Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice or any of its characters.
Hey, there. I'm a big fan of the Burn Notice TV show and figured I'd try my hand at a little fanfiction. I would appreciate it if you would review my work and give me your honest opinions; I'm always looking to improve my writing. Thanks a lot! Hope you enjoy. -T
Sun. Sand. Surf. Espionage. One of these things is not like the others, and for a girl in her late teens that one word conjures up images of romance and danger, handsome men and gorgeous women. Mix all of this together and you've got a typical college student in downtown Miami having a very, very good day. But I'll get to that; right now let me introduce myself.
My name is Artemis Taylor. I'm 19 years old and a second-year student at Florida International University. I'm 5'8" with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very low tolerance for idiots, which gets me in trouble quite a lot as I'm sure you can imagine. This story begins almost two weeks before Christmas, just as I was moving out of my dorm for vacation. It will be told from two separate points of view to ensure you get the entire story, so be sure to keep track of who's narrating or you might get lost. Shall we begin?
Let's set the scene: it's December 11th, about 1:15 in the afternoon, and I've just finished my last exam of the semester. Freedom smells so sweet, but the last place I want to go for vacation is home. Seriously, I'm from Seattle. Where would you rather be for Christmas, sunny Miami or sleet-covered Seattle? I'm moving at a leisurely pace, absorbing the sunlight and the warmth while I move my things to my car. All too soon the only thing I have left is my art portfolio. It doesn't look like much, just a standard manila folder, but it holds years of work and I've added my own personal touches. Using my imagination, the internet, and a good photo editing program I turned the cover into my rendition of a government Eyes Only dossier. It looks fantastic, if a little beat up, and it fits me well enough. I set it down on my desk so I can do one last thorough check of my room, just to be sure, then tuck my portfolio/dossier under my arm and walk outside to get into my sleek black Dodge Charger. It's a gorgeous car, a vintage '74, and it was very hard for me to get my hands on, so imagine my surprise when I step out the door and see two identical cars in front of me!
For a moment I can't even tell which is mine, so I walk up to one and check the license plate number: S7E-207. Nope, not mine. Okay, no harm, no foul. As I step back from the other Charger and move toward my own, fervently hoping I don't look suspicious, I collide with a tall, brown haired man wearing dark sunglasses and a tan Armani suit. We both hit the pavement, dropping the folders we're carrying. I jump to my feet as quickly as possible, apologizing profusely and helping him up.
"I'm really sorry about that, sir, I was just trying to figure out which car was mine, you see, and I wasn't really paying attention to—"
He waves off my apology and takes off his sunglasses, wiping the dirt off them with a smile and looking at me with amused brown eyes.
"Don't worry about it. You okay?"
"Yeah. You?" I ask nervously.
"Fine, thanks." He dusts himself off and picks up one of the folders. "By the way," he says, walking past me. "Nice car."
With that he climbs into the other Charger and drives off, leaving me to toss my portfolio in the passenger seat of my Charger and drive away with a grin.