Thank you for giving my story a try.
I don't own anything related to Burn Notice or any other TV show. I wrote this for fun, not profit.
Also, I tried to use as much factual information as possible, but I took educated guesses with a lot of the government and medical stuff. Please don't sweat if it doesn't ring true.
Hope you enjoy, and feel free to review if you want!
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"Morning, Michael!" Agent Robert Granger called through his open office door.
"Hey Rob!" Michael replied.
He and Robert worked on the same floor of the CIA building and had developed a friendship over the past four years. Robert had been a pencil pusher in the foreign affairs department even before Michael had arrived, and he was one of the first agents to befriend Michael when he arrived in Washington, D.C.
"Do you have a minute?" Robert asked. "I want you to sign this report from your last field op in England."
"Sure," Michael replied and entered the office.
He was used to signing papers daily, since he had gone from field agent to supervisory officer of covert operations. A younger Michael would have balked at the idea of sitting at a desk all day, watching other agents do the dirty work. Forty-six year old Michael however, appreciated the decrease in gunshot wounds and sore muscles.
As Michael reached out for the paperwork, a folder lying on his friend's desk caught his eye. It seemed as though Robert had been looking through the folder when Michael walked by, because a loose paper was hanging out of the bottom of the folder. Michael wouldn't have given the paper a second glance, if it hadn't been for a few key words that made his heart skip a beat: Dublin, IRA, Glenanne.
Michael looked quickly back at his paperwork, hoping that his glance hadn't been too obvious. It seemed the man sitting in the office chair hadn't noticed, since he had been digging around his unkempt desk for a pen. Michael respected his fellow agent, but had to admit the younger man wouldn't last a day in the field.
Robert kept digging through piles of paperclips and post-its for a pen, giving Michael time to consider his next move.
Just forget what you saw, Michael tried to convince himself. The Glenannes are a big family, whatever is in the folder probably has nothing to do with her. And even if it does, she doesn't want your help, she made that abundantly clear five years ago.
Michael wanted to let it go, knew he should, but also knew that he couldn't, not until he knew whether she was in that folder and why. So, thanking his lucky stars for Robert's lack of organization, Michael reached out as if to help him in his still unproductive search, and knocked over the folder in the process.
Papers scattered everywhere. Michael, apologizing profusely, scrambled to pick up any of the papers within his reach. As he put the papers back on the desk, he glanced almost imperceptibly at each one, hoping that he would not see the name that would make his life infinitely more complicated.
It seemed that Michael would have no such luck. As he stole a glance at a paper that had fallen between the desk and the trash can, he saw a sentence that made him feel as though his heart were falling into his stomach.
"...based on the aforementioned evidence, the nation of Great Britain requests that the Irish-born Fiona Glenanne be extradited to London, England, where she will stand trial for the crimes she committed while a member of the Irish Republican Army."
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As Michael boarded his last-minute flight to Miami, he questioned whether he was making the best decision. He knew Fiona was more than capable of taking care of herself, but some part of him could not ignore the information he had stumbled across in his colleague's office. He supposed the smart move would be to call Fiona and give her a heads up, but even if he knew her number, he had a sneaking suspicion that she would not answer his call. He had already called his mother, whom he knew had lunch with Fiona regularly, but she said Fiona had taken on a client and hadn't been in touch in over a week. He called Sam as well, but his best friend said that he hadn't heard from Fiona recently either. This made Michael even more determined to find and talk to her in person. He made Sam promise to keep checking Fiona's apartment, and call him when she showed up. Michael hung up, even more anxious than before. Despite the fact that Fiona was no longer a part of his life, the thought of her in danger was enough for him to use up his accumulated personal days and fly to a city he thought he might never see again.
About thirty minutes into the flight Michael realized that he had no plan. Considering that his job consisted almost entirely of making plans, it was a bit unnerving to not be ready for what was coming next. Michael supposed his first move would be to find Fiona. Perhaps he could find an address for her in the CIA database. If Granger had gotten a request for her extradition, chances were that he had someone keeping tabs on her location. He quickly opened his laptop and logged into his government account. Sure enough an address for an apartment in southern Miami popped up.
With one task out of the way, Michael turned his thoughts to what he would say to Fiona once he found her. He supposed that whatever it was, it should be fast, since she would probably shoot him if he stuck around for too long.
Michael thought back to the last time he had seen Fiona. It was nearly five years before, and he had just completed what was supposed to be his last mission with the CIA.
He drove the Charger to Fiona's house and parked in the driveway, relieved to see that Carlos's car was absent. Michael walked in without knocking. He had no right to do so, but it had become a habit after the past seven years. What he saw when he entered made him think that knocking would have been wise.
Fiona Glenanne was lying on the couch with a nearly empty bottle of Irish whiskey tucked between her waist and the cushion. She appeared to have been there for a while, as her clothes were wrinkled and her hair was unkempt. She didn't stir when Michael entered, a fact that greatly disturbed him, considering how many enemies he knew would love to find the fiery woman in such a vulnerable state.
He walked over to the couch warily, trying to decide how to wake Fiona without getting a bloody nose in the process. While he was pondering this, the woman in question began to stir, opening first one eye then the other, to see who had disturbed her restless slumber.
"It's me," Michael said in a whisper. He thought it best to approach her gently, considering how big a hangover she was likely to have.
"Ugh, Michael?" Fiona questioned, peering up at him through half-closed lids.
"What are you doing here?"
"I uh..." Michael began, not sure how to put it. He finally decided to spit it out. "I finished the job."
Fiona looked at him blankly.
"So?" she said.
"So, uh, I'm going to D.C. for the debriefing, but after that I'm a free man. We're all free." He smiled hopefully. "It's over."
Fiona blinked slowly and sat up. "Okay."
Michael sighed. This was even worse than he had expected. He'd take violent, explosive Fiona over indifferent Fiona any day. He decided to try a different tactic.
"You know, once I'm officially retired from the CIA, I'll have plenty of free time. Maybe we could take clients, like we used to. I know you're with Carlos, and I respect that, but-"
"I'm not with Carlos." Fiona interrupted suddenly.
"What are you talking about?" Michael asked, confused. He had just witnessed their reunion a few days before when they had rescued Carlos from an old enemy.
"Carlos broke up with me."
"Oh Fi, I'm sorry," Michael began, "I know how much you-"
"Don't give me that crap, Michael!" Fiona exclaimed, her eyes reddening. "This is your fault! If it weren't for you and that stupid organization, I would still have a boyfriend! Every time I find a bit of happiness without you, you come back into my life and scare away the people I care about!"
"Fiona, I didn't mean to scare anyone; I want you to be happy! And if I don't make you happy, then I want you to be with someone who does."
"But you do make me happy!" Fiona shouted, close to tears. She knew she was still drunk, and was sure Michael knew it too. "How can I move on, and be a good partner to someone else, when I see you every day? These past few months, I felt like I was cheating on you by being with Carlos. I lied to him about the time I spent with you, and I didn't even feel guilty!"
"Fi," Michael tried again, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize!" She snapped. "You'll only make this harder."
"Make what harder Fi?" Michael questioned, dreading whatever she was about to say.
"I-I can't be around you anymore. Let me finish." She said, as she saw Michael begin to speak. "When you are around, Michael, you are my boyfriend, which means that I can't have other meaningful relationships. But I need more than you can give me. I need someone who will be there for me, someone who won't walk out on me, ever. I need a normal relationship."
Michael sensed the conversation going in a direction that terrified him. "Fiona, I can be that person. I'm done with the CIA, we can be together."
"You can't, and you never will be." Fiona replied sadly. "I need my own life, without any interference from you."
Fiona glanced down at the floor, unwilling or unable to look at Michael as she made her final request of him.
"Please, Michael, go to D.C., and don't come back."