Chapter One: Post 5.2 Bloodlines

What a day, what a night. I thought to myself as I lay in his bed…correction our bed. Moments from the day flash through my mind, some normal, some good, some the cause a chill to run through me. Who was that man? He wasn't just a created cover; a cover wouldn't cause such a fear in the woman that I think of like a mother. This man affected them both in a very frightening way. His father maybe? I had never dared to push Michael on the topic because he just gets angry and says he doesn't want to talk about it. I shiver again at the thought of the look in his eyes and the hate in his tone. I am shocked out of my thoughts by the gentle squeeze of his arms wrapped around my waist.

"Fi, what's wrong?" he asks me. His fingers brushing away my hair and his lips place feather light kisses up my neck. He nips the lobe of my ear and whispers, "Come back to bed."

"Who...was that…Michael?" I can hardly focus on my question while he is assaulting my neck. His kisses become harder, more determined. His hands begin to wonder, one snaking up to cup one of my breasts while the other moves down. I know what he's trying to do and I won't let him win this time. "Not now Fi." He grumbles against my neck.

"Yes…now…please?" His middle finger slips inside of me and I can feel the beginnings of a battle. Nights from a different life flash through my mind. Our small flat in Dublin, it was half the size of the Miami loft and always smelled like rain but it was ours. We had been living there for less than 2 weeks and had only known each other for a month, crazy I know but what can I say…I was in love with a passionate Irishman by the name of Michael McBride. I was young and hungry for revenge, so joining the IRA seemed a natural choice. We spent many nights lying on that old, lumpy, God awful mattress. I would talk about Claire…what she was like, how different we where, the fights, and the day she died. I told him about my five brothers and all the trouble we got into and the grief we gave our poor parents. I would ask him about his family and all he ever said was that he loved his mother, fought with his brother, and that his father was no good.

I sit up and wrap the sheet around my frame, I do this to put some barrier between my body and his hands but I am also determined to get some answers out of him, by any means. I reach down to the floor and find my white silk robe, I slip from the bed and into the rope in one fluid movement…I will not give him the chance to stop me. I walk over to the fridge and get a blueberry yogurt, the last one, and a spoon. I smile to myself because this is the last one and he will be in a pissy mood in the morning because he will realize that I ate it. I sit in the green leather and duct tape chair and begin to eat. "Fi, please come back to bed." He says in a pleading tone as he pats the empty space next to him.

"Not until we talk about today Michael. I want to know who he was and I won't come back to bed until you tell me." I hear a frustrated sigh escape his lips and a small smile plays at the corner of my lips…I've won but at what cost?

He gets out of bed and sits on the floor in front of me. He places his hands on my knees and looks at me with a look that I've never seen in him before…a look that scares me. He gives me a weak smile, "His name was Frank Westen, and he was my father." His head rests in my lap and he looks lost and broken. My heart aches as I look at him; this strong man that I have loved for the last decade of my life is reduced to this. It is in this moment I realize the cost of my question. He prides himself on his strength, on this ability to pack away the darkest parts of his soul…to be the emotionless shell that the CIA needs. In my heart I know that I am the undoing of the fabled Michael Westen, I am the woman…the asset…that can bring him to his knees. I hold a power no one else can. I rest my hands on his cheeks and I feel him melt into my touch. "Do you remember all those nights in Dublin?" I see a smile cross his lips and it makes me smile too. "I shared the darkest parts of myself with him…with you. I want you to do the same for me, please." I lifted his face to mine and brushed my lips against his. He kisses me with a mix of emotions that scare me; fears mingled with aguish, sadness and grief, and shockingly love. He has never said the words to me but I have felt them. I playfully nip his bottom lip…a sign of the passing of control and a silent encouragement to continue.

"I remember the night when you introduced me to your Da. I remember the light in your eyes when you spoke of him and the love that your whole family had for him. He wasn't always an easy man but he was a good man." I felt Michael hand graze my cheek as he wiped away the fears that had fallen. "I know you miss him Fi, but my father wasn't like that…he wasn't a good man. He married my mother because she was pregnant with me; he was an alcoholic con man who beat the shit out of all of us. I took the worst of the beatings…he would go after my mom or Nate and I would step in the way and give him and outlet to defuse his anger on. He always had a con going and when we got older he pulled me and Nate into them…I always offered to help as a way to make him happy so he wouldn't focus on Nate as much. I learned to drive and hotwire a car when I was 11 and I used that skill to make sure mom got the store or the doctors, I stole food because we has to eat and Dad was on another job. Mom faked his signature so that I could join the Army when I was 17…I was so ready to leave, to get away from him but it killed me to leave them behind. I didn't come home for 10 years but I sent money every chance I got. I joined the Army so that I wouldn't be like him; I did it to run away from who I was."

"Thank you Michael." I felt the heaviness of his head in my lap and the stream of tears running down my legs. I rarely saw Michael cry but when I did it broke me because I know that something in him broke too. He runs his hands up the sides of my legs, under the silk of my robe and rests them firmly on my hips. "Fiona I need you, I need you, I need you." He repeats these words like a scared prayer to his goddess. He pulls me forward and as I reach the end of the chair I let my legs fall open. He keeps his hands firmly rooted to my hips, his thumbs messaging small circles on my skin, he inhales deeply and a moan escapes his lips. I thrown my head back and let my eyes fall closed as I brace myself for the coming pleasure.

I feel Michael's nose run up the length of me, I bite my lip as his tongue laps and sucks…gently at first and then with a steady growing force. He moves my hips forward and back setting a delicious cadence, I let him have control, knowing that that is what he needs most right now. He needs to feel power; he needs to feel like he is taking care of me, he needs to feel the love that he knows that I have for him and only him. His hands release their grip on my hips and his lips leave my body and I let out a whimper of protest. He snickers, "Patience is a virtue Fi."

I feel his middle and trigger fingers enter me and I gasp, Michael is never one to start easy. I moan loudly when he curls his fingers upwards hitting that perfect spot that sends me close to the edge of my sanity, he starts another maddening rhythm that promises a release that it never delivers. I plead with him and he finally sips his ring finger into me and sets a forceful and hungry pace. I press my bottom into the chair and hold tight to the handles as he slams his fingers into me one last time causing me to come undone. I throw my head back and tried desperately to catch my breath. I lift my head and see a wicked gleam come into his eyes. He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks the juices from them. He smiles at me and says in a husky voice. "So are you ready to come back to bed now?"