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Questions, But No Answers

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Summary: Michael and Fiona meet some very unusual people who are apparently in Miami on business.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Burn NoticeGreywizardFR1511,100092,60910 Aug 1210 Aug 12Yes
Disclaimer: They all belong to Crack-Head Joss and ME. Deal with it. I have.

Time Frame: Post 'Chosen' for BtVS, and can be anytime after season two for 'Burn Notice.'

Spoilers: None intended, but if you don't know what happened up to this point, why are you reading this story?

Character Bashing: None at all. 'Cause I'm such a pleasant person. ;-)

Feedback: Of course!

Archiving: Talk to me first, please.

Author's Note 1: Many thanks to Bill Haden and Theo (Starway_Man) for beta-ing this story.

Author's Note 2: As usual, “word” indicates speech, :: word :: indicates mental communication and { word } indicates a character's thoughts.

Author's Note 3: This is story #10 for the 2012 August Fic-A-Day Challenge.

~~~

When you're a spy, knowledge is power. And if you find yourself in a serious situation and you're dealing with something that you don't understand, the best thing you can do is disengage, make sure that your opponent doesn't follow you while you're re-establishing yourself in a more secure position, and gather as much intelligence as you can on your opponent, so that you can figure out what you did wrong the first time, and hopefully not repeat your earlier mistake.

Of course, if the people you're working for don't share the same philosophy that you do, then the situation becomes a bit more… fluid.

~/~/~

Miami, FL

August, 2009


"Michael! Behind you!" the former IRA operative named Fiona Glenanne screamed a warning, even as she rapid-fired a clip of 9 mm hollow-point slugs into the face and head of the rather hideous-looking lizard-like creature which their client had somehow just transformed himself into, only a fleeting moment after the argument regarding the client's fee had begun.

Throwing himself to the left in response to her warning, Michael Westen – a 'burned' former CIA contractor – heard the 'boom!' of a shotgun and felt something slamming into his right side and the bottom edge of his coat, although fortunately within the area covered by his bulletproof vest, an instant before he hit the ground.

Rolling on his shoulder, Michael turned and fired four quick shots at his unseen assailant, and was gratified to see a large lizard who, a moment ago, had been a tall, balding man holding a shotgun, collapse to the ground, droplets of orange blood spraying from the massive hole torn through his throat by Michael's return fire.

"Mother-fucker! This is my favorite shirt!"

Both Michael and Fiona held their fire and quickly turned their heads to check out the newcomer, a strikingly beautiful brunette, who currently had Carlton, their former client – the lizard-like creature who'd tried to bite Michael's face off just a moment or two earlier – jacked up against the closest wall with one hand, and a very large and very sharp-looking sword pressed against its throat.

"Now look what you did, Carlton! You got Glesh'nach blood all over my shirt! Do you know how hard it is to get Glesh'nach blood out of silk?" the brunette demanded as she shook the obviously nervous-looking focus of her wrath. Although, exactly how he could determine that Carlton was looking nervous right now was something beyond the ability of Michael's rather befuddled brain to process.

The brunette then scowled even more fiercely, and declared, "Fuck! Now I'm beginning to sound like B, whining about getting her fucking clothes ruined!"

Turning her head to look over her shoulder, the brunette addressed a rough-looking, dark-haired man with an eyepatch over his left eye, who was now standing just inside the doorway with his back to the wall, while quite competently holding an M16A2/M203 combination. The man's sudden appearance made both Michael and Fiona train their weapons on the guy, on instinct, and they listened, more than a little befuddled, as the woman practically barked, "X! If I start complaining about wearing Prada or anything like that when I'm slaying, I want you to fucking shoot me, okay?"

The guys – whom Michael mentally dubbed 'Pirate' – didn't even blink his eye at the brunette's request, and calmly replied, "Not to worry, Faith. If you ever do anything like that, I'll gladly empty a clip into you."

Oddly enough, Pirate's answer seemed to satisfy the brunette he'd identified as 'Faith,' Michael noted, and she nodded and refocused her attention on Carlton, shaking the lizard as she then growled something in a harsh-sounding language Michael didn't recognize.

"Oh, yeah, she'd definitely do that," the two spies then heard Pirate say, as though confirming something, after Carlton turned his head and squeaked something in what sounded like the same language in his direction. "And that's if she's in a *good* mood. If you piss her off, she'll start getting – creative.

"And trust me, you definitely *don't* want her doing something like that!" Pirate added, his words making Carlton's already disturbing complexion turn an even less pleasant shade of greenish-brown.

"Yeah, we can do that," Faith agreed, after Carlton babbled something else in that same strange, incomprehensible language they'd both used a moment earlier.

"In fact, you throw in a case of Heineken, and we'll call everything even," the brunette added, and both Fiona and Michael could see the look of relief that shone in Carlton's eyes upon hearing that last line.

"Sorry to just drop in and run, guys," Pirate told the pair of spies as he casually, but smoothly, moved from his position guarding the door to stand next to the brunette and her detainee, "but we've got things to do, and we'll be needing your friend, here, to help out.

"You can show yourselves out, I'm sure," he added, an instant before the extremely odd trio abruptly vanished.

Michael and Fiona stared at one other, neither of them wanting to be the first to say anything about what they'd just witnessed. The entire incident was just so...peculiar – if not completely unbelievable – that neither one of them could fit it into their world-view in any way, shape or form, at the moment.

The silence that had settled over the entire building was broken a moment later as they heard Sam Axe's voice calling, "Mikey? Fi? You guys okay in there? I'd prefer to not have to come in shooting, if you are."

"We're good, Sam," Michael called back, the least bit hesitantly. "Although things didn't exactly work out quite the way we expected," he added, uncertainly, as he took another look around the room.

"And just how well did you say you know Carlton, Sam?" Fiona asked as the former SEAL cautiously entered the room, the pump-action shotgun in his hands held ready for action.

"Oh, I met him a few years back when I was doing a bit of work in Cartagena," Sam answered readily enough, stepping over the non-human corpse by the door without batting an eye. "He's a friend of my cousin, Ash.

"A little weird, maybe," he shrugged, "but he's always been good with the juicy intel."

Seeing the disbelieving looks on his teammates' faces, he said, "Why are you asking me that?"


FIN

The End

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