BURN NOTICE: A Girl Like You - Chapter Two
Title: A Girl Like You
Chapter: And Now You've Come Along (2/10)
Characters/Pairing: Michael/Fiona
Word Count: 900
Rating: PG
Summary: Never accept offers of help from pretty Irish girls.
Notes: Written for 10_per_genre fluff table, prompt #9.
Disclaimer: Michael and Fiona belong to Matt Nix, who is on strike 'indefinitely'. I support Matt Nix and the entire WGA! For more information please visit the WGA Website and/or wga_supporters.
<< Previous Chapter
So here's the thing. A spy doesn't always rely on being anonymous and staying unnoticed - but most of the time it really, really helps. Finding out someone's worked out who you are, especially in a foreign country in a city where working for the US government (or any government), even indirectly, could get you shot? Never fun.
It isn't finding Fiona in the room I'm renting that worries me. I actually manage to keep my reaction to a minimum, as I open the door and there she is, lounging against the wall, my gun in her hand. I blink and close the door behind me, calmly as I can.
"Hi, Fiona..." Talk slowly, soothingly, like you would to a big and overly aggressive dog. Maybe then she won't shoot me,because I can't really think of any other compelling reason for her to be here. Then again, she doesn't look like someone planning to shoot anyone, angry or annoyed or...
She looks amused.
"I've been waiting for you for almost an hour." She pushes herself away from the wall and starts walking across the room, toward me.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. If I'd known you were expecting me... for what, exactly?"
"Oh, nothing important." The shabby couch stands between the two of us - I didn't buy it, it came with the place. I'm not even used to having furniture in my apartments. She stops and leans forward against the couch, arms folded and braced on the back of it. The way that displays her cleavage can not be unintentional, though I'm doing my best to ignore it. "I just wanted to say hi, Michael."
That does worry me. The kind of worry that makes your heart jump, makes you stop breathing for a second. No big deal.
"Iiiii... think you might have the wrong person, but if I run into Michael, I'll be sure to give him the message."
"Oh, please. Does that really work for you?" It's hard to keep an eye on where the gun is when both her hands are just behind the couch. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's doing this just to frustrate me. Although, now that I think about it, I don't know better, so I can't even rule that out.
"Hardly ever. What do you want?"
"I really did mean what I said." She tilts her head to one side, the taut line of her neck standing out. It's extremely distracting, somehow, and I think she knows it.
"About what?"
"I just wanted to talk."
"You know, every time someone says that to me, something goes wrong, and people get shot at."
Fiona straightens up, holds up the gun for me to see, and then tosses it to me. I catch it, praying the safety's on, and grip it uncertainly. No spy - or IRA agent - is going to give up their only weapon that easily, so she's obviously got another one. I just can't figure out where she's keeping it - there aren't many places on her outfit where she'd be able to conceal a gun.
"See?" she says with a smile. "I'm not going to shoot you."
Not just yet, at least.
I check the gun absently, only taking my eyes off her for a second. It doesn't look like it's been tampered with, but I'm certainly not going to trust it until I've made sure. "Alright. What are we talking about?"
Bracing herself on the back of the couch, Fiona hops over it to sit facing me, calmly crossing her legs and folding her hands on her laps with a patently false innocent smile. "I wanted to talk about you, Michael!" All bright and cheerful and entirely mocking. I have to wonder if she's like this with everyone, or if I'm the only one who gets this attitude.
"And here I was under the impression you knew everything about me."
"Why would you think that?"
"Well, you knew my name..."
"Oh, that was easy. I traced your gun."
I frowned and gripped my gun, feeling... strangely violated. And where had she even found the resources to... Never mind.
"So what don't you know about me?"
"All sorts of things, I'm sure. But just now? What you're doing here, for a start." As if that Irish accent of hers isn't charming enough, she flashes me a smile I'm sure has convinced many a man to give away more than just a little information.
"No."
The smile doesn't waver even a bit. She's good. And extremely confident, considering I'm holding the gun. "Excuse me?"
"I can't tell you that."
"If you're going to go around keeping me from doing my job, I think I should-"
"That was a one time thing! I wasn't exactly going to make a habit of it."
"I want to help you."
That surprises me. And worries me. Either she doesn't know what I'm doing and is just crazy, or she does know and wants in for reasons that can't be any good at all, and certainly won't help me.
"Sorry, no."
She takes it well, bounding off the couch and starting toward me - or just the door, it's really hard to tell. I step out of the way, holding the door open for her, and she walks by, still with that confident smile. "Fine. I'll see you around, Michael."
"I really doubt it," I answer, as I let the door go and it swings shut behind her. If things go well, I should be out of the country within the week.
Chapter: And Now You've Come Along (2/10)
Characters/Pairing: Michael/Fiona
Word Count: 900
Rating: PG
Summary: Never accept offers of help from pretty Irish girls.
Notes: Written for 10_per_genre fluff table, prompt #9.
Disclaimer: Michael and Fiona belong to Matt Nix, who is on strike 'indefinitely'. I support Matt Nix and the entire WGA! For more information please visit the WGA Website and/or wga_supporters.
<< Previous Chapter
So here's the thing. A spy doesn't always rely on being anonymous and staying unnoticed - but most of the time it really, really helps. Finding out someone's worked out who you are, especially in a foreign country in a city where working for the US government (or any government), even indirectly, could get you shot? Never fun.
It isn't finding Fiona in the room I'm renting that worries me. I actually manage to keep my reaction to a minimum, as I open the door and there she is, lounging against the wall, my gun in her hand. I blink and close the door behind me, calmly as I can.
"Hi, Fiona..." Talk slowly, soothingly, like you would to a big and overly aggressive dog. Maybe then she won't shoot me,because I can't really think of any other compelling reason for her to be here. Then again, she doesn't look like someone planning to shoot anyone, angry or annoyed or...
She looks amused.
"I've been waiting for you for almost an hour." She pushes herself away from the wall and starts walking across the room, toward me.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. If I'd known you were expecting me... for what, exactly?"
"Oh, nothing important." The shabby couch stands between the two of us - I didn't buy it, it came with the place. I'm not even used to having furniture in my apartments. She stops and leans forward against the couch, arms folded and braced on the back of it. The way that displays her cleavage can not be unintentional, though I'm doing my best to ignore it. "I just wanted to say hi, Michael."
That does worry me. The kind of worry that makes your heart jump, makes you stop breathing for a second. No big deal.
"Iiiii... think you might have the wrong person, but if I run into Michael, I'll be sure to give him the message."
"Oh, please. Does that really work for you?" It's hard to keep an eye on where the gun is when both her hands are just behind the couch. If I didn't know better, I'd think she's doing this just to frustrate me. Although, now that I think about it, I don't know better, so I can't even rule that out.
"Hardly ever. What do you want?"
"I really did mean what I said." She tilts her head to one side, the taut line of her neck standing out. It's extremely distracting, somehow, and I think she knows it.
"About what?"
"I just wanted to talk."
"You know, every time someone says that to me, something goes wrong, and people get shot at."
Fiona straightens up, holds up the gun for me to see, and then tosses it to me. I catch it, praying the safety's on, and grip it uncertainly. No spy - or IRA agent - is going to give up their only weapon that easily, so she's obviously got another one. I just can't figure out where she's keeping it - there aren't many places on her outfit where she'd be able to conceal a gun.
"See?" she says with a smile. "I'm not going to shoot you."
Not just yet, at least.
I check the gun absently, only taking my eyes off her for a second. It doesn't look like it's been tampered with, but I'm certainly not going to trust it until I've made sure. "Alright. What are we talking about?"
Bracing herself on the back of the couch, Fiona hops over it to sit facing me, calmly crossing her legs and folding her hands on her laps with a patently false innocent smile. "I wanted to talk about you, Michael!" All bright and cheerful and entirely mocking. I have to wonder if she's like this with everyone, or if I'm the only one who gets this attitude.
"And here I was under the impression you knew everything about me."
"Why would you think that?"
"Well, you knew my name..."
"Oh, that was easy. I traced your gun."
I frowned and gripped my gun, feeling... strangely violated. And where had she even found the resources to... Never mind.
"So what don't you know about me?"
"All sorts of things, I'm sure. But just now? What you're doing here, for a start." As if that Irish accent of hers isn't charming enough, she flashes me a smile I'm sure has convinced many a man to give away more than just a little information.
"No."
The smile doesn't waver even a bit. She's good. And extremely confident, considering I'm holding the gun. "Excuse me?"
"I can't tell you that."
"If you're going to go around keeping me from doing my job, I think I should-"
"That was a one time thing! I wasn't exactly going to make a habit of it."
"I want to help you."
That surprises me. And worries me. Either she doesn't know what I'm doing and is just crazy, or she does know and wants in for reasons that can't be any good at all, and certainly won't help me.
"Sorry, no."
She takes it well, bounding off the couch and starting toward me - or just the door, it's really hard to tell. I step out of the way, holding the door open for her, and she walks by, still with that confident smile. "Fine. I'll see you around, Michael."
"I really doubt it," I answer, as I let the door go and it swings shut behind her. If things go well, I should be out of the country within the week.