the cell with the heel of her four inch wedges.

"You are crazy, lady. Let me go now and I won't have to have you whacked."

She laughed at his empty bravado. "If the likes of you could kill me, I'd deserve it. But since that is not gonna happen in your lifetime, genius, you need to pay attention." The psychotic redhead leaned in a little closer. "You know sometimes you come to a point in your life when it's time to move on. For you that time is right now. I'm going to be generous and I don't want you to take that as a sign of weakness. I'm just not interested in having to dump your body today, so I'm going to give you a day to clear out."

The business end of the firearm left his head. But before her victim could make a move, the cold metal had been replaced by a razor sharp blade against his cheek. "Just so we understand each other, I think you would benefit from a little demonstration of what will happen if anything should happen to me or my friend, the one you poked in the ribs."

The urban guerilla punctuated her sentence by removing the blade of her butterfly knife from the young thug's cheek only to burying it into his calf muscle and all of a sudden, the younger man was screaming like a little girl in her opinion, white hot pain lancing though his left leg notwithstanding.

Inside the large space over a currently empty night club, the two former military men were suddenly distracted from their attempts to salvage something edible from the semi-sodden pizza.

"That didn't sound good," Sam remarked as Michael slipped away from the wooden slatted table where he had been trying to find something in the morass of dough, cheese and tomato sauce that he thought he could eat. Peering out the dirty windows, he couldn't locate the source of the shrieking.

"Is that my imagination or did that sound like that skinny goon you just put a thumb lock on?"

"Yea it did," the disgraced operative agreed while all his senses went on high alert. He started to move stealthily towards the heavy metal door which led out onto the staircase. There was no good cover once the heavy object had been opened fully.

In her place of concealment, the gunrunner was quickly trying to get her hostage under control.

"Shut up!" Fiona barked. "Shut up before I do worse to you. You have twenty four hours to leave Miami. If I see you, if one of your friends comes after me man, I will hunt ya down an' whot I'll do ta ya –" Her South Beach accent started to slip as her ire rose. "Well, I don't think you want to find out what I can do to you... D'ya understand?" As she spoke, Fiona was hurriedly searching through her shoulder bag, finally producing a roll of pink duck tape and a clean handkerchief.

"Yes...yes!" the skinny buzz-headed blonde whimpered.

Fiona heard the door to the loft open and looked up guiltily. From their position, she knew they couldn't see what had happened, but if the blond ninny didn't stop bleating immediately they would soon come looking. Anyone would have thought she had tried to murder the wannabe gangster.

"The wound is not that bad, ya big baby. Use this to wrap it for now." The fiery redhead tossed him the tape and makeshift padding. "That should take care of the blood loss 'til you can get to a hospital. If you're quick, you may not walk with a limp. Get going and do it quietly!"

She watched dispassionately as the drug dealer snatched up the tape and with shaking hands began to bind his leg. "You smashed my phone. How am I supposed to get to the hospital?"

"Did you hear that, Mike?" The unseen voice of her hated enemy was joined by the sound of a creaking metal step.

"Definitely your neighbor," the voice of her ex-lover agreed. She couldn't see Michael, but she could guess where he was and what he was about to do.

She pressed the blade against his throat. "Didn't I tell you to keep it down, Billy Idol? You make another peep and a limp will be the least of your problems. Now run along before I really get mad."

Moving unseen from her hiding place, pleased to not hear anything coming from Sugar but some low suppressed grunts and the sound of gravel scrapping, Fiona walked to the gate and slipped through to stand in the open. Neither Michael nor Sam needed to see her handiwork until she'd a chance to tell them herself what she had done. Michael could be so critical when it came to her methods of restoring order.

"Hello, Michael." She smiled up at him, amused at his attempt to cover his startled expression.

"Fiona, you're… here?" He glanced from the Irishwoman to the ex-SEAL at his side and then back to her again. Great, just great… "I thought I told you, now is not really a great time for –"

"Oh Jesus, Mike, you didn't tell me she's here," Sam shouted from behind him. Michael tried not to groan out loud as what he was so desperately trying to avoid was unfolding whether he wanted it to or not. He could hear the loathing in the older man's tone and see the fury in petite woman's blue green orbs. The feeling was clearly mutual.

"You cost me a lot of money, you sonuvabitch." The former terrorist turned gunrunner stepped forward, temper rising at the sight of her foe. "I've been waiting to talk to you for a long time."

"I cost you?" Mr Axe spat the words out. He had already pushed past his buddy and was making his way down the steps. "Okay, for starters, what you're talking about never officially happened, alright?" He thrust a finger at her to make his point, his other hand with a death grip on the railing. "But unofficially, even if it had, you deserved a helluva worse than what you got, lady."

"That was a legitimate purchase," she countered hotly as she started to close the distance between her position and theirs. "The US government had no business—"

This is not going to end well, Michael decided as he attempted to get back between the pair.

"Yeah, legitimate…? A Libyan arms dealer…? How do you figure that?" Sam scoffed.

The sole of her sandal crunched on glass and she looked down. There was half a smashed beer bottle that the burned spy knew from experience was just waiting to serve a purpose. In one swift move, the petite paramilitary picked up the complete end and hurled it at where the ex-SEAL should have been standing; only he had already read her moves and pushed Sam to the side.

"It was a private transaction!" Fiona shouted, clearly as mad in that moment at him for thwarting her attack as she was at the older man for costing her a deal.

"Private? What are – "

"Hey! Hey guys, quit it. Just quit it." Michael was between them now, holding out his hands palm out. The reckless redhead dropped into a crouch, intent on continuing her attack. "I mean it, Fi. Dammit, just stop already."

Once the two antagonists were silent but still obviously seething, he dropped his hands and sighed.

There's a reason spies don't have a lot of parties. Everybody's got a history with everyone else.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his eyes to the petite woman who was watching him through angry eyes. "Fiona, it was nice of you to come by, but Sam and I have things to discuss."

"Discuss… with him…?" the Irishwoman sneered.

"Please Fi, I – " Looking between the two, the former CIA operative was thinking fast, trying to figure how to permanently separate the combatants when the last thing he needed happened.

He stopped talking and looked at his phone display before moving past Fiona as if she wasn't there.

The dark haired man could feel the incredulous energy behind him, but needed to get away from both of them and fast. "Sorry I gotta take this…" Michael mumbled and kept moving before the voice on the other end could be overheard by his host and his uninvited guest.

If Sam and Fiona feuding was a problem, adding Larry Sizemore to the mix was an utter nightmare.