A/N: Unbeta'd and not even really proofread. And my first published fic in quite a while. So reviews and constructive criticism would be much appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice, etc. and I'm not making any profit on this, etc.
His vision was not quite clear and the edges were still blurring and trying to coalesce into different scenes and memories from his life. Sonya had dropped him off at his mother's after coolly telling him that his belongings had been incinerated and that he no longer had even the burnt remnants of his former home. He was starting to realize that though in the end he had passed the organization's test, Sonya had been playing him just as skillfully as he had been playing her. But he had through some miracle managed to maintain just enough presence of mind to fool her when she thought that he was completely vulnerable and open.
He had collapsed into Madeline's arms, unable to take even a moment more. He realized he had forgotten just how comforting it could be to just rest against someone who you could trust. The hours of isolation and drugs had left him wanting that comforting contact. He shuddered as he remembered how he had leant into James's hand. He wasn't really sure how much of that had been because he wanted to play a character and how much resulted from succumbing to the torture.
He dimly became aware of Madeline's panic. She was gently patting his back as her voice became increasingly worried. "Michael. Honey. Tell me what's wrong. Do you need something? Should I call someone? Sam, Jesse… Fiona." She hesitated saying the last name and despite himself, the mention of Fiona's name was too much. He gave a violent shudder and his vision clouded. He felt a different embrace in that moment, hallucinating the comfort of Fiona's arms.
Coming back to the present and to the litany of reassurances and questions pouring forth from his mother, he gathered what little strength he had.
"Mom."
Madeline immediately quieted, knowing how exhausted and weak her son looked and knowing to give him the time he needed to speak.
"Help me lay down, mom," was what came out. He should have said he was alright. That things would be okay and he just needed some time to rest. He didn't know how long he had been on that island, but he knew that his absence had probably been noticed by Sam and Jesse at least.
Madeline didn't hesitate to shift so that he could lean against her as they made their way to the comfortable couch in the other room. He sank down awkwardly, aches and pains he had been relegating to the back of his mind now coming to the fore as he allowed his body to relax. Madeline quietly helped him shift into a comfortable position.
"Michael, you look sick. What's wrong?"
"I'm okay, mom." He was quick to reassure her. "There are some drugs running through my system, but they should wear off soon," at least he hoped. He wasn't clear on how long ago the last dose had been.
"Drugs! What… how...?" she didn't even know how to phrase the question.
"I'm okay mom." He sighed out, closing his eyes against the dizziness.
"No, Michael. You're not. Tell me what's going on! You look horrible and you won't tell me anything!"
He sighed and looked into her eyes.
"I'll be fine with some rest."
"Michael. Tell me what's happened right now!"
His patience broke and his temper flared. His voice was sharper than he intended when he barked, "I was interrogated! For days! With drugs! I was hoping it wouldn't continue here!"
He couldn't look his mother in the eye when he saw her flinch. To his dismay, her face crumpled and her hands fluttered over him uncertainly.
"I'm sorry, ma, for yelling." He said softly; contritely.
"The others noticed you were missing. They've been looking for you. Do they know you're safe?" Madeline asked slowly, watching carefully to see if he were ready for the question. She was back to being calm.
He took a moment to appreciate his mother's fortitude and composure. Then he remembered what caused her to be that way and the drugs that were still not completely out of his system took hold again.
Though he could clearly see his mother as she is now, crouched over him protectively with concern in her eyes, overlaid over that image was a hallucination of his father as he had been. At least now it felt a lot less real.
His father was looking at him, his expression severe as ever. A sneer emerged.
"You see it now, Michael, don't you? Look at how tough she is. If not for me she wouldn't be. I toughened you up. You're alive right now because of me! Me! You should be thankful!"
He could feel spittle hit the side of his face but knew it wasn't really there. Thankfully, the hallucination faded quickly. The drugs must be leaving his system.
"Michael! Can you hear me!" his mother's voice broke through to him.
"Yeah mom." He took a second to remember what she had asked him before his father had appeared in the living room.
"I haven't talked to… I don't know if they know I'm here."
Thoughts of his friends… his family… Charlie! Charlie shouldn't see him like this. He didn't know what it would do to the kid. He didn't want to further damage him. He was already the reason that Charlie didn't have a father.
"Where's Charlie?"
Madeline smiled, he face softening. "He's sleeping. He got tired out at the playground. He made a new friend."
Hearing that was oddly comforting. A tightness in his chest loosened just a modicum. But that loosening only made the emotions he had been suppressing and unwillingly expressing for the past days surge forth. To his dismay, tears started to well in his eyes and though he tried to prevent them, they started to fall. He blindly reached for his mother's hand, which had been hovering uncertainly.
He wanted to repeat how sorry he was over and over until she really understood how much it was killing him that he had caused Nate's death. That he knew that she would never truly forgive him for getting her baby killed. He was so, so sorry. He loved Nate too. He hurt so much. It hurt to even think about his baby brother. He had always tried his best to protect Nate and to keep him out of trouble. He had failed. He was so sorry. He would never forgive himself. He didn't expect her to forgive him when he couldn't forgive himself.
He realized that he must have been speaking aloud when his mother put a finger to his lips and hushed him softly. She shifted to sit next to him and prodded him to lean against her. He leaned for all he was worth, knowing that he had started to tremble and he buried his face against her. Embarrassed, he realized he had made a small, pained sound.
He was exhausted and his mother seemed to sense that he couldn't bear any more questions.
"Sleep, Michael," she said gently. "We can talk later."
Suddenly everything crashed down on him and he didn't even have the energy to nod. His eyes closed without any conscious decision.
They snapped open when Madeline shifted to get up.
Another embarrassing sound got past his lips and the surge of mortification and disappointment in his lack of control was overwhelming.
She placed a hand on his cheek and he couldn't help but flinch. But he immediately leaned into it. His mother didn't say anything and he was grateful.
"The others are worried sick. I need to call them. Sleep, Michael."
There was a very large part of him that wanted to ask her to stay there on the couch with him for a while longer. But he had reached his limit for embarrassing displays. He nodded and closed his eyes. Her hand lingered on his cheek for just a while as he sank into a troubled sleep.