Disclaimer: Burn Notice and all of its characters belong to Matt Nix and the USA Network.

I hope you guys enjoy this, and I am so, so, so glad that you've been enjoying what I have posted as of yet. If you have any ideas that you would like me to explore in a fic, please, please do not hesitate to send me a private message and we'll hammer out the details for a "gift fic" type...thing?

There are several things that you don't do in my line of work. You don't let a target figure out that you're running a cover story. You don't lose your cool when things go pear-shaped in an op. You don't try to make Sam Axe create a new alias, and you do not, under any circumstances, mess with Fiona's shoe collection.

The latter was the reason that I was sweating bullets and pacing the length of the loft for, what seemed like, the thousandth time. I glanced at the tattered remains of the Italian leather, thigh-high boot and pondered if making a run for the Mexican border would be out of the question with the government people watching me. Probably not the greatest idea, besides, I was pretty sure Fi would find me.

The boot had, somehow, gotten caught in the crossfire of an explosive Sam and I had crafted out of cleaning supplies and metal shavings. How it had gotten into the bag that we'd put the bomb in, I couldn't be entirely sure, but it had. And, when things had gone boom, so had the boot. It was one of Fi's favorites, I was pretty sure anyway, because I distinctly remembered admiring the way that they fit to the curves of her legs on the numerous occasions that she had worn them.

That being said, I knew that I was in for a world of hurt when she found out what had happened. Sam, lovely fella that he was, had turned tail and fled the scene when I realized what had happened, leaving me to my own devices and with my own thoughts as I mentally ran through the lists of ways that Fiona Glenanne could kill me. I was a covert operative, but she was Fi, and that was a hell of a lot more terrifying.

"Michael? What have you got there?" Oh, shit...

"Fi, I thought you were shopping?" I covered quickly, trying to push the remains of the boot behind my back on the workbench. She quirked an eyebrow curiously and stepped closer, holding up a few bags and shaking them at me.

"I was. Now I'm home. So, what have you got behind your back?"

"I...uh..." I stammered, grasping for straws. I could talk my way out of an op gone bad, I could possibly even talk my way out of lunch with my mother, but I could not talk my way out of Fiona's curiousity. I had tried several times before. She crossed to where I was standing and smirked at me, her arms wrapping around my waist and her lips pressing against mine. The kiss almost had me forgetting what exactly it was that I was trying to hide when her teeth scraped over my bottom lip.

Almost. The shriek that came from her was ear piercing when she pulled the boot out from behind me and stared at it with utter shock.

"What the hell, Michael?! How did this happen?!" She snarled, shaking the boot at me. For a brief moment, I knew what it felt like to be a scolded puppy.

"Fi, it was an accident...we were making an explosive for a job, and it...somehow ended up in the duffle bag that we were using." I stammered. Her eyes were flaming as she set the boot back onto the workbench and stalked closer to where I was slowly inching toward the door to make my escape. Her hand flattened against the metal door holding it shut.

"Oh, I don't think so, Mister Westen. You're not going anywhere." I stumbled further into the loft when her hand closed over my bicep and pushed me forward. She methodically pulled a hair tie from around her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, the kind she knew drove me crazy. "We need to figure out exactly what we're going to do about this little 'accident'."

"I...uh...Fi, I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry." I swallowed around the thick lump in my throat. I wasn't exactly sure whether it was fear or arousal that had put it there...

She stalked closer, slipping her feet out of the Stilletto's she wore, and immediately shrinking a good three inches. Fiona shrugged out of the charcoal button down blouse that she wore over the black tank top and let it fall haphazardly to the floor and kicked it to the side.

"Those were fifteen hundred dollar boots, Michael." She whispered, her voice dangerously quiet. I tried to shrug away, but her hands fisted into the creases of my dress shirt.

"Fifteen hundred?" I gaped. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Now, how are we going to settle that score?" She gave me an grin and shoved me back against the wall. I let out a low growl and my back arched away from the wall as pain scorched through my muscles. I looked down and scowled at the hook that jutted out of the wall.

"Um, ow?" I tried, though I knew it wouldn't deter her. Fi had always had a thing for pain...

The buttons on my shirt skittered across the room as she tore it open, her nails dragging down my chest. Fiona leaned in, her lips hovering over mine, and I leaned forward to try to close the gap, but she leaned back. I was expecting that, but I wasn't expecting the sting of her hand on my cheek. I gaped at her for half a second before her mouth was on mine, her teeth nipping at my lip hard enough to draw blood.

Her deft fingers slid my shirt off of my shoulders and let it pool on the ground around my feet. I was busy losing myself in the feeling of her tongue soothing the cut on my lip when I heard the sound of the zip tie closing around my wrists. I struggled briefly before pulling away.

"What the hell, Fi?" I questioned, pulling at the tie until the plastic bit into my skin. I hissed at the slight twinge.

"I don't want you trying to get away, Michael. This is going to be a very. Long. Night." I blinked at her, my jaw hanging open. "Do you understand?" I couldn't seem to formulate a response, and her hand connected with my cheek again. "I said, do you understand?" She growled.

"Yes, I understand." I replied, shocked. Fiona smiled at me again.

"Good." Her hand slipped to the button of my pants and slid them down my legs carefully. I stared down at her curiously until her mouth closed around me and all coherent though left my mind as a muttered curse left my lips.



I woke the next morning with a start, sitting straight up in the bed, and pulling my gun from under my pillow. Sweeping the loft quickly, I set the gun onto the workbench and slid my jeans over my hips quickly. Running my hands through my hair, I caught sight of the bruising around my wrists and the remains of the boot on the bench.

I shook my head and moved to fill a glass with water, swallowing it quickly to get rid of the dryness that coated my tongue. I glanced around, looking for some sort of sign of when Fiona would be back but found none.

My stomach dropped when I opened my fridge and found it completely empty except for the six pack of beer that Sam had brought over. My phone began ringing on the bench and I picked it up without even glancing at the screen.


"Looking for something, Michael?" The familiar voice answered.

"Fi, where is my yogurt?" I snapped, my stomach growling to punctuate the hunger that I felt.

"Terrible feeling, isn't it?" I could hear the laughter in her voice. "Losing something that you like so much. Not fun."

"Fi, I'm starving! Come on! Where is it." I heard the clatter of plastic in the background and the sound of her swallowing dramatically.

"Those coconut flavored ones were the best. Have a good day, Michael." And with that, the line went dead. I scowled at the empty fridge for half a second more before slamming it shut.

There were several things that you do not do in my line of work. Messing with Fi's shoes was high up on the list, but stealing my yogurt hit number one with no contest. And pay back was going to be a bitch...