Merry (late) Christmas, everyone! I, even after receiving all my Christmas presents, still don't own Burn Notice. Oh well. This is just a short tag to the finale, so enjoy..
"I belong out there with him, for better or worse."
"It will probably be for worse," I say, trying to convince her that it isn't a good idea to go chasing after Michael. She said it herself; it's a suicide mission.
"I knew that the moment I met him. Goodbye Jesse," she says, and then she's gone.
As I watch her run away from me, towards Michael, my first thought is that if, by some miracle, we all manage to survive this, Michael's going to kill me for letting Fiona chase after him. He was prepared to go out there with explosives and die so she could live, and less than five minutes later, she's putting herself right back into the line of fire. Worse than the line of fire, really. More like the line of certain death! Yeah, he's going to be pissed.
I start to walk, ignoring the throbbing pain in my leg, even more motivated now that two people are preparing to die for this list. I'm not about to screw this up and have both of them blow themselves up for nothing.
I pause and take a deep breath, feeling tears gather in my eyes as the gravity of the situation finally hits me. If this plan works, Michael's going to be dead in a few minutes. Fiona, too, if she even made it to Michael's hiding place and didn't already get shot on her way there.
I realize suddenly that I never did tell Fiona how I feel about her. It doesn't matter, not really, because I never had a chance with her, and it's too late now anyway.
When I watched her run after Michael, her eyes set with determination, I finally understood something. I don't love her, not the way I thought. Not enough to die for her. Of course I'd be willing to take a bullet for her; I'd do it for any of the people that had become my family these past few months. But a premeditated suicide mission, that's another story. I don't think I could willingly kill myself, knowing it wouldn't even make a difference.
Fiona doesn't have to die. She's not jumping in front of a bullet to save Michael's life. She's holed up with him somewhere, ready to go out with a bang, because she knows she belongs with him.
I realize that now. She belongs with him, and he belongs with her. She doesn't care that she's going to die, because she's going to be with him. And while he's probably going to be pissed that she's there, ready to die with him, I know that on some level he understands. Part of him does, anyway. It's the same part of him that panicked when she was kidnapped.
A small part of me understands, too. While I probably wouldn't do the same thing, a part of me understands why she did it, at least, even if I'll never understand how she actually could.
It's the same part of me that knew all along that things would never work out with Fiona. The part of me that knew Fiona belonged with Michael, even if the rest of me didn't want to admit it, even if she didn't want to admit it.
It's not the part of me that just realized I'm not in love with her; it's the part of me that already knew. The part that always knew.