Disclaimer: Burn Notice is not mine, this all done for fun.

When I started writing this story I intended to put it in with the Who We Once Were series. However it struck me that I hadn't read any stories about Fiona's part time gunrunning business. So here it is, starting with her introduction to South Florida's Weapons trade. Future stories will include her first meeting with Seymour and later on the outcome of her betrayal of Grayson Miller.


Fiona's adventures amongst the gunrunning community of South Florida.

Story One: Making friends the Glenanne way

Chapter One: Sex and Violence.

Fiona Glenanne knew she shouldn't be behind the wheel of the silver BMW convertible. First of all, it wasn't her car. She had found it parked up all alone on the street, obviously in need of a new and more caring owner. Second, she was drunk and pissed, which was never a good combination.

"This's all Michael's fault... He wa' tha reason I drank too much Saki, an' he wa' tha reason Am drivin' outta Miami like tha hounds o' hades ar' affer me inna 'borrowed' car."

Leaving behind the bright lights of Miami, her mind drifted over what had led to her driving at highly illegal speeds in a stolen car. She had done her best to make things work, she really had. She'd spent a small fortune on the perfect dress for their date. The material was soft to the touch and hung just right to give a hint of what was waiting for him underneath. She had styled her hair into a loose chignon to expose her neck; she remembered how he had loved to plant soft kisses along her neck and then would slowly make his way up to nibble on her ear.

At the thought of his touch, she reached up to comb her fingers through her loose and tousled hair before trailing her fingers down along her neck and over her chest. Tilting her head, she imagined his lips laying feather light kisses from her shoulder to her ear and his warm breath tickling her neck, sending shivers up her spine as his hand made its –

The sudden wail of a car horn and flash of headlights snapped her back to reality. Sitting up straighter, she went back to having two hands on the wheel.

"What's wrong wid me? One date wid Michael Westen an' I'm actin' like a teenager!"

Stamping her dainty high heeled sandal down hard on the gas pedal in frustration, she continued on her way out of the city.

Where had it all gone wrong?

The night had started so well. Michael had agreed to the meal without a fight and without a single comment about how she had managed to find him. The Japanese restaurant had been his choice, though it was her love of sushi she was sure that had prompted the choice. They had kept the conversation light while she put on a masterful display of what she could do with her lips and tongue on a set of chopsticks. He had whined about his mother's constant calls before they had turned the discussion to the reasons behind the burn notice. It was when he had complained for maybe the fourth time about being dumped in Miami that she had taken the initiative and hinted about restarting their relationship.

"Maybe, if you stop running, you could maintain a normal relationship."

But he had instantly shot her down. "There's three things I'm good at: tactical analysis, hand to hand combat and I'm a decent cook...But relationships – they're just not my thing. They never were."

"Well, yar in Miami now. Why not get yarself a twenty four year old wid big fake tits."

"They bore me." Then, as if he suddenly realized he had hurt her feelings with his previous answer, he added. "If it makes you feel any better, you were the closest I ever got. It, it just wasn't close enough, – I guess." He looked away obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

Not close enough? How much bloody closer could they get?

Instead, she had turned the conversation onto the surveillance team that had been following them around all evening. While she had him distracted, letting him think she had missed one of the FBI agents, she started plying Michael with more than his fair share of the Saki.

"Maybe if I loosen him up a bit, it'll remind him about all tha good times," she had thought.

With their meal finished and the bottle of Saki emptied, they had strolled leisurely along the pavement back towards the loft. On the way back she had leaned into him, one arm snaking its way around his waist. While she taunted him with tales of her former lovers, her free hand rubbed across the front of his blue sweater, the friction making his nipples harden and his breath quicken.

Just before they reached the tall rusted metal gates that led to his home, he spun her around. With his hands cradling her head, his mouth pressed against hers in a hot demanding kiss. When they broke apart, he gasped and stepped back.

"We need to get inside." He'd finally managed to speak, though his voice was rough and husky with lust.

She had failed to notice at the time that he was already drawing away from her, that the kiss had been nothing more than a moment of weakness. At the time, she had thought he was as eager as she was to renew their relationship. She'd smiled at him, licking her lips and returning his lust filled gaze before slipping past him to drag the tall rusty gate open.

"Ya've lost yar sense o' adventure, Michael. Ya must have fergotten about tha time in Derry when ya had me up agin tha back wall o' tha Derry police station?" she'd teased.

"I haven't forgotten," he'd said, trailing after her. "It's just – " His hand settled over hers, stopping her progress.

"Yar reminding me o' me last boyfriend, Kavan. He were jus' like yar now: safe an' – boring." She remembered looking over her shoulder to give him a light peck on the cheek before removing his hand so she could go inside. "I warn ya now Michael, I cannae shag a man who acts like he works in the bank. It would be tha end."

Passing through the gate, she released her hair, turning fast to let it billow out around her in the cool night air. Every move she made was a step in her seduction. He liked her hair pinned up for easy access to her neck, but he also liked to run his fingers through her long auburn mane, gripping it tightly when drawing her into a kiss.

"Kavan? What was wrong with him? He was rich, he's handsome and you broke up with him?"

Michael had continued following her inside, stopping only to pull the gate closed behind him.

Her heart had skipped a beat; he had slipped up. He wasn't quite as uncaring as he pretended to be. If he knew who Kavan was, it meant he had been keeping tabs on her.

She remembered the feel of the cold, slightly damp wall of the club as she'd fallen against it. Her breath had been coming in gasps as she had thought about what was to come.

"He had no tactical awareness." She'd caught hold of him reaching up to kiss his bottom lip. "He dinnae know how many exits thar war in a building." Another more demanding kiss and her hands were pressing on his chest and sides desperate to touch the hard muscles which lay underneath. "He dinnae know how ter shoot." She'd maneuvered him back against the metal railing. "God, ya spoiled me, Michael."

"And I thought it was my winning smile," was all he had managed to get out in reply before her own mouth had closed over his. She couldn't wait any longer; she'd had every intention of having her man. As she had taken possession of his mouth, her tongue had stroked against his while his hands which had been resting on her waist began to slide upwards his thumbs brushing over her the edge of her breasts.

She gasped now, her hands tightening on the steering wheel as ahead of her was the turn off that would lead her to her chosen destination. Easing up on the gas pedal, she slowed the car down to make the turn.

All the while, the only thing on her mind was how Michael's hand had slid into the side of her dress to cup her bare breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple and sending waves of pleasure right down to her core.

"Don't move. Sugar wants you out," had been the words which had announced the arrival of the after dinner entertainment.

"She's not part of this. Let her go."

"Shut-up," the muscle bound goon had ordered.

"He's right, Michael, shut-up." She had pressed her body up against his, one hand cupping between his legs, giving him a little squeeze, before she'd turned to face this latest threat to their lives.

"I kin handle me self." She had smiled at Mr. Armed and Dangerous, recognizing his type instantly: an amateur who wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in Belfast.

She had run her tongue over her lips, as she looked him up and down, thinking all the while: "This is gonna be fun."

The loser had actually returned the look, stripping her bare with his eyes. She'd let him have that happy thought; it was going to be his last one for some time.

Then she had attacked. Knocking the gun to one side, she had gotten in close to deliver a devastating head butt which had sent him to his knees and then, while he had been too stunned to retaliate, she had stolen his gun and used it to pistol whip him into unconsciousness.

How she loved testing her skills against men like the one that had lain at her feet.

Smirking, she had turned her attention to the man standing by the steps. She had won the fight; it had been time to collect her prize.

With her blood pumping so hard that she could hear the sound whooshing through her head, she had dropped the loser's gun into Michael's hand.

"Ya need ter do sommit about yer neighbors."

Trailing her fingers over the front of his pants and smiling at the obvious sign of his growing passion, she had started on her way up to his bed. She had made it as far as three of the rickety metal steps before he had killed the mood.

He had told her that he had to clear away the hired gun and that he needed his sleep. She had stared in disbelieve as he told her violence was foreplay for her but not for him.

"Liar!" She had wanted to scream at him. How many times had they barely made it away from the police or an army patrol before he had pounced on her? There had been a time when he couldn't keep his hands off her body. Violence, explosions, a barely made escape had always been the best type of foreplay for both of them.

But instead of denouncing him for the lying bastard he was, she had dropped her head and had backed down the steps. She knew damn well how to turn him on, how to get on his last nerve until he was about to snap. She knew if she'd really pushed his buttons, they would have still been entwined in his bed right now.

Violence was foreplay. It got your blood pumping and got every sense working. It made you see, hear, and feel every glorious sensation. It made you glad to be alive and he knew it. How many times had they screamed bloody murder at each other, how many times had he blocked her blows or tried to restrain her with the light of lust burning bright in his eyes?

As she'd stalked away, she had remembered how the sensation of his teeth on her neck had made her feel, how his hands could ignite a fire in her core when they roamed over her body, his fingers lightly dancing over her bare flesh. How that one moment they would be tangled in her hair, then on her neck before tracing down to cup her breasts, while his teeth, his lips and tongue worked to drive her insane until he would send her totally over the edge. That's what she had been waiting for, what she needed now. The meal, the Saki, the guy laid out cold on the ground should have all lead to Michael's bed. But it hadn't worked out that way.

He'd left her wound up, wounded and spoiling for a fight. Her body was still throbbing with desire. The hired muscle had just been a taste of what she wanted. Now one hand was off the wheel and resting on her thigh, enjoying the tactile feel of the silk against her skin. With her lips parted, she tried to concentrate on her driving while her hand stoked and caressed the warm skin of her inner thigh.

Well, if she couldn't have Michael Westen, then she would have to find another way of calming the itch that had her flesh tingling. Finally, she pulled into the parking lot belonging to Benny's Place, a hangout for Miami's smugglers and gunrunners. Here amongst her own people she was bound to find one foolish soul who thought he was up to the task.

Checking out her appearance in the rear view mirror, Fiona applied a fresh layer of lip gloss and ran a brush through her hair. Then she was on her way. If she couldn't get her fun one way, she was damn well going to get it some other way.

She was Fiona Glenanne and she always got what she wanted