Disclaimer: Burn Notice, and all its characters, plot lines etc. are not mine (sadly) and exist due to the creative genius of Matt Nix and his wonderful creative team.

Second disclaimer: since (to my knowledge) they never give Michael's exact age or birthday, I had to do some quick calculations and take a guess. Here's my math for those who are curious:

As of 2007 (when the show aired) Michael had been serving the country for 10 years (according to USA's character bio,) and since he joined the army at 17, that meant that he left in, roughly, 1997. Subtract 17 years from 1997 and he was born in 1980, which means in 2010 when "Brotherly Love" aired, he was 30. Phew!

This story takes place after the episode "Brotherly Love," and was inspired by Nate's parting comment that he'd "like his kid to have a cousin someday." Read and Review if you like, but constructive comments only please!

Broken Bird

Chapter One: Old Friends

Michael turned the flash drive over and over in his hands, musing over the fact that something so tiny had the ability to affect- and possibly destroy- so many lives. 'But then again,' he thought to himself 'so do bullets and grenades.' Shaking himself out of his reverie, he got up from his favorite and only chair and walked to the stairs that led to the 'upstairs' portion of his loft to hide the flash drive in the hollowed out leg of the table there. It wasn't a perfect hiding place, he knew, but it would take anyone who broke into his loft a while to search through all the false drawer bottoms, secret caches, and various other places he had weapons and documents hidden, and the loft wasn't often left empty for more than a few hours at a time. His phone rang, and he grimaced slightly as he saw it was his mother calling.

Sighing he hit the answer button and said "Yeah mom?"

"Michael I need you to come over here."

"Ma I-"

"There's someone here to see you about help Michael! You need to get over here and talk to her!"

"Mom…" Michael began, but stopped himself, knowing it was pointless to argue with his mother when she got that tone in her voice. "I'll be there in a few, okay?"

"Alright Michael. I'll see you soon." Madeline said, sounding slightly mollified, and hanging up on him.

Michael sighed and grabbed his keys, and walked to the door. 'So much for having time alone to think,' he thought to himself.

Michael strode to the back door of his childhood home and walked into his mother's kitchen, the familiar smell of cigarettes hitting him in the face like an invisible wall. In the kitchen, putting a pitcher of iced tea onto a tray along with three glasses was his mother, her bleached blonde hair slightly yellowed from her ever-present cloud of smoke and a half smoked cigarette dangling from her lips. Looking up, Madeline took the cigarette between two fingers in a practiced motion as she smiled at her son.

"Michael! There you are!" she said happily, throwing some sliced lemon into the pitcher.

"Mom, who is here and why do they need help?" Michael whispered tensely.

"You know her Michael- from high school! She said you went together," Madeline's face soured momentarily, "that is, until you left. Anyways, she found out you were in town and said that she had to talk to you and that you were the only person who could help her."

Michael felt a growing sense of dread one she mentioned high school. High school hadn't exactly been the best years of his life. Bending over to look under the counter, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach; standing in his mother's entryway staring at an old family picture was none other than Melanie St. James.

Melanie St. James had been one the few people who Michael had actually liked at his high school. She hadn't judged him when he got into trouble for fighting, or showed up to school with a split lip or black eye. She had helped him in school when they were in classes together and the teachers wouldn't help him, marked as a 'no-good troublemaker' and therefore not worthy of their time. He had even had dinner at her house a few times when they had been studying or the Westen house had been scant on food, at which times she had snuck him the leftovers into his backpack as he was leaving so he could share with his mother and brother. When he had asked her why she had bothered to care at all upon their farewell, she had smiled and said, "Because it looked like you needed a friend. And once I got to know you, you were a good friend to have."

Smiling slightly, Michael remembered that at that moment he had plucked up enough courage to plant a kiss full on her mouth to say goodbye- and that it had then had turned into something much more than a kiss in her soft bed with her sweet smelling sheets and skin. She had been the prettiest girl in school back in the day, and she was still beautiful. Her skin was barely kissed by the sun, and her long auburn hair fell in waves to the middle of her back. Her eyes were still the bluest blue he had yet to find, framed by long, dark lashes and a few more laugh lines than when he had last seen her. She stood at maybe 5' 5", but she had obviously kept herself in good shape, and carried herself with a confidence that made her seem taller.

Looking at her now, Michael felt a disconcerting and overwhelming sense of indebtedness to her, and the urge to help her with her problem. He followed his mother out of the kitchen and extended his hand to shake as she stood. "Melanie. It's been a long time."

Melanie smiled and sidestepped his hand to hug him. Stepping back before he'd had time to react she replied, "Hello Michael. It's good to see you."

Madeline, noticing the awkward tension between them, decided to break the ice by pouring the drinks. Taking hers in her hand, Madeline said, " I have some errands to run. I'll be back in a little while. Melanie it was lovely to meet you. I hope Michael can help you with your problem." With that, she hurried into the kitchen, putting down her glass and grabbing her keys and sunglasses before she slammed the door behind her. Melanie smiled nervously at Michael and sipped her drink. Licking her lips, she opened her mouth to only close it quickly again, as if unsure how to start. Michael gestured for her to take a seat.

"My mom said you had a problem. What can I do to help?" he asked.

Melanie swallowed hard, then launched into her story. "I have a daughter. She helps after school at a karate dojo downtown that gives huge discounts to children whose parents otherwise would never be able to afford to pay for them to go there. They teach karate and a few other type of fighting, but they also instill in all of their pupils self-respect, the harms of drugs both recreational and legal, and most of all the problems that gangs have caused the neighborhood. It was all going great until six months ago; the owner, Tom, had worked with a tattoo parlor to give major discounts to people who were having their gang insignias removed by laser so they could join the armed forces or get a better job. The leader of the local gang got wind of it and was furious. He and 10 of his gang members ambushed Tom after he closed one night and attacked him after he refused to stop helping kids leave his gang. He was stabbed 8 times- he would have died if someone hadn't seen what was happening and called the police! Later that night, the tattoo parlor was set on fire and its equipment was destroyed. Now a lot of people are scared, and some kids are leaving the school to join the gang. The guy, Jose, uses kids as young as 12 to do errands or even run drugs!"

"So why come to me? Why not go to the police?" Michael asked

"No one can prove anything!" Melanie exclaimed in frustration. "The bastard has cops- what's the phrase? - on the take. They warn him when he's about to get caught or they have a lead and he changes tactics. Nate said that you've handled similar things like this in the past, and that you could help."

"Nate said… When did you talk to Nate?"

"A few days ago. He friends with a few of my old friends from high school, and when they mentioned that you, the prodigal son, were back in town, I tracked down him number to talk to him. When he mentioned working with you, I managed to wheedle out the details from him about some of the things you done. I knew then that you were the only one who could help."

Michael made a mental note to have a very serious discussion with his brother about his ability to keep a secret very soon as he contemplated Melanie's situation. Finally he said, "I have to talk to the people I work with and get some more information before I figure out the best way to handle this. Let me get your number and I'll-"

"Wait!" she exclaimed as Michael stood to show her out. "Please sit. I- there's another reason I came to talk to you."

Michael sat slowly; slightly wary about what else she had to say.

Melanie took a picture from the purse that sat near her arm on the table. Taking a deep breath, she handed it to him. "That's Cassidy. My daughter. She'll be 15 in February."

"She looks like you." Said Michael, studying the pictures occupant intently. She had the same auburn hair as her mothers that fell to her waist in the picture, though hers was more curls than waves. Her eyes were the same true-blue, although her nose was slightly longer than her mother's button of a nose, with a slightly turned up tip. Her cheeks were dusted with freckles that carried over the bridge of her nose, giving her a look of pure mischief when added to her lopsided smile she gave the camera.

"Sometimes I think she looks more like her father. Michael do you remember when you came to say goodbye?" Melanie asked him.

Michael looked up at her and smiled a charming smile. "Yeah I do."

Melanie blushed and continued. "You left the next morning, and you never wrote or called or anything- and I'm not blaming you." She said holding up a hand to forestall him from speaking as he opened his mouth, looking defensive. "I know you had a rough childhood, and that that's putting it mildly. I didn't want to be the reason you had to come home and deal with your family after you had just escaped."

"I don't follow." Michael replied, slightly puzzled at the turn the conversation had taken.

Melanie looked at him intently. "Michael, you were the first and only man for 10 years that I ever slept with. Cassidy was born February 10th, 1998. I was just 19. She was conceived on May 6th of 1997. Cassidy Anne St. James is your daughter."

Michael stared at her, completely dumbfounded, letting the information he had just received sink in before blurting the first thing that came to his mind: "Shit."