I woke up as the sun started peeking through the windows of the loft. I didn't get up yet, I didn't see the point. Sure, I had the little job Sam and I were working on right now but every day was still pretty much routine anymore. Now that Fi was gone. It'd been a little over a month now, since she'd left. Said I was going to leave anyway someday and she didn't see the point of staying and getting her heart broken again. Every day I regretted it. Every day I wished I'd fought harder to get her to stay. But I hadn't. And it was too late now. She hadn't even let me know where she was going. I tried calling her once, but I'd only gotten a message telling me the phone number was no longer in use. It was then that I really gave up. She really had moved on this time. There was no turning back.
I rolled off the mattress with a groan, blinking against the light and trudging to the fridge for a yogurt. The mornings were always the worst. I was alone in the mornings, alone with just my thoughts. Sometimes I could force my thoughts to stay on whatever job I'd picked up but most of the time they just weren't interesting enough to stave off thoughts of Fiona. I'd eat my yogurt, take my shower, get in some clean clothes and drive off to wherever Sam was staying at the time. We didn't spend much time at the loft anymore. It was just one of those natural changes that came with Fiona's absence. Neither of us said anything about it, but I got the feeling we both figured it seemed wrong to hang out where we used to with Fi. We barely even went to Carlito's anymore. Ma's house was the only place we ever spent any real time at that we had with Fi. I wasn't really a fan of that one either, as Ma would always very noticeably not mention Fiona.
I hated it. Everything revolved around her. I'd often find myself wondering how she would've taken care of a problem. It usually involved a bit of explosives and, if I really thought about, I was tending to use more Fiona-like methods. Another one of those natural changes, I guess.
My old co-workers would've said I was going soft. I wondered if I'd be acting like this if she had left back when I had a real job. I had left her in Ireland, true, but it was an entirely different situation to be the one left behind. I'd never known that. Fiona would probably make some comment about how now I knew how she had felt.
I stopped with the spoon halfway to my mouth when I heard the gate outside opening. I set down the yogurt and hurried to the mattress, grabbing the handgun under the pillow. Cautiously, I walked to the door, gun ready, and flung it open.
I couldn't believe it. I honestly could not believe my eyes. I felt foolish, but I blinked several times, as if expecting the person in front of me to vanish. It was worse than when Sam had shown up on my doorstep. With Sam, I hadn't been dwelling on her every single day, in fact, I'd all but forgotten about her. With Sam, I'd been the one who left. I'd left her for...
"Fi," I whispered.
She really did not look happy to be standing there. "Hi, Michael," she said, sounding annoyed. "Can I come in or do I have to stand out here?"
It still didn't seem real. "Uh, sure. Come on in."
She walked in comfortably, looking around her as if she was trying to notice any differences. I closed the door, still staring after her, at a complete loss as to how to react.
"Still the same here, huh?" she commented, going to the fridge and rummaging through. "No blueberry. Did you just run out?"
"Ah... no, I've started eating more mixed berry," I admitted, eyeing her for her reaction. Mixed berry had always been her favorite. She pulled a yogurt out nonchalantly and grabbed the spoon that I'd left by own cup.
"Finally converted to the light side of yogurt, then?" she said with a slight smile. I tried to smile back, though it probably came out as more of a grimace. There was near silence for a few moments, save the quiet sounds of Fiona eating. I couldn't stop staring at her, expecting her to disappear at any second. This couldn't be real. Why would she just...?
"You can just ask what I'm doing here, Michael," she said, giving me a raised eyebrow. "I don't bite. Well, I do, but that's different situation." She smirked, but it was almost to herself.
Okay, not the right direction for the conversation to be going. I cleared my throat. "Uh. You're back," I said, quite lamely. Dammit. She'd realize how much of an idiot I'd become in the past month and leave again.
"Yes, I am," she replied, amused. "Very astute of you, Michael. I'm not happy to be back, though."
I frowned, breaking out of my stupor somewhat. "Why not?"
"I had every intention of never coming back to Miami, Michael," she said, setting her yogurt down and leaning against the counter. "I left for a reason. And that reason still stands."
I felt pathetic. My heart had just plummeted to my toes and I was sure I had the expression of a sad puppy. I quickly tried to cover it up, but I wasn't sure how good of a job I was doing.
"Then why...?" I let the question hang there uneasily. Fiona closed her eyes and sighed, standing up straight before answering.
"I feel so cliché saying this, Michael," she told me, as if I was going to laugh at her, "but... well, I'm pregnant."
Either a swarm of invisible bees had suddenly appeared in the loft or I was really having some problems with this news.
"Ah..." I started, trying to catch up with my whirling mind, "Is it..."
"Yours?" she finished. "Yeah."
This really had to have been a dream. I was thinking about Fiona too much and now she was invading my sleep, too.
"Are you, uh..." I swallowed. "Are you going to keep it?"
Oh, wrong question. Fiona looked like she was going to smack me. Or knee me. Or just attack me in some sort of painful way.
"Yes, I'm going to keep it! Abortion is not an option."
I had no idea she felt so strongly about that. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me; she definitely had a soft spot for children.
"What about adoption?" I asked warily. She still looked angry, but she wasn't going to hurt me anymore. She glanced down (was she looking at the child?) and sighed.
"I don't know. I'm doing some research on it but I don't know if I really want to... give it up." She was looking at the child. Her hand had moved, sitting tenderly on her stomach.
It was then that it hit me. This was not a dream. This was real. This was happening. Fiona was back, but she didn't want it to be. She still wanted nothing to do with me, but had had this forced on her. She was pregnant. I was going to be a father. Of Fiona's kid, no less.
When you're a spy, you're trained to be able to take any sort of sudden change in stride and work with it. You aren't thrown off balance; you don't let surprise or shock get in your way. If something drastic happens, you do what you need to. You'll have time to be shocked later.
However, you're not trained to be able to do this when your ex-girlfriend, who you have quite the history with, tells you she's having your child.
Spies don't usually have children. Not only are you never home, not only are you not always the same person your family knows, but there is the whole danger factor. If something happens, your entire family is in danger. Some spies are willing to task the risk, but I never even considered it. Most spies don't even get involved in steady relationships. But, then again, most people weren't like Sam or Fiona. Both of them had been quite capable of taking care of themselves. It had probably been my only reason for actually getting into such relationships: because they were able to get rid of any threat that my work could give.
Children? Even a child of Fiona's would still depend on someone to feed them, clothe them, everything. Children were so dependent. Even teenagers, though they think they're independent and sass off anyone who tells them otherwise, rely on their parents for food, for a place to sleep. They'd love to think that they could take care of themselves in any threatening situation that might crop up, but they would lose it. I know I did the first couple of times.
"Michael? You look like you're gonna be sick."
I blinked. I was still staring at Fiona but she was also looking back now, looking uneasy. "If you are gonna be sick, please do it somewhere else. I don't think... morning sickness and all. It's a bitch."
Morning sickness. How could she just talk about something like that so casually? Her entire life had just been jerked upside down! Was I really making it too big of a deal?
Fiona was still watching me warily but seemed to decide that I wasn't going to be sick. She relaxed a bit, taking me in like she had the loft when she'd first walked in. "Any luck with the burn notice?" she asked, turning around suddenly and reaching for her yogurt.
Burn notice. Now, that was something I could talk about without having a mental breakdown. Babies? No. I walked up next to her, grabbing my forgotten yogurt and an extra spoon.
"Nothing. Just more dead ends and leads that look good until you look closer." I smiled slightly, as if it were funny. It wasn't, really. But it made me feel better to pretend. Fiona looked up to meet my gaze again, eyes determined. My smile slipped. A determined Fiona was a dangerous Fiona.
"You have a good thing going here, Michael," she said. "You're not getting anywhere with your old job. Here, you're happy. You have friends, family. Did you have any of those things with your old job?"
I frowned. So we were going to bring up this old argument. I should've seen it coming. "It wasn't about happiness, Fi."
"Maybe it should've been," she said softly, looking back into her yogurt. "Maybe it's time for it to be about happiness now. Maybe it's time to move on. To start over. You could have so much here in Miami, Michael. Sure, it's not ideal, but nothing ever is."
"Just something to think about." She took one last spoonful of her yogurt and walked towards the door. A jolt of panic shot through my veins. No! She couldn't leave! I had just gotten her back, she couldn't disappear again! And with my child...
"Are you staying in Miami?" I asked quickly, following her. She turned around, shrugging.
"For a little while, yeah."
"Do you..." Hell, I felt like an adolescent boy asking a girl to the Prom. "Do you need a place to stay?"
She smiled wryly. "I've got a place, Michael. I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to stay over here anyway."
Okay... Okay, she had a point. I guess.
"Where are you staying?" I asked, trying to sound casual. Her smile widened into a grin.
"Your mom's house."
A/N: I love reviewers and live for constructive criticism!