Title: In an Instant
Summary: As he lay dying on the cold ground, he only thought of her. Finale spoilers. Miona. Canon
A/N: Sorta companion to "Let's Pretend" my other michael/Fi story. However, you don't have to read it to understand this. It's just suggested, because that one is much better
Spoiler Warning: Burn Notice Finale
discidium
The cold stone pavement chilled him, even as the blood warmed him. However, he was unaware of that.
Pain.
It chilled him, shocked him, scalded him, even as he was freezing in the summer sun. He was lightheaded, dizzy, but he would hold onto the thought that was running through his head, a rampaging wildfire, an unconquerable thirst to speak words that could not be spoken, and more then likely would never be uttered.
He tried to cause his lips to form her name, her identity, but it was so hard. He was so numb the pain was fading, but he knew that the sudden relief could only mean only one thing.
Death.
He hung on grimly, his eyes cracking open as he noticed the case being moved away. No relief, no aid was coming. Vaughn had doomed him, had sentenced him to hell with a smile and a gunshot.
Cold.
The atmosphere was slowly settling down a few degrees as the bright sun disappeared behind the beaches. Michael wondered how long he was going to lay in an abandoned street, next to the body of the man he killed. His heart beat sluggishly, but he held onto that one name as more footsteps approached him, their sound rapid even as it came from far away.
"F-Fi," he managed to gasp, but his throat closed up, the remainder of her name on his lips as he felt something fall heavily down beside him. It was a man, muttering now, but the words were just a jumble of nonsense to him. He didn't care what the man was saying, even as he heard the person mutter something, his voice quick, frantic, and ready to diverge the news of the cold man lying in the street.
Recognition.
The words were reaching him now, and Michael opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them.
"Michael, hang on man, okay? Fiona and Sam should be here soon," the voice would have made him flinch if his body was mobile, but instead he just felt colder.
Jesse.
The other burned spy began to bind Michael's wound, but Michael wasn't aware of it.
Jesse had shot him to save him. Jesse had followed him.
The shock jolted him into being more aware, and Michael opened his eyes again, realizing time must have passed because the next thing he knew, was the car screeching to a halt beside him and Fiona barreling out.
"Michael?" her voice sounded laden with dread, and he vaguely felt guilty as he noticed her reddened eyes. However, he forced the words to form, the words to relieve her fear.
"Fi-Fiona," the word was forced out of his lips, and her eyes brightened from hope, but then he coughed weakly and his eyes fluttered closed. "F-Fiona," he mumbled again as she laid a gentle hand on his cheek, looking down at him as she moved his head from the cold concrete to her lap.
"I'm here, michael," she told him.
He found an odd humor in the situation- the two of them sharing a cliche moment together.
It was oddly refreshing.
She said something, but he couldn't make out what she was speaking of. A small flicker of what might have been a grin crossed his face, and for a moment, his breathing falter. They could hear the sound of a siren in the distance, and his analytical mind realized that some concerned citizen must have called a hospital when they noticed the wreck.
Another small flicker of a smile crossed his face, and he whispered just three words, not aware of their vocalization.
"Love you, Fi."
The words she was waiting to hear.
Warmth
He woke two weeks later in the hospital, hearing the beeping monitors. He felt weak, but he still forced his eyes open, scanning the dark room for the silhouette he was looking for. He smiled softly as he saw her, and although he knew that it was probably futile, tried to croak out a sound.
"Hey," it was futile, he realized, as only a whisper of noise slid from his parched throat. However, in the silence that had been before, that tiny thread of noise was all it took to wake her.
She slipped out of her chair with a start, her hand flying to a gun that wasn't there. Instead, she drew her knife, only to realize what woke her.
"michael!"
Reunion
Her knife disappeared, back to her purse as she quickly appeared by his bedside, staring down at him, her eyes flashing.
He shouldn't have been surprised. He should have been expecting it.
However, her harsh slap made him blink.
Even as his cheek stung, she roughly grabbed him and flung herself against him, leaving him to smile.
That was Fiona. Reckless, bold, unpredictable, a fiery spirit. She didn't do anything half-way.
When she pulled away from him, she was smiling, her eyes unnaturally bright as she watched him.
"Welcome back," she told him.
"Good to be back," the words slipped back his parched throat easily, as if they had always been true.
Home.
A/N:
Freakin' fluff. I hate writing it. And yes, I think they are OOC, but I was sick this week, so everything is turning out OOC
Please watch and comment on my michael/Fiona vid on Youtube. Replace (dot) with a .
youtube(dot)com/watch?v=yr0IWo7FSqE