A/N: This is set during 6.10 Desperate Times and covers Fiona's thoughts after she walks out on the mission brief before the extraction attempt on Tyler Gray. This is a companion piece that continues the story from "While Fiona Sleeps" Chapter 12 and will be followed up by a new chapter of "Bed Time Stories." This story references the events which occurred following the death of Fiona's sister Claire that are described in the great detail in "Victims of War" by Jedi's Pal (my first collaboration with Purdy's Pal ).

This vignette also references scenes that were depicted in the last few installments of "Who We Once Were" by the amazing Purdy's Pal over on the M-page, including an upcoming chapter, so keep an eye out for Chapter 15 coming soon. As always, much love to the LRTC, the ladies on Twitter and all the Burners still out there in BN FF Land.

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The mattress was comfortable enough, considering its age and condition and that of everything else in the old vacant dilapidated hotel, but the metal frame squeaked incessantly at the slightest movement. Despite her considerable skills at stealth, no sooner than Fiona Glenanne had tried to slip away from her bed mate, the traitorous thing protested her movements, making no small amount of noise in the still night.

"Fi…?" Michael muttered, disoriented from being disturbed after finally achieving REM sleep. His hand was already searching for the gun under his pillow.

"Tis alright," she whispered. "I'm just going to the loo."

He held on a few moments more and the redhead thought she was going to have to get insistent when he relinquished his grip. Taking his SIG loosely into his right hand, Michael turned onto his stomach, pulling her pillow into the warm space she had left.

"Don' trip," he slurred, as she padded softly around the room towards the adjoining bathroom. It was the least damaged of the rest rooms she had scouted earlier in the day while there had still been light enough and the bed was satisfactory albeit loud.

The Irishwoman had already taken the precaution of clearing the debris out of her path earlier and so spent a moment standing there watching her lover struggle to keep his eyes open trying to follow her progress towards the doorway that separated the two rooms. The door hung partially off the frame at an odd angle but she assumed he'd see her well enough in the sparse illumination from her pen light.

By the time she'd finished, the sun was barely starting to change the color of the sky. Fiona went to the window rather than wake her dark haired boyfriend. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore and he needed to be as well rested as possible under the circumstances. He'd finally lain down with her late enough.

She snorted softly. If she knew Michael Westen at all, and know him she did, he had probably been studying the mission specs and patrolling the perimeter long after everyone else had turned in because he was meticulous that way…

And because he was likely hoping she'd be sound asleep by the time he went to turn in.

Fiona sighed. There was a part of her that regretted how at odds they had been lately and another part of her that wanted to kick his ass for being such an ass of late.

"Michael, what the hell were you thinking bringing the CIA into this?"

In the weeks since the head of the Pryon Group had been shot dead at the Palme D'Or in the middle of lunch rush, she'd been working all her high end gun running connections nationally and internationally to see if somebody knew who the hell Tyler Gray was or anyone matching his profile. However, the man was a ghost apparently.

Not to mention the fact that very few of her people were willing to talk to her now after that unpleasant business with Grayson Miller… She was persona non grata.

But as time had dragged on and Michael was having no more success in finding the elusive assassin than he was in getting his mother to take his phone calls, the covert operative had become more desperate. He knew damned well how she had felt about bringing the Agency into what she viewed as a private family matter… which was probably why he had gone behind her back in contacting the odious Tom Card.

"Fi…. I guess Sam told you."

"Yeah well I guess he's not as comfortable lying to me as some people are."

Unfortunately for the sneaky spy, she had been at the Darabont having a chat with the former naval commander about the status of the investigation and Michael's mental state after an unproductive meeting with Ryan Dwyer, Marcus' eldest and heir apparent to the arms business, when the man himself had called to let Sam know what he'd been up to.

And it hadn't taken much to get the ex-SEAL to spill the beans on his buddy.

"This is a huge mistake, Michael, a huge mistake."

"I didn't have a choice here. I had to. We hit a wall and I needed the resources."

"You know as well as I do their resources come with strings and every time we involve them, everything gets more complicated!"

Those two idiots Manero and Bailey getting their hands on the contract Tom Card had forced her to sign to secure her freedom and nearly getting her blown up because they couldn't properly vet an asset was merely the latest example of why the CIA should have remained in their collective rear view mirror.

"Fi, you suggested I call the CIA."

"Well, that was before they ruined Agent Pearce's career."

She had told him to contact Pearce, not the Company. The Agency and its agents were clearly not the same thing especially since Max had been murdered and Dani disgraced.

"I'm sorry, Fi, but I'm not gonna let the man who killed my brother get away. I don't care who I have to work with."

The weary woman heaved another low sigh, looking from the colors starting to bleed into and penetrate the darkness on the horizon and the unmoving figure on the bed. Being willing to work with anyone is exactly how she'd ended working with O'Neill.

Whatever had happened between her lover and his mother before he'd arrived to meet them at the airfield had left Michael completely shut down and incapable of focusing on anything except getting on a plane to Panama. Even Sam and Jesse had agreed with her the tactical plan of trusting the CIA implicitly without some other options on the table was not good strategy. There'd been a few tense moments before boarding at Opa Locka.

But she had understood exactly how he'd felt and that had scared the hell out of her.

Because guilt over her part in Claire's death had lit a fiery wrath inside her that nothing but blood could quench and the longer she'd been delayed, the hotter it had burned. The head of the clan had forbidden her to act on her own, but she wasn't going to hang about.

It had taken her two weeks to find somebody willing to sell Liam Glenanne's little sister sufficient arms for her one woman war. Thomas O'Neill hated the British and every Protestant in Northern Ireland with a burning passion that she had never seen matched, even by her Auntie Claire, and the young hooligan had had exactly what she'd needed.

Until her big brother had discovered her plan and taken a hammer ta Tommy's teeth and sent him back home to his sister in Spain in a 55 gallon drum as an example of what happened to people foolish enough to go up against the PIRA's premier interrogator…

However, horrid as it was, that was not the actual motive for the Irish terrorist wanting to put her up on the auction block years later. No, the real reason had to do with her actions during those hellish months after Michael Westen had abandoned her in the middle of the night and the fiery urban guerilla had chosen to continue their former mutual mission of destroying the RIRA. It had given her a purpose in the wake of his cowardly desertion and a means to vent her rage at him on someone else who was equally deserving of pain.

"O'Neill thought I was as radical as he was and he told me about a bombing he was planning at a prep school."

"And you made sure those explosives never made it to the target."

She glanced over her shoulder momentarily at her slumbering lover. Michael dinnae know tha half o' it. She had done far more than that. Thomas O'Neill had thought he would be resurrecting the remains of the Real IRA with Fiona Glenanne at his side. He had had grand plans indeed for them to become the King and Queen of Irish resistance.

Thomas Eugene O'Neill had thought very wrong.

Her preferred solution to the problem of Tommy's bloodthirsty plan had involved setting a roadside bomb of her own, which had caused the deadly ordinance hidden on the school bus to explode before it was full of the children of Belfast's Protestant elite. She'd planted it on an empty stretch of road near the vehicle depot to prevent the loss of innocent life.

The explosion had left a massive crater in the road with the blackened tangled remains of the bus laying on its side thirty feet away from the blast. The only deaths that day had been the unfortunate bus driver kidnapped by O'Neill's lackeys and the last of the ultra-radicals that O'Neill had recruited who'd been riding along make sure the driver didn't try to alert the police of his lethal load. Thomas had been quite ready to claim credit and reignite the fires of true patriots everywhere when he'd suddenly found himself running ahead of a Provo death squad who were quite keen to finish off the last of the RIRA.

"A few years later, he resurfaced and came after me. It's one of the reasons I left home."

That Scarlett O'Neill's little brother had been able to slip past the Glenanne security and come after his little sister on their own turf had had Liam insisting she leave Eire. It had led to her returning to work on a professional basis for her former lover Mssr Andreani.

"After Fi left, O'Neill disappeared again. I'd hoped he'd blown himself up. But when word got out Fi was in touch with folks in Dublin, suddenly ONeill's back on the grid and on his way to Miami."

But that bloody bastard would not have had the opportunity to come after her again if not for that other sonuvabitch, who had poured his own special poison in Michael's ear.

Tom Strickler… Just thinking about him even now three years later made her skin crawl.

"If I want my old job back, he's the guy that can make it happen."

"The fact that he's a weasel doesn't give you pause?"

If it had given Michael any second thoughts, he had certainly kept them to himself.

"I'm worried about you."

That should have been his biggest clue.

She never worried…

About anything…

Ever…

But by the time she'd pleaded with him to not go down that dark path, it was too late.

"Working with someone like Strickler, it changes you, little by little."

"He's the only one who can get me back in. What do you want me to do?"

"You do what you have to do. I understand." She hadn't understood at all. Why couldn't he see what he was doing to himself? However, in that moment, she had known one thing with absolute clarity. "I just can't stay here… in Miami… and watch."

But going home hadn't worked out so well. Fiona's hand unconsciously rose to rub over the puckered mark on her bicep where a random bullet from someone's gun had scored it while she was jumping handcuffed into the water to get away from the men intent on taking her back to Ireland in chains to put her up for sale. She shuddered at the memory.

And now going home was no longer possible… thanks ta thot bastid O'Neill and ta thot fecker Strickler… an' ta losin' me heart ta a Yank spy nar thot everyone knew tha truth…

The Irishwoman glanced again at her man finally looking as though he was actually sleeping peacefully, something she knew wouldn't last, and turned her gaze once again to the view over the horizon. She had been such a different person when she'd first met him.

The sky over the Irish Sea had been black and angry when she'd snuck over to Scotland on her way to avenge Claire's murder and neither the strong winds, driving rain nor tossing seas could quell her anticipation. Soon she would be in Norwich and Private Keith Cramer would pay for his sins. And in a crowded bus station, she'd had revenge.

But that hadn't been the end of it. She had joined her brother in the bombing campaign. As much as she'd wanted at the time to personally be a part of placing the devices, Fiona had contented herself with constructing the explosives Sean and his cohorts would be using. Given the amount of damage the Docklands blast had caused to the South Quay area of London, overall she'd been content the loss of life had been limited to two people.

Leaving behind a well-hidden stash of devices, the fiery paramilitary had gone to meet with her brother Seamus and his family in Egypt so she could personally give the news to her mother of the death of the man responsible for Claire's murder… and to get out of England following the planting of her handiwork at various places.

Fiona had planned on spending some time with her mam and then meeting up with Jeannie before coming home to complete the illusion that they'd been travelling together this whole time when one Edward O'Brien had mishandled one of her deadly packages and blown himself up along with injuring eight others and she'd been called back to duty.

And the fiery freedom fighter had been proud of her handiwork months later, the 1500 kg truck bomb being the largest device to go off on British shores since World War II causing devastating damage to Manchester's economy and infrastructure with no loss of life. She'd been less thrilled with being arrested in Derry when she'd returned and beaten unmercifully at the station by a couple of prisoners before Liam's lawyer had arrived.

When next she'd fallen in with the South Ambagh snipers, then something had begun to stir within her. By the time she'd made the explosives that cost the British transportation industry 30 million pounds sterling and closed Heathrow Airport and the M25 motorway, the petite paramilitary had begun to have a serious change of heart. She came to realize that she couldn't personally kill every British soldier stationed in their homeland nor traitorous politician at Stormont. Maybe it had been time to finally give peace a chance…

As such she had been quite eager to join Sean's assignment for the Provo as undercover provocateur intent on derailing the Real IRA before they in turn could disrupt the peace process… in addition to her livelihood robbing banks and payroll trucks for the Cause.

And then she had met a certain dark haired man named Michael McBride…

The slender woman looked towards the spy who'd captured her heart before she'd known his true name, turning her whole body in his direction and leaning her head and shoulders back into the peeling window sill behind her as Michael muttered something in his sleep.

"…You must be Fiona Glenanne… Nice to meet you…."

She had crossed her arms over her chest, snubbing the extended hand of Agent Pressman.

"So you're the one the CIA has running this op?"

"On paper, yeah, but we're all in this together, right?"

"I guess so."

As she had swanned off towards the sad edifice of their temporary headquarters in San Miguelito, she'd heard Michael making excuses for her admittedly rude behavior.

"Did I say something?"

"She's just jet lagged."

Fiona exhaled a long silent breath, trying to center her turbulent emotions. It wasn't the CIA officer himself she had a problem with, it was what he represented. The government had no business in their business. If Brady had been part of the team that had tried to capture Anson, then he had been part of the failure that had led to Nate's death.

That she didn't trust him was an understatement, any more than the Irishwoman trusted the rest of the organization he and Michael were a part of. The assassin was to blame. He took a shot he shouldn't have and that should be the end of it… except it wouldn't be.

Somebody had ordered the hit on Anson Fullerton… It would only take a minimal amount of persuasion on the part of Tom Card or William Raines to lure their operative back into cleaning house for them again with the promise of finding the man behind the gun.

If she of all people could learn to let something go for the sake of the bigger picture, couldn't her obsessive boyfriend learn to let something go for the sake of them together?

She bit her lip as she watched the motionless man, still except for the slow rise and fall of his torso, knowing that he had been right about it not being over with the organization that had burned him, as badly as she had wanted it to be not so. But the reinstated spy had insisted on pulling on the threads until their whole lives had unraveled. Was it worth it?

"I realize working with us is more akin to a shotgun wedding than a romantic courtship, but you have done it before," Tom Card had plastered a smarmy smile on his face.

"Well, that was for Michael, not you."

She had worked with the CIA for him, helped him chase his burn notice, watched as he'd tried to get back in until she couldn't anymore, offered to die with him and gone to prison to stop him from destroying himself, which was how she'd come to be chained to a steel table incarcerated ironically for a bombing she hadn't done with someone she despised.

"I got it. You're not joining my fan club anytime soon. It's sad, but I've come to terms with it. Listen to me carefully please. The deal that Michael Westen has been offered has a solid shot to get you out of here. I'm just trying to help."

"The last time you helped me you pulled Michael out of Ireland without so much as a goodbye."

Fiona ground her teeth in frustration. Jus' tryin' ta help me arse… Jus' tryin' ta help yarselves ta Michael's soul again! She knew it would only take the slightest push.

Then two noises competed for her attention: the sound of an engine turning off, the vehicle coasting and the screech of the mattress springs as her lover turned towards her, the slowly spreading daylight from the window behind lighting his weary handsome face.

Why wa' it so impossible ta stay angry wit' thot bloody frustratin' man o' mine?

She'd turned away from Michael when he'd finally come to bed last night because she hadn't want to argue with tha stubborn idjit again. The Irishwoman had made her feelings about the entire affair abundantly clear. There was nothing more to say. But then he'd embraced her, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart hammering against her back and she'd immediately felt a slow burn of remorse. As sick as she was having the CIA in her life, the shrew wife to the man she played mistress to, he was not to blame this time.

And then he had been kissing her, a delicate press of lips to her neck and shoulder, and her ire had melted away as Fiona had thought briefly about how much noise Sam, Jesse or Brady might hear if they were to decide to do something more, but they hadn't after all.

The squeaking had continued until he'd finally settled down to sleep and now in the present, the metallic groan caught her attention again as her lover rolled onto his back, folding his arms over his chest, still holding his weapon at his side.

The noise reminded her of another time when the guest bed in her mother's house had made God's own noise as she'd slipped into her boyfriend's room that first night they had come to meet her family. Michael had been so angry, afraid of the trouble he might be in.

"Did ya think it wa' me brudder comin' fer ya fer darin' ta sleep wit' his little sister, McBride?" She'd dropped her dressing gown on the floor and had to stifle a laugh at his thunder stuck expression whilst seeing her naked form on display before him. "When in reality tis tha little sister who has come ta do unspeakable things ta yar body…" And she'd left him there, trembling on the edge of bliss, her perfect promised revenge for what had happened in the secret compartment of a truck on its way to Murphy's Demolition.

Fiona chuckled softly, turning back to the window, remembering how mad he still had been at breakfast the next morning, already showered and downstairs before she had even gotten out of bed, his perfect smile frozen in place but his baleful blue eyes glaring at her when her kinfolk weren't looking. The weekend had been a huge success, winning acceptance with her family and then he'd spun her out for hours once they got back to her little flat.

Life had seemed so perfect then with Michael McBride at her side. Little had she known what the future would hold… Staring into the amazing blue hues of the Panamanian morning, she was reminded again of the sky over the Irish Sea, this time her mind drifting to their trip to Rathlin Island, a blissful week away from the war on the streets, just the two of them in a quaint fisherman's cottage, a getaway he'd tricked her into going on.

She'd found out that her lover wasn't a lad from Kilkenny but an American spy named Michael Westen. In the weeks since she'd given him that half-moon scar on his chest to remember her by, the CIA agent had avoided contact with her as she'd ordered, but continued to pursue the mission he'd been given by his British masters and she'd watched from afar, struggling to understand why she hadn't just put a bullet in him when she'd learned the truth, even passing on intel to him in hopes of stopping the Omagh bomb.

In the wake of that failure to prevent the deaths of twenty nine people, the Irishwoman had furious but also surprised at the level of his own wrath against those who had refused to act on the information given and when he'd begged her to help with an even more important mission, one that could save countless more lives, she had agreed to do so.

Fiona smiled at the beautiful day, so lost in her memories that she didn't notice the vehicle that had silently rolled into place right at dawn. Sitting on the bow of a small boat bobbing on the waves of the Irish Sea, her heart had been racing while he'd pleaded with her for her forgiveness, that by working together instead of apart they could be so much more effective in doing what they both had committed to do, to stop the killing and give peace a chance and then he'd confessed that he didn't want to do it without her anymore.

The petite redhead heard him moving around on the bed again, the soft thud of his hand hitting where her body should be and the squawk of the mattress as he stirred. If she could be convinced to do the unforgivable act of colluding and sleeping with a foreign operative, surely she could convince her lover to recognize that he didn't have to save the whole world that he could be content with just cleaning up their own little corner of it.

Just them… Together… working side by side… Just like they had been back in Ireland…

And if she had to put a bullet in Tyler Grey herself to make sure it ended there, then she would do exactly that, regardless of what Sam, Jesse… or even Michael himself thought.