A/N: Burn Notice romantic fluff. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
During the sixth week, after Mike and Fi had gone home from Sunday dinner at Maddie's house early—both of them claiming to be tired—Madeline looked at Sam and Jesse and said, "So, is she pregnant and they aren't saying anything, or do they really not know, yet?"
Sam laughed. Elsa was right. "Maddie, did you hear any screaming coming from their home lately?"
"Blue Screen of Death face on Mike?"
"What?" Madeline didn't get the reference, and Jesse was looking at Sam like he can't believe Sam knew what it meant.
"I do read, you know," Sam says to Jesse before explaining to Maddie, "You know, when he gets that look that tells you his brain has entirely shut down and he's just standing there trying to get it started again?"
"Nope." Madeline said. Michael and Fi were acting, well, awfully normal. And not just normal for them, but normal for almost anyone.
Sam grinned. "Clueless."
"You really think Fi's..." Jesse said, looking a little clueless himself.
Sam shrugged. "Elsa was telling me that Fi was saying the dress Michael got her fit really well. Usually things that fit the rest of her are too loose on top."
"Well, okay, yeah, I noticed that, too."
Madeline arched an eyebrow at Jesse and lit up. She had stopped smoking when Fi was around two weeks ago and was majorly jonesing for a cig. "You noticed how a present Michael got Fi fit?"
"Umm. No. Just that..." Jesse blushed scarlet and looked like he wanted to run away.
"You noticed Fi's a bit curvier now-a-days?" Madeline asked.
"No disrespect to her or Mike, but yes, and well, yes. It's kind of hard to miss."
"Do you think we're sleeping too much?" Fi asked as they got ready for bed, at nine o'clock.
"Nah." They were still sleeping a lot. Michael was starting to feel more or less human again, but he was still averaging a good ten to twelve hours a night. And he was figuring that wasn't likely to change for at least a month or two more.
Fi was sleeping right next to him, and getting the occasional afternoon nap as well.
He wasn't worried about it. They aren't kids anymore, and they don't bounce back as quickly as they did back in their thirties, let alone twenties.
And, lots of sleep aside, Michael felt like he could get used to this new schedule. Sleep in, exercise, make breakfast, eat, work on the house a bit, work on whatever the job is a bit, meander down to Carlito's for lunch, eat some more, meet up with Sam and or Jesse, see his mom maybe or go to the beach, work some more, nap, get or make dinner, have sex, and sleep some more.
Quiet decompressing was a good thing. Something they both needed and deserved after the last five years.
The downside of all the eating and sleeping was they were both getting a little plump.
The next morning, Michael was working with the punching bag, hitting, kicking, body blocking, while Fi went through her yoga moves.
"It's probably time we do better about eating," she said, shifting into down facing dog, looking at him from under a spill of hair.
He looked at his stomach and reminded himself to do an extra fifty sit ups. He's sure he's never going to look like Sam, but he doesn't want to end up pudgy, either. Yeah, he's not twenty-five anymore or, for that matter, forty-five, but that's no excuse to go soft. "Probably not a bad idea." He could see her looking at her own body.
"I'm getting fat."
"Like hell you are." So, yeah, Fi had gained a little weight. But first off she was at least ten pounds under weight to begin with. And second of all, as he stared at her, in a tank top, no bra, and a pair of cut off sweat pants, from everything he could see every ounce she had gained was in exactly the right places.
Twenty-four-year-olds with big, fake tits might bore Michael to tears. However, a forty-three-year-old with nicely plump real ones appealed to him very, very much.
Which he proceeded to show her, with extreme attention to detail, instead of doing those fifty extra sit-ups.
On Wednesday Sam called with a job.
Evan, Elsa's son, was trying to help a friend, and it turned out he just didn't know what to do or how to help. The friend, Jaime, got in some bad trouble with some worse people, and Evan tried to pull his own Sam Axe gig to get the friend free.
It failed miserably.
So he went to Sam, who he figured would be pretty good at pulling a Sam Axe. And Sam, sitting there, listening to Evan, knew that this was a more than one, or two for that matter, man job. So he called in Mike and Fi.
That job took three days, because while dealing with a collection of rave-running, designer-drug-selling party kids with guns was beyond Evan, it wasn't beyond Fi, Mike, and Sam.
And then they ran into a snag. They needed at least two people to go in, and well... Okay, Mike's forty-six, and Sam is fifty-eight. And while a beautiful woman is welcome more or less anywhere, Mike and Sam are going to stick out at a rave like... well, like a rave kid at a black-tie charity auction. So, Jesse got called in, and he was more than willing to help.
Fi liked it because she got to dress up, go to fun clubs, and make about two hundred teeny-boppers fall in love with her.
Jesse liked it because he actually does enjoy raves, though it's not anything he's ever going to mention to the other three.
Sam enjoyed it because he made Elsa very happy. He was also pleased to see Evan try to do the right thing. Sure, he didn't know how to do the right thing, but trying was a good first start. He even spent a few minutes talking to Evan about how, since he seemed to be interested in blowing things up, doing things with his hands, and helping people, he might want to try the military. And shock of shocks, Evan didn't completely blow him off.
And Michael enjoyed it because all of his favorite people had a good time, no one got hurt, it paid well, and all he had to do was plan while putting furniture together with Sam.
It was a good week.