Author's Notes and Disclaimers: So, Burn Notice, I still don't owe it and it looks like I never will. Neither do I own "Back Again by the incredible Chris Daughtry
Set during those three weeks Fiona spent in a holding cell as just a bit of angst to ramp up the tension for tonight's Season 7 premiere. Love to all the Burners wherever you are and most especially to the wonderful women of Twitter and the fabulous frauleins of Facebook.
Much love to the PCC as always and deepest gratitude to everyone that reads and reviews.
Somewhere in the shadow world of spies and secret prisons….
She's lying on her side, staring at his face while Michael McBride sleeps, the face of the first man that ever made love to her in her twenty seven years of life, the firelight casting shadows and patterns along the planes of his strong cheekbones and his full mouth. There have been men before him, she's had sex, but not like this…no, it's never been like this….
There's little distance between them and she revels in the warmth of his embrace, the touch of his skin as they lie together naked on and under old woolen blankets at the farmhouse, her first home. It's dirty, run down, abandoned, freezing cold in the Irish winter. But she gazes at his face, the way those beautiful lips rest slightly parted and how his long black eyelashes almost brush his cheeks, and she is filled with a glow that has nothing to do with the body heat, the blankets or the roaring fire contained in the ancient hearth by their feet.
No, he's not here anymore. He lied. He wasn't Michael McBride, he was a damned spy.
She's lying on her side, staring at his face while Michael Westen sleeps, gazing at the face of the man she thought she knew. He has Michael McBride's face, there's some scruff on his cheeks and chin that he'll shave off tomorrow, but that doesn't matter. It's his face, but it's not somehow. She looks upon his visage in slumber in the early morning rays of summer sunshine that's sneaking through the cheap fabric thrown over the windows of their run down Dublin flat, shifting on the worn out mattress that pokes her side while she tries to figure what is different. She's watched this man sleep for months, hardly able to believe he was real. But he wasn't real; he wasn't an Irishman from Kilkenny like he said he was. How had she been able to forgive him for lying to her, using her like that? And yet she had.
~The truth behind everything, behind every one lies somewhere.~
She's lying on her side, staring at the wreck of the bed where she and Michael used to sleep, her body screaming at her. She's beyond drunk, she's bruised, she's battered and she did it to herself. She's destroyed their little Dublin flat and taken a knife to the mattress and she's lying in a tangle of sheets amongst the wanton destruction of their former home.
He said if they could just show the CIA how well they worked together, they were going to be together. He was going to take her with him when he left Ireland. But he was gone.
She's lying on her side, staring at his face while Michael Westen, burned spy, sleeps. Lying on those cheap mattresses of the beds she had pushed together in Room Seven of the Sea Mist Hotel, she looks at the bruises and cuts on his forehead and cheekbones, the abrasions on his large, calloused hand that is cradled between her smaller ones. She holds it to her lips and kisses the bruised knuckles. Maybe this time, this time, things can work out for them. He's not with the CIA anymore and she left the army three years ago. They're free.
~I'm taking it slowly and seems like you don't care about little things that mean so much.~
She's lying on her side on the mattress in the middle of the cavernous loft he calls home, not looking at Michael while he's pretending to sleep. They each know the other is awake, but they're going to lie there, not looking at each other because neither knows what to say. They've made love again for the first time since she arrived in Miami, many, many months ago. Michael had thought they were "reconnecting" then, like they had here and there around the world since their parting in Ireland. But she wanted more. She wanted them.
I just want to know where I stand. I've been here a while. It's been fun. Is this going anywhere?
She's lying on her side watching while Michael sleeps fitfully in the safe house Nate has found for them. She can hear his family in the other rooms. No one is sleeping well. Yes, they have to keep his mom and Nate safe. Yes, they have to rescue Sam. But, going with the people who tried to kill him, who burned him? It was almost as foolish as his quest to get back into the CIA. She wants to touch him, but she's afraid to wake him. She's seen that look before, in their final days together in Ireland. She didn't know at the time….
~You leave me alone while you're losing touch, and everywhere I go it isn't clear.~
She's lying on her side, staring at his face while Michael sleeps, but there's another face she's seeing in her mind. It's the tortured expression he wore when he crossed the room, soaked to the bone, making puddles with every foot stop on that hard wooden floor, until he was standing in from of her. His eyes were full of unspoken grief that couldn't seem to make way for the relief that she was alive and well and in his arms again.
Michael? You didn't think that I….
She's lying on her side, staring at the wall of her bedroom while Michael sleeps in his holding cell in Dade County lockup, wishing he was there with her. She takes grim satisfaction that Carla is sleeping with the fishes, but she feels the same sorrow washing through her again as when he told her she wasn't invited Cuba, the same dread as she wonders if he will actually be released and Management will keep his promise to let him be. He's free now, free of the government, free of the organization, free despite what Sam said.
~I can't breathe. Because I hate it when, the fear sets in.
And I wonder when, you'll be back again.~
She's lying on her side, staring at the wall of her bedroom, wishing she'd never come to Miami while Michael sleeps, assuming he's asleep, back in the loft alone. Fine, if his career was that damned important to him, then fine. She claimed to care about him, so she'd damned well wants for him what he wants for himself. She said she'd help him and so she will, right up until it is time to say goodbye. She doesn't give a damn if they have one.
~It's like we said a while ago, yeah.
You switch the shoes you still won't change you~
She's lying on her other side on the beach, wet, sandy, choking on vile canal water, her arm is on fire, while Michael's wearing that same look, the same one he had at the loft when he thought she'd died in the fire. Is that what it takes to get through to you, Michael?
Don't. We're so not good at this.
She's lying on her side, staring at his face while Michael sleeps, relishing in the soft, contented expression gracing his features. There's little distance between them and she revels in the warmth of his embrace, the touch of his skin as they lie together naked under very soft cotton sheets on a plush mattress. Not another wasted hotel room this time. She can't believe that he booked it for them a day early, can't contain the happiness that wants to bust out of her as she lies there sore, but utterly sated, feeling the glow spread all over.
~Pretend that you know me, but you're so unaware~.
She's lying on her side, fingers skimming the cold sheets as she nuzzles the pillow, no trace of his scent left, staring at what she considers his side of the bed while she wonders where Michael is sleeping tonight instead of at the loft. She has nowhere else she wants to sleep tonight. Her condo like her Irish homeland, are gone. She's lost them both and she's lost him again. He promised her and Sam, no more Mr. Lone Wolf, but he had still run off after Simon, them vanishing from the FBI's custody. She lied for him, covered up for him, almost gotten herself killed for him. She had promised to die with him, that when the time came, they would do it together. And still when it was all over, he went away with the CIA again.
~And I hate it when, the fear sets in. And I wonder when, you'll be back again.~
She's lying on her side, staring into those beautiful blue orbs, because while they both should be sleeping, the intoxication of their love making just won't stop pumping adrenaline and dopamine into their brains. This bed wasn't just his bed any longer, it was their bed. He had asked her to move in. She can't stop the smile that's blossoming over her face. It's finally over. They can move on. He's back in the CIA, but Max she can live with, as long as she gets to live with Michael, too. She pulls him in for another deep, passionate kiss.
~I remember when the fall began And I wonder if you'll be the same again.~
She's lying on her side in Allarod Federal Penitentiary, staring at the bars, while wondering where Michael is sleeping tonight. It's her favorite way to kill time while trying not to get killed, though Nicole almost succeeded, the sisters' almost succeeded. Would Michael be able to get her out of here before Anson's next hired assassin succeeded in doing the job?
~We've all been down this road before, I give it all, you wanted more.
I've only got myself to blame.~
She's lying on her side in some nameless CIA holding cell, staring at the blank wall, while wondering where Michael is sleeping tonight. They've gone from searching for the people who burned him to finding the bastards responsible. He's gone from wanting to get back in with the CIA to being hunted by and ultimately captured by the CIA. They went from bringing Nate's killer to justice to working with Nate's killer to bring Tom Card to justice to fleeing from justice because Michael had put a bullet between the dirty bastard's eyes.
I promised Sam that I would make this right.
She's lying on her side in that nameless CIA holding cell, trying to be happy for clean clothes of her own and a private shower, something she had learned to appreciate deeply since being on the run and being in Allarod. She's lying there praying that the fact they surrendered peacefully and cooperated fully will finally result in their release, their freedom, trying not to acknowledge that what makes it right for Sam might not make it right for her.
~And I hate it when, the fear sets in. And I wonder when you'll be back again...~
She's lying on her side in that nameless CIA holding cell, remembering all those times and all those places that she was there, lying next to him holding, watching him, loving him while he slept. She's lying on her side, recalling all those times that she wished she knew where and how he was while Michael slept, while sometimes trying to tell herself that she really didn't care about the answer, but she knew deep down in her heart that she did.
And she's lying on her side, lying to herself that this is going to end the way she wants it to. Because in the pit of her stomach, she knows, but she still holds on to hope, to a promise….
You and me working together. Just us, the way it used to be. At the end of the day, this right here is how it should be.
While an utterly exhausted Michael finally sleeps, after being interrogated by his own people, after spending days and weeks on end trying to make it right, like he promised Sam, and wondering what she will say about to what he had to do to protect them all.
~I remember when the fall began. And I wonder if you'll feel the same again.~