Disclaimer: Behind Blue Eyes was written by Pete Townshend and was produced by The Who & Glyn Johns. Burn Notice belongs to Matt Nix. This has been written for fun.
A/N: So I was watching Sea Change and I got to wondering what would Fiona, Sam and Jesse have done if their plan to capture Michael at the boathouse had worked? Would Michael forgive them? Where would they go? Who would get to them first? James and Sonya, or Agent Strong and the CIA? Then, a little later on the same day, I was checking out some videos on YouTube and voilà!
Behind Blue Eyes
The silver-colored luxury sedan was traveling steadily over the old port bridge. Everything looked to be going perfectly to plan. Then all of a sudden, it began to speed up and dangerously swerve out of control, for one brief second looking like it might even crash through the safety rails and descend into the water below. But then it was over and the vehicle came to a stop diagonally across one lane.
Moments later, a tall dark haired figure leapt out of the passenger door, followed immediately by the driver throwing open his door and jumping out too. As others looked on, the two men were embroiled in a heated argument.
"What are they doing?" Fiona Glenanne asked the question, but in truth she didn't need to hear the answer. She already knew what was happening across the water from where she stood.
Standing side by side with Jesse Porter, all the auburn-haired Irishwoman could do was watch helplessly as their carefully laid plan fell apart before their eyes. Fiona lowered her binoculars, her skin ashen as she realized they had lost. Both men were out of the car and, just from their body language, there was no doubt left in her mind that Michael, like the highly skilled predator he was, had spotted the trap they had been waiting to spring.
She couldn't remember another time when she had ever felt as impotent as she did right then. Standing at the edge of the floating jetty, staring out over the water, as Sam began to fight for what was left of the battle weary spy's soul.
"It's going all wrong... We need to get down there now." She turned to towards Jesse, her expression that of a woman who was not going to take no for an answer.
Looking over the petite woman's head, Jesse winced as he witnessed Sam body slam his best-friend onto the hood of the car and a fraction of a second later smash his fist down where the spy's head had been only moments earlier.
"Damn straight, before they kill -" The shaven headed younger man paused, as Michael used both legs in a double kick, hitting his target squarely in the chest with both feet in rapid succession.
"Oh hell," he moaned, as with a sudden burst of speed and most likely a gut full of desperation, the former SEAL rushed his younger opponent and use his momentum to send them both sailing out over the rail and into the water far below.
"Jesse, get in or get left behind!" Fiona shouted, gunning the engine of her sports car to emphasize her words.
The wheels of her Hyundai spun, making the tires squeal as she drove rapidly towards the most likely spot for the two men to surface. She was still reeling from witnessing how far Michael had fallen under the spell of James Kendrick and that evil little troll bitch, Sonya Lebedenko.
She should have pushed harder for Sam to take a taser along as a backup. He should have never had attempted to bring Michael in on his own. But none of them had truly believed that their best friend would have turned so completely against them.
"Sam's better in the water," Jesse muttered, trying to offer up some reassurance. "He's the stronger swimmer, yeah. Yeah, he can take Mike down in the water... I mean, the guy was a SEAL..."
"Jesse, shut up. And just – just -" She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and sent out her own silent prayers that it was the SEAL winning the battle taking place under the waves. But deep in her heart, she knew Michael would win out. It is one of the things she loved most about him: he always found a way to succeed.
"There! Look!... Oh, damn..." Jesse pointed excitedly and then, as he realized who it was swimming for the platform under the bridge, he reached for the shotgun laying at his feet instead.
"Fi, pull over. Get ready with the sedative. I'll -" He had shot Michael Westen once before, he could do it again.
"No, I'll take the gun."
This was something she had to do. She knew deep down that she had to take her fair share of the blame for what had happened to her former lover. If she had to shoot him to bring him back to his senses, well, so be it.
With the little red sports car stopped and blocking off any hope the spy had of taking Sam's ride, the couple climbed out and moved cautiously towards the steps which led down to the waters edge.
They came to a stop as they heard Michael speaking, hearing the deadly threat in his tone.
"- been through so much together, I'm gonna let this go. But you stay the hell outta my way, Sam."
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
And then he was there, right in front of her, dripping wet and exuding an icy rage. As he looked her straight in the face, she saw only cold hatred. There was nothing of the man she loved showing in his narrowed deep blue eyes.
"Move, Fi," he growled out her name, his muscles tensing when he saw the gun and read her intent.
She couldn't give him a chance. She couldn't give him an opportunity to speak any more. Just seeing that look on his face, she knew that if she didn't stop him now, she might end up having to kill him for real.
The shotgun bucked in her hand and Michael staggered backwards as the rubber projectile hit him squarely in the chest. But somehow he managed to stay upright, his features registering shock at what she'd done.
"Fi?" The word came out of his mouth in a gasp as she changed her aim and fired again.
Long ago on the streets of Ireland, British soldiers had learned that the rubber bullets they were issued with to control the rioting natives were incapable of stopping a determined attack. So she did what they had learned to do and angled her next shot into the ground, sending the ricocheting bullet up into the man she still loved at a far greater velocity than the first shot. It had been the exact same technique used which had killed her Uncle Milo and set her own father on the path to becoming a bomb-maker and bank robber.
The impact dropped Michael to his knees, his expression horrified as his hands frantically reached to his chest as if searching for a wound.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered and turned away, unable to watch as Jesse closed in and injected a sedative into the rogue spy's neck before easing their fallen friend down onto the hard concrete deck.
"Fi, Jesse, what's goin -?"
Upon hearing the ex-SEAL's voice, she let the shotgun slip from her grip and rushed over to the steps as Sam Axe staggered into view. His expression, if possible, was becoming even grimmer as he took in the scene before him.
"What have you done?" He batted her hand away as she tried to help him up the last of the steps, all his attention on his former friend now lying drugged at the side of the road.
"We all agreed. We had to stop him. The plan is still the same! Come on, let's get him in the car... Sam! Come on before he wakes up." She justified hitting her former lover with two non-lethal shotgun rounds at close range while tugging on the older man's arm in an effort to make him move.
Ignoring the younger woman for a moment, the former Naval commander wiped away the blood trailing sluggishly down the side of his face from the cut above his eye. He could see no good way for this to end.
"C'mon, big fella, that shot I gave him ain't gonna last forever," Jesse called out with a loud grunt, as he rose to his feet with Michael's limp body slung over his shoulder.
"Put him in the trunk," Sam ordered, his tone lacking any of the usual warmth his companions were used to hearing when he spoke about or to his best friend. "Jess, you're gonna have to drive my car... If we're doing this, we don't take any more chances. Because, I'm tellin' ya, we do not want him coming round loose on the back seat."
"Sam, it's Mike," the younger man tried to reason. But he was cut off by the auburn-haired woman who was holding the lid of the trunk open.
"Not now, he isn't... Jesse, let's do it Sam's way. It's for the best. It won't hurt him and it's only for a few minutes."
Without another word, the tall man dropped his friend into the trunk and rearranged the sleeping man's limbs until they could shut the lid without risking injuring him. "You sure you don't want me to cable tie his wrists, so... er... you know... to make sure he can't escape."
"No, not yet. But we'll have do it before we get him on the plane," Sam answered grimly. "Speaking of which, we should get moving before James or Sonya come looking for their new best friend."
Fiona pulled up outside the boathouse in front of where Madeline Westen paced nervously back and forth waiting for them. The older woman rushed forward as soon the red sports car came to a stop.
"What happened? Did Sam manage to stop him? Where's Michael?" The questions were fired one after another.
"Madeline..." Fiona tenderly caught hold of the older woman's arms and held her still. "Come inside with me. I'll explain everything, but we have to get ready to leave. Now."
"Now? I thought -" The blond stared passed her son's ex-girlfriend to where Michael's two best-friends where lifting his limp body out of the trunk of Sam's car and carrying him into the empty storage room.
"Madeline, we need to get moving. We talked about this... The CIA, James' people will be looking for us."
The older woman stared for a moment longer, lost in thought as the enormity of what they were doing truly dawned on her. Her remaining son was a traitor to their country. He had turned his back on them all and abandoned them to either face a lifetime in prison or the not so tender mercies of his new friends.
"Promise me, we'll get him back." She looked directly into the blue-green eyes of the younger woman. "You'll get Michael back to who he was."
Fiona smiled, and fixed the older woman with a determined gaze. "Even if I end up having to kick his ass all the way across the Atlantic. I promise, we'll straighten him out."
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
Michael lay sprawled out on the hard concrete floor of the boathouse, stripped down to his boxers, even his sunglasses, wristwatch and shoes were gone, bagged up with his clothes along with a couple of large rocks waiting to be thrown out into the river.
"C'mon, dude, help me get him into these threads. The guy weighs a ton." Jesse had managed to get a pair of grey sweat pants up over the unconscious spy's knees and was now struggling to turn the limp body onto its side so he could pull the garment up over the other man's hips.
Sam squatted down to help. His eyes fixing on the sleeping visage of his best friend... Former best-friend? "I don't like this... This is a mistake. We should just let him go and get the hell outta here ourselves."
"You want to give up on him?" Jesse asked, surprise in his voice.
Sam sighed and ran a hand over his mouth and chin trying to think of a way to explain. "You didn't see him back there. He's gone, Jesse... He's my best friend, and it kills me to say it, but when I looked into his eyes, the Michael Westen I knew wasn't there..." He swiped at his eyes and got to his feet, leaving the younger man to finish dressing his friend. How could they save a man who didn't want to be saved?
He couldn't hide his sorrow any longer. Crossing the floor, he stepped out into the rain and raised his face towards the heavens, hoping the moisture falling from the sky would mask the tears trailing down his cheeks. He could still see the look of pure hatred etched into the features of the dark haired spy as Mike admitted he had turned his back on them all, not only his government and country, but his friends and family, too. The hateful bitter words of betrayal still rang clearly through the troubled ex-SEALs mind. But it wasn't just the words that had broken Sam's heart. It was the knowledge that Michael Westen, the man closer to him than any brother, had fallen under the thrall of one monster and was now nothing more than a monster himself.
()()()
Madeline Westen stared out of the Seaplane window and put her hand up to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes as she got her first proper look at her son as he was held up by Sam and Jesse and marched along the floating jetty towards the doors to the plane.
Michael's head hung down, his feet dragging along the ground as he slumped between the two larger, heavier men who supported him with a shoulder under each of his arms. Still in the grip of the strong sedatives Jesse had injected into his veins less than twenty minutes earlier, the dark haired, semi-conscious spy was incapable of either helping or hindering in his progress along the dock.
"It's going to be fine." Fiona tried to soothe the older woman. "Once we're somewhere safe, we'll sit him down and talk some sense into him."
"Is that what you think?" Madeline replied in a scathing tone. "You think you'll be able to talk my son into seeing what he's done is wrong?"
"He's just got lost, Madeline. We have to show him -"
The feel of the plane dipping down slightly and then the sight of Jesse's broad back coming through the narrow door caused both women to halt their discussion and instead turn their attention to the youngest member of their group.
Fiona leaned further over the seats, doing her best to block Charlie's view of his uncle being manhandled inside and strapped securely down into one of the seats near the front. Meanwhile Madeline fussed, making sure her grandson was strapped into his seat and that he had a tight hold on his favorite dinosaur toy.
"Let us know if he starts to come round. I'd rather not have fight with him while we're in the air." Sam turned to pull the doors shut, his tone flat and cold. "We got everything?"
"Everything in the boathouse is on board or tossed into the river." Fiona told him, as she took a seat next to her former lover, her fingers reaching out to comb through his wet, messed up hair.
"Good, let's get out of here." Fitting into the pilot's seat with Jesse at the co-pilot spot, Sam began to go through the checks for take off.
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
()()()()()
Fiona had shot him!
Michael tossed and turned, his limbs moving restlessly as he fought his way out of the drug haze he had been kept in throughout the journey away from Miami.
Fiona had shot him!
Sam had refused to understand what he was doing. It was the only way to keep them safe and give him a life worth living.
"You know when she gets like this... things tend to go boom."
Sam and Fiona were working together. The thought hit him like a punch. His friends had turned against him.
He sat up sharply and fell back just as fast. Lying on his back, he stared up at the dark ceiling and the empty light fitting dangling over his head as he tried to catch his breath.
They had kidnapped his mother and nephew, and burnt down her home... Had they gone crazy?
A wave of nausea came out of nowhere, a rush of heat drenched him in sweat and his stomach heaved, barely giving him time to turn and let his head hang off the side of the bed before the tiny amount of food left in his body ended up on the dust covered floor.
Breathing deeply through his nose, he sat up again. This time taking things slowly and wiping a trembling hand over his mouth, Michael took a long look at his surroundings. There wasn't much to see. He was in a small windowless room, which he thought might have been used for storage in the past. The walls were lined with two rows of shelving and looked pretty substantial. He would test them later if he couldn't get out through the wood door across on the other side of the room, which brought him to his next task; he had to get to his feet and make the walk to the door.
Lurching up on to his feet, the dark haired spy stood swaying while he fought the dizziness and the urge to throw up again. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself and gain control over his senses. He had one goal: to get out of wherever he was being held and back to James and Sonya...
They had ruined everything, his so-called friends. All they had to do was stay away and trust that he knew what he was doing and they couldn't even do that for him.
With his building anger adding to his sense of purpose, he opened his eyes and took the five steps necessary to cross the room. When he pushed down on the handle, he was surprised to find they hadn't locked him inside. Slowly, inch by inch, he opened the door just enough so he could see what, or rather who, was on the other side.
()()()()()()()()()