It has been over a year since I've written anything new, but then again, I haven't had much to write about since Naruto and I fell out of love. He was too busy with Sasuke anyway. Besides, Burn Notice has much more sex appeal.
Disclaimer: Burn Notice is owned by USA Network, not me.
***this is the first high school fic I've seen for Burn Notice, so even if you hate it, let me feel like a trailblazer, okay?***
Michael Westen ducked around the corner and slipped between rows of metal lockers, waiting for the sound of pounding footsteps to pass. This asshole Brennan kept trying to kick his ass for some unknown reason and it was starting to get pretty annoying that Brennan's little threats were never seen by anyone that could actually be useful. If he could just get him to start a fight in front of a teacher, or better yet, the school's Rent-A-Cop, Michael would be just dandy.
The bell rang. Shit. Between jacking cars to get groceries while his dad was boozing away his rare paycheck, dodging hit-and-runs, and trying to keep Nate away from his father, the report on an influential Hispanic figure was the last thing on Michael's mind, until the bell for fifth period Spanish II brought him back to reality. As he walked to class, trying to work out a plan to scrape together some half-ass project at the last minute, a very large, very tall, very-likely-to-have-a-gun-in-those-low-riding-pants gigolo slammed into him as the future gangbanger walked by with his latest crack whore.
Reality was a bitch.
By the time Michael managed to maneuver into his seat in the back, the class had already started, and the evil teacher, Carla, was wearing a black dress to match the I-want-to-see-you-dead smile she threw his way.
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Mr. Westen. If you don't mind, you can start the class off with your report on an influential Hispanic figure." Michael looked at her slowly. "And if I do mind?"
The rest of the class snickered under their breath. Everyone knew that the only reason the genius-slacker Westen was slumming around the public school system of South Beach was because his elite private school had already expelled him. And if he kept running his mouth against Carla, he would be out on his ass again, or worse. It was only a matter of time.
Thanks to Maddie's constant questions that were both annoying and insightful("Where the hell did you get that car, Michael?"), Michael was well practised in pulling lies from thin air, no matter what the situation was. He took a deep breath and looked Carla right in the eye.
"I chose Señor Miguel Acosta for my report on an important Hispanic figure. Mr Acosta is a drug lord in Tijuana, Mexico that is competing against a rival drug cartel to become the lead smuggler of hardcore drugs to the United States, including, but not limited to cocaine, heroin, and ecstasy. His distribution areas are throughout Texas, Arizona, and southern California, where secondary middle men ship the drugs, typically along with coffee from South America to mask the smell from drug sniffing dogs, to Southeast, Canada, and northern California..." and he went on describing the life and business of Mr. Acosta until it was almost time for lunch.
As he began to get into the details of exactly how Acosta would use common household items to cut the cocaine(while half the class took details notes), Carla decided it was time to cut him off before things got out of control. "Thank you Mr. Westen for that educational report. Please take your seat."
Michael gave her a steady look. "I'm not finished with my report yet." Carla glanced back at him and walked right into his face, close enough that he could see the green flecks in her eyes and the outline of every faint freckle.
"I'm glad to see you're so dedicated to the study of drug lord, but this is my class. Now take your seat." Before either of them could move, the bell rang and students flooded out of the room. Michael waited until Carla blinked, and then walked out slowly.
He hated the school, hated the ignorant teeming mass of kids that always got in his way, and the way Carla could control his behaviour even outside of class. There were poster everywhere for the upcoming Sadie Hawkin Dance. He wanted to rip them down so badly he had to stick his hands in his pockets to stop himself. There were no dances or that kind of crap at his old school. It was strictly business: get in, learn, leave. And Michael had been one of the best in the whole class before he had been expelled for supposedly altering grades of other students.
It was a total lie. He hadn't touched the school files.
While Michael was musing through his thoughts, he failed to notice the soft squish of sneakers approaching behind him, until he felt the metallic scrape of a blade against his jugular. Brennan breathed in his ear softly.
"You're a slippery son of a bitch to catch, you know that Westen? I don't like it when you hide from me. Makes me feel like you don't really wanna see me, you know? And that hurts, that hurts my feelings. Do you wanna hurt my feelings Michael? Do you want to make me ANGRY?" Brennan gave him a little shake and the knife slipped and a drop of blood squeezed out. Michael closed his eyes. There went that shirt.
"Brennan...you know I would never want to make you upset. But sometimes" Michael ducked away from the knife and slammed his face into Brennan's nose and ran. "I just need my own space!"
He ran into the cafeteria, where all 1953 kids at this hell hole gathered to eat lukewarm pizza. Dodging between tables, he plopped down at the first open seat-a table full of giggling cheerleaders. He started nodding along to their inane conversation, watching for Brennan out of the corner of his eye. Just as he was sure that the evil bastard had gone past the cafeteria, the same very large gigolo grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked him out of his seat. One look at Gigolo's face and Michael booked it.
As he sped down the hall, checking right and left for anyone else that needed to satisfy their daily urge to beat him into a bloody pulp, he completely overlooked the girl walking at a normal speed, collided into her, knocked down all her books, and dropped her to the floor. On top of him. Awkward.
Michael, never a real ladies' man, helped the girl up and gave her back her books, apologizing frantically in case she raised a fit and Carla overheard. Or worse, his mother(he wouldn't have put it past her to bug him if she could find a few cheap disposable phones). When he asked for the third time if she was okay, the girl reached into her pocket, pulled out a switchblade, and pointed it in his face.
"If you ask me again, I'm going to give you something that will really make people wonder if you're okay. Got it?" Michael slowly put his hands up, but the girl didn't lower the knife, only moved it down slightly. That was all the opportunity Michael needed and he grabbed the knife handle, twisted, and palmed it. Before the girl could react, he tossed it neatly into the garbage can. Ignoring her stunned face, he started his lecture. "You know, it's rude to point knives at people that are just being polite. And we haven't even been introduced, what would your mother say? Knives are nice for people that are trying to get money or rapists, but I'm making sure you're okay. Now that I'm sure you're definitely fine, have a nice day."
As he tried to side-step the very surprised looking girl, she stepped in synch with him and stuck out her hand. "Fiona. I'm Fiona." He smiled at her and shook her hand. With a vicious grin, she twisted his arm up behind his back and pushed him to his knees, keeping her other hand by his neck.
"That knife cost me a lot of money, Michael Westen. And you're going to make it up to me, one way or the other." He noticed a bit of an Irish lilt in her voice as she grew steadily more pissed off. It was cute, in a rabid tiger sort of way.
"Can I write you an IOU? I'm a little strapped for cash at the moment, but there's a yogurt in my bag if you like blueberry." Fiona chuckled and breathed down his neck. "I'm more of a strawberry girl myself, but if you can get my knife back and do me a little favour, we'll call it a deal."
Michael twisted against her hold and she squeezed a little tighter. "If you could just let me go, I'm sure we could discuss this a little bit more." When she kept squeezing, he tried hard to relax his neck muscles as much as possible, then threw himself to the ground, spun around, grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her to the cement wall. From the heavy, furious breathing and the slanted, angry eyes, she was pretty pissed. Oh well.
"So what's your favour?" He grinned, enjoying watching her try to squirm away. That wall was definitely immutable and he was several inches and pounds heavier that she was. Under the crazy knife wielding psychopath and the enraged flush, she was actually pretty cute. "I'd say protect you from a big bad boyfriend, but I think you can pretty safely handle yourself."
Michael would later look back at what happened next to be the exact moment where he officially started becoming Fiona's boybitch.
She stopped squirming against him. She smiled coyly and tossed her hair. Michael tensed, waiting for the impending kick in the face. Instead, she pressed forward, right up against his eye, pushing her chest against his, working her knee in between his and tracing a figure 8 up and down the side of his leg.
Michael's breath hitched in his chest. "What exactly do you want from me, girl?" Fiona smirked and caught his earlobe between her teeth. "Well, you're pretty smooth and good with talking, so you're going with me to the Sadie Hawkins. I'll pick you up at eight."
And when she walked away, and Michael watched her go, noting the curve of her hips under a pair of loose camo pants, he smiled, because maybe being burned from his old school wasn't going to be too terrible.
AN: For any Relient K fans in the house, I got the idea from the song "Sadie Hawkins Dance". It's pretty cute and I thought it would fit with some tweaking.