*Disclaimer: I do not own- and sadly never will own- Burn Notice. It exists solely due to the creative genius of Matt Nix and his amazing team of writers, and is a trademarked property of the USA channel.

*Please note: While I usually prefer to fit my ideas/stories into a series as best I can with a few modifications here and there, waiting until the summer to keep writing is both absurd and frustrating to me. Therefore, I am continuing with the Michael/ Cassidy story line, as part of me feels that it is not complete, and merely the first chapter is finished. My story will carry on using the basis that Michael is no longer burned, but cannot go back to being a spy abroad since his cover was blown and a lot of powerful people want him dead. If I'm wrong and this is not even close to what USA decides to do, then I apologize. If I'm correct, I have every intention of going out and buying a lot of lottery tickets.

Daddy's Girl

Chapter One: Family

Michael was exhausted. He'd barely slept for over a week, and he didn't even want to think about how long it had been since he had showered. He also didn't want to think about how worried and angry his friends and family were, in particular Fiona, Cassidy, and his mother. Putting them out of his mind, Michael focused on the situation at hand. He sat in yet another windowless room at a plain metal table in an uncomfortable metal chair. A stack of paperwork sat on one corner on the other side of the table, but he didn't dare move to touch it. Staring at the mirror on the wall that was undoubtedly a one-way mirror, he knew without a doubt that he was being watched.

When the door to the room and a man walked in, it was not the man whom Michael was expecting: the man who had met him outside. This man was in his mid to late 50s, and he was built along strong, sturdy lines, like a football player or boxer long since gone to seed. His hair had been black once upon a time, but was now salt and pepper and thinning. He had a nose than had been broken a few times, and a strong square chin. His eyes were a deep brown that gave nothing away except what he wanted them to.

"Hello Mr. Westen. How are we today?" asked the man. "My name is James Teagan."

Michael eyed James for a moment. "Tired. Very tired. And I feel like I smell, actually. But other than that? Great."

The man laughed, but the jolly sound he projected didn't reach his eyes. "Well we'll see what we can do to make you feel more comfortable in a bit. I have been sent here to discuss the matter of your burn notice."

Michael sat up a little straighter. "What would you like to…discuss?" he asked carefully.

"Oh don't worry, it's nothing to be overly concerned about." James gave Michael a friendly, reassuring smile that Michael didn't buy for a minute. "Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you on the work you've done; standing up to the man you know as Vaughn the way you did is no small feat, especially with the resources he had in his possession. And bringing down John Barrett? That couldn't have been easy…or painless." James looked significantly at the spot where Michael had been shot.

"No. It wasn't." said Michael, evenly.

James nodded and continued. "As we speak, Mr. Westen, your accounts are being unfrozen, and you are being taken off the black list. All of the red flags have been removed. You are free to live your life- travel as you like- without worrying about being harassed. The question is: what do you want to do with your life now that you have it back?"

Michael sat staring at the man who sat in front of him. "I want my life back." He stated simply.

James looked confused. "You must not have been listening; you have your life back. Your identity is yours again."

Michael shook his head. "I want my job back, and the life I led when I had that job."

Enlightenment dawned on James' face. "Ah. Well that, Mr. Westen, may be more difficult than you anticipated. There are people- powerful people- who want you dead. To put you back in the field doing what you used to do would be very dangerous, for not only you, but any contacts and assets you make, and us as well. When you were burned, your identity was exposed. We can protect you here, on US soil, but anywhere else would be nearly impossible." Michael slumped in his chair; feeling as if all of his work for the past almost four years had been for nothing. James paused for a moment and continued: "We are aware of the work you've done while you were burned, and the people you've helped. If you still want to serve your country, I can offer you this job. In Miami we have a field office; with your experience and expertise, you would make an ideal case officer."

Michael's jaw nearly dropped. "You want me to be a handler?"

James nodded, opening a folder and reading it. "You speak several different languages. You're inventive and creative. You hold two black belts, you're exhibited mastery of concealment and maintaining a cover id, and you work well under pressure. You are a model of what we need the next generation to be able to do in order to survive." Michael hung his head, tired and frustrated. "Think about it: no more being shot at, blown up, having to fight for your life if your cover id is blown. You could work in Miami and be close to your friends and your family…including your daughter."

Michael's head snapped up. "My-"

James held up his hands. "Mr. Westen, I am not threatening… Cassidy. You must have known that when you ran a DNA test that we would find out about her, especially with all the flags it raised."

Michael glared at James for a minute. "What about Jesse Porter?"

"What about him?"

"I cost him his job working for Vaughn. He did nothing wrong, and helped me take down both Vaughn and Barrett. He deserves his job back."

James closed the file and stood, gathering up his paperwork as he did so. "We'll take it under advisement." He said simply. "For now, a car is waiting downstairs to take you to a hotel where you can sleep and shower. Room service is paid for. Go and rest. Call your family- they must be worried about you. We'll continue our meeting in a few days once we've had a chance to review all of the information you've given us. In the meantime, consider my offer. You'd still serving your country, and probably saving a few lives in the process. Good night, Mr. Westen."

Daddy's Girl

Chapter Two: Decisions

When Michael woke, he didn't recognize for a moment where he was. It took him a moment to remember that he was in a CIA secure hotel a few blocks away from the CIA building in Washington DC. Last night's meal still sat covered on the table near the window; he'd barely been able to eat a few bites before collapsing into the bed that he lay in now. Michael sat up, sore from sleeping in an odd position all night. He lifted up the covers and realized that he wore only his boxers, and that it was a lot colder in Washington than in Miami. Shivering a little, he wriggled out of the bed and grabbed the bathrobe off of the hook in the bathroom before walking over to examine the leftover food. What had looked and smelled so good last night was now far less appealing; the lamb, which had been cooked to medium rare perfection, was now cold and tough, the juices had leaked out of it to soak into the bed of rice underneath. The salad was still passable, if a little limp, with some vinaigrette dressing on the side that Michael liked but couldn't identify. Michael finished the salad, feeling full but unsatisfied. Looking at the clock beside the bed, he saw that it was well past noon, and he decided long past time to shower and clean up.

The bathroom was well stocked with soap and shampoo, as well as a brand new toothbrush, toothpaste, a pack of disposable razors, and a small can of shaving cream. Michael needed all of it. Turning on the water to let it warm up, Michael brushed his teeth, staring at the mirror as he did so. The sleep deprivation and stress had taken its toll; he had bags under his eyes and more lines around his mouth and eyes than he remembered. Sighing, Michael spat and rinsed before stepping under the stream of hot water.

When Michael had finished cleaning up, he wrapped himself in the robe once more and went in search of his clothes. He looked around for a moment before noticing a dry-cleaners plastic garment cover hanging on the back of his hotel-room door and an overnight bag sitting on a chair by the window. Walking over, he tore a note off of the plastic, reading:

Your clothes have been cleaned and pressed by hotel laundry. If you need anything else, please ring the front desk.

J.

His shirt and pants were perfectly creased and starched. Michael laid them on the bed and opened the overnight bag, and his stomach turned to lead as he recognized it. This was the same bag he had packed to take to Melanie's home when she had been in the hospital. He'd left it at his mother's house afterwards for when he had come to visit Cassidy. Michael felt a cold anger build in his gut; whoever had gotten this bag had been near his mother and daughter. This supposedly kind-hearted gesture also sent a message to Michael: We are trying to win you over by being nice, but we can easily get to those who are important to you, and you had better remember that.

Michael got dressed, pondering his next move. He was no longer burned, and his life was his own again. He had enough money saved where he could live comfortably for a while in Miami. He could go work for a private security company like Lucy had. Or he could go back to working for the government in Miami, putting all of his hard earned skills to use, albeit indirectly. The idea of not having his life threatened on a daily basis was an appealing one, and taking the job also had the added bonus of being able to spend time with Cassidy, even if it meant seeing his mother in the process. But then again, with his credit restored and his finances straightened out, he could get an apartment or house for he and Cassidy to live in. Staying in Miami would certainly make his mother and Fiona happy. Fi… there were no more distractions now, no more excuses to make about making decisions about their relationship. He had been willing to die to save Fiona at that hotel in Miami, and the choice then had been easy. She had been willing to do the same thing for him, and that hadn't been easy for him.

Michael looked from where he sat on the bed to the phone on the night table. He knew that any call he made would be recorded, monitored, and reported on. He also knew that Fiona and his family were probably frantic with worry, especially Cassidy, whose life had been seriously up heaved of late. Picking up the phone, he heard it ring for a moment before a voice on the other end said simply, "Front desk."

"Yes, may I have an outside line please?" Michael asked. There was no reply but the sound of a click and a dial tone. Michael dialed Fiona's cell phone number and waited as it rang.

"Hello?" Fiona's voice came over the other end, making Michael smile unconsciously.

"Fi…"

"Michael? Where the hell have you been? Are you alright?" demanded Fiona.

"Fi, I'm fine. I can't tell you where I am right now, but I'm okay. I only have a minute. I just needed to…to let you know that I'm safe, and hopefully I'll be back soon. Let my mom and Cassidy know?"

Fiona paused, picking up on Michael's signal. "Of course, Michael. Stay safe. I'll give everyone your message."

"Thanks, Fi. I have to go."

"Goodbye Michael."

Michael placed the phone back on the receiver and ran his fingers through his hair. At least now, his family knew that he was alive. Laying back on the bed, Michael turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, trying to pass the time until the time came to meet James came.

Michael had made up his mind; he only wished he was happier about it.

*Sorry about the short chapters folks! I've been sick, so writing hasn't been all too easy the past few days. More coming soon!