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For nutmeg3.

Title: Hero in a Text
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Burn Notice
Ship: Michael Westen/Fiona Glenanne
Rating: PG-13
Summary: We hear each other clearly, and yet I want to return to you.
Notes: No spoilers.

The club downstairs was thumping more loudly than usual, but unfortunately, Michael couldn't blame his distraction on the music or the crowds. He squinted down at the remains of the cell phone on his counter. It was an old Nokia model that didn't have any fancy features, but when divested of its SIM card, allowed for a tiny amount of plastic explosive.

This was the third cell phone he'd melted in the past hour, and it was all Fiona's fault.

She was, once again, painting her nails while sitting on his bed, and he grumbled, "It's impossible to wash metallic nail polish out, you know."

Fiona smirked, slouching back and displaying her half-done pedicure. Michael very carefully did not examine the expanse of leg revealed as her miniskirt drifted even further up her thighs.

"And I'm working with explosives, Fi," he pointed out. "The fumes aren't a good mix."

"Really, Michael?" Fiona looked at him then, exasperated. "You're going to lecture me on explosives?"

He shrugged, and when she smirked and crossed her legs, he turned his attention to the ceiling and counted to ten. "Fi," he tried, "didn't Sam need surveillance work done at LIV?" He tossed the ceiling a friendly smile. "I know you've been wanting an excuse to--"

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Michael?" At some point, she'd wandered to his side, and she slid a hand over his wrist. "I thought since we don't have any big jobs right now--"

"I need to work on this," Michael said. He gestured at the lumps of melted plastic strewn over the table. "If I can get this to work properly--"

"Fine." Fiona stepped back. "Have fun playing with your explosives alone." She cast an envious glance at the block of C-4, then swept out of the apartment, taking her warmth and her perfume with her.

Michael drummed his fingers against the counter, then finished his sentence. "--then you won't have to crawl under cars in the middle of the afternoon." He dropped his head and stopped thinking for a full minute, and then he pried open yet another discarded phone.


In the middle of the night, he twitched, then woke, sweeping his hand under his pillow and rising to point a gun at the door.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "I left my nail polish here," she said, leaning back against the door to shut it. "I can't wear sandals if I'm only half-finished."

Michael shifted to the side of the bed, and traded the gun for the tiny bottle he'd set on the floor. "It tipped over and ruined the sheets," he groused. "Do you know what my mother will say if I borrow yet another set from her?"

The mattress dipped, and when he rolled over, Fiona straddled his hips. "Let's not talk about your mother right now." She rocked back, and Michael head bounced on the pillow as he arched.

"Okay," he breathed.

"In fact, Michael," she murmured, "maybe we just shouldn't talk."

He nodded, and when she curved over him, he looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer.


Michael woke long after dawn had come. Fiona slept beside him, and he found he was surprised. In the morning's heat, she'd kicked the sheets off, even though her arm was still looped around his waist.

He kissed her forehead, then squirmed further down the bed to taste her shoulder, then her throat. She woke with a moan, her nails digging against his skin. "Michael," she said, and she tangled her legs around one of his thighs, pressing sweetly close.

"Good morning," he said, sweeping a hand up her side.

"Good morning," she replied, and her smile was soft as she met his gaze. She touched his cheek briefly, her thumb grazing his lower lip. "Have breakfast with me?"

"Yeah," he said, pushing his hips forward, "but I--"

His phone rang, and he jerked, almost out of her arms.

"Michael," she said again, and if it weren't Fiona, she'd sound pleading. "Don't answer."

He hesitated, and the phone rang again. It cut off mid-ring, and Michael grinned. "Guess it wasn't important," he said.

Fiona rolled her eyes, a scowl tugging at her lips. He kissed her, softly, and she bit him, denying the apology.


A/N: Title and summary adapted from Eavan Boland's Love.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Nov. 7th, 2010 03:20 am (UTC)
Thank you. This was definitely one of the best presents I've received lately. :-) ::goes back to reread::
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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