A/N: Thanks to everyone for following along as we continue to mine the misery that was Michael in Season 7, again all owned by Matt Nix, and as brilliantly portrayed by Purdy's Pal in the second chapter of "The Old Michael Westen," our hero thinks there might finally be a chance to go home.
Now, after the events of 7.01, Michael does have a chance to go home, but he is forbidden by his handler to make contact with his friends and family. So the question is musically rendered by Skillet in this chapter. I don't own their song, "Would It Matter," but it was just perfect for what Michael was feeling.
This vignette is set between the ending of 7.01 "New Deal" and the opening of 7.02 "Forget Me Not."
"Would It Matter?"
When you give a piece of intelligence to anyone, even an ally, you never know what they're going to do with it. Because even if you completely trust that person, you run the risk of them taking that information and using it for their own purposes…
"From your own mother, pendejo…?"
Somehow, his mother had let someone know he was working for the CIA. How or why she would have done that was a mystery to him. But the logic behind Madeline Westen's decisions had often eluded him. Now, all those months of hell for the mission had been jeopardized. But like any good operative, Michael was determined make this work in his favor. He just needed some solid intel and a little more time.
"We have a serious problem."
Everything about this operation has serious problems… But he kept those thoughts to himself when Strong had responded to his query about whether or not his cover had been blown.
"Someone's been asking around Miami about you. You think Burke knows?"
Obviously not, I'm still breathing… "No or I'd be dead. Pablo said the Miami contact was his, not Burke's. But whoever he is, he won't keep his secret forever."
"Which is why I'm headed stateside to clean this up…"
Those words caused his heart to skip a beat and he waited with the proverbial baited breath for the rest.
"When's Burke supposed to make contact again?" the older man asked.
"I'm going to go away for a few days. I'll be in touch, but I want you to keep a low profile until I get back." Burke's instructions echoed in his head and the spy recalled the relief he'd felt when his explanation for Pablo's death had apparently been fully accepted. "You stay strong, Michael… and be ready."
"Not for at least another 48 hours," he answered Strong's question.
"That's cutting it close, but we don't have much choice. I need someone in Miami who can hit the ground running, so you're coming with."
There it was; the opening he'd been praying for. "I'll need to contact Sam and Jesse."
"You don't contact anybody. This isn't a class reunion." His handler crushed his hopes mercilessly. "You get seen in Miami, our whole op is over." And there was the unspoken reminder of what happened if the operation failed. Michael wondered if the man ever got tired of threatening his friends. Didn't seem like it.
"We go in, we stay in the shadows. No one knows we're there. We find the sonvuabitch, we put him in the ground. You understand the stakes, right?"
"I understand it's him or me."
Michael stood there a while longer after his CIA contact had left. Didn't want it to seem like there was anything going on between them after all… just two people bumping into each other at el Mercado…
He was glad to be paying for his produce today instead of stealing it. It would have attracted too much unneeded attention. Fortunately, he'd been winning more than losing these days. Having to take a fall or a beating wouldn't have helped him stick to the world's most effective detox program, as Burke had put it.
Going cold turkey had been rough, tougher than he'd ever imagined. He had a brief flash of guilt over the way he had always ragged Nate about his addictions. His brother's nocturnal visits had included plenty of commentary about his big bro's self-righteousness while he'd been going through the worst of the physical withdrawal symptoms. Michael was grateful he'd already started cutting back before his target had arrived in his apartment to offer him not just a job, but a new life.
So, as much as he had detested becoming a drunk, drying out had been even harder because, as much as he hated to admit this as well, the alcohol really did help numb the pain…
I'm gonna have to apologize to Sam the next time I see him about the….
Michael almost stumbled as that thought crossed his mind and he was forced to acknowledge that there were hurts for worse than cracked ribs and busted knuckles that he'd been trying to drown in hard liquor.
~~If I wasn't here tomorrow,
Would anybody care?~~
His years in Miami had eroded the walls he'd constructed around his heart and losing his friends, his family, had been worse than all the beatings he'd ever taken, never mind in the last nine months. He'd tried to deny it, because lying to oneself was a Westen family tradition as much as alcoholism or addiction.
~~If my time was up, I wanna know
You were happy I was there.~~
However, it wasn't until Strong had squashed his plans to see make contact in Miami that he was forced to confront just how much he had missed them and, with no balm of booze to soften the blow, it was a raw nerve, an aching that refused to go away. Biting his bottom lip, Michael soldiered on, forcing himself to focus on the next thing he needed to put in place to cover his two day absence from his night work.
~~If I wasn't here tomorrow,
Would anyone lose sleep?~~
His cover ID was an irresponsible drunk, so sometimes he didn't show up at night to fight just to reinforce that. Other times, he had truly been too injured, ill or just plain hungover to make it down the stairs. Either way, he was usually passed out or pretending to be in that shithole apartment. This time, just in case this was a test, he needed a more plausible explanation of his total absence from Santa Domingo.
~~If I wasn't hard and hollow,
Then maybe you would miss me.~~
It had taken a bit of maneuvering, but he'd managed to make it look like an accident, running into a pro both he and Marquez had used in the past. So his sharing that he was dead broke now but about to come into some money in the next two days ensured the woman would not want to spend any time with him until he was flush again and that Marquez would spend the next forty eight hours or so looking for him.
~~I know I'm a mess and I wanna be someone,
Someone that I like better.~~
And the second place the rival bar owner would look for him after his abode would be where he earned his money and then generally scour the streets, providing him with the perfect alibi for dropping off the radar.
Fortunately for him, Marquez knew that if he didn't find him in a couple of days, the money would already have been converted and consumed, so no need to look farther. He also had a quick temper and a limited amount of patience like someone else he had known and would not pursue that matter longer than that.
~~I can never forget,
So don't remind me of it forever.~~
He forcefully pushed away thoughts of Fiona as he slowly climbed the staircase that he had another love-hate relationship with. Thinking about her wasn't going to help right now. He needed to get ready to go.
Unfortunately for him, preparing to depart didn't consume a lot of his time. He owed nothing outside of some changes of clothing, a bar of Jabón Bébé, Frescool toothpaste, Rexona deodorant and his H&K P30. Showered up, dressed in a comfortable shirt, his cargo pants and combat boots, Michael sat in his kitchen eating a delicious locally-made yogurt and fighting back the urge to wash it down with a pint of Seboney.
~~What if I just pulled myself together,
Would it matter at all?
What if I just try not to remember,
Would it matter at all?~~
He remembered coming home that night to find his target eating his yogurt and the man's second going through what little he still had to his name. He was beyond grateful that Burke hadn't listened to Pablo.
~~All the chances that have passed me by,
Would it matter if I gave it one more try?~~
The thoughts of what could have happened if his prey had chosen not to take the bait haunted him now.
~~Would it matter at all?~~
"He's interested but he's feeling me out. He thinks I might have lost my edge."
"Any chance your non-stop booze-a-thon has given him second thoughts? I warned you not to take that dead end act too far."
"Burke won't believe a top shelf operative fell into his lap. He's gotta think I'm damaged goods or the story falls apart."
"Well, you better hope so, cuz the clock is ticking. If he walks away—"
But he hadn't. Thankfully Randall Burke had a soft spot for old friends and he'd managed to not only complete the mission he'd been given, but he also had been able to silence his critic at the same time.
~~If I wasn't here tomorrow,
Would anybody care?
Because the idea that he might have had to spend the rest of his life here was too dark to contemplate…
~~Still stuck inside this sorrow,
I've got nothing and going nowhere.~~
Pablo had done him a favor, besides dying conveniently before he could expose his secret or put a bullet in the back of his head, by making a contact in Miami. Now Michael had the chance to make one himself.
~~I know I'm a mess and I wanna be someone,
Someone that I like better.~~
And thinking about Miami led to thinking about her, as it always did. Bile rose up in throat as the image of her, sobbing into her hand and quaking before she turned and ran from him, exploded in his brain and there was no alcoholic haze to blur it. She's running towards the exit with no regard for the multiple assault rifles pointed in her direction and he's shaking with relief as they follow his orders and stand down.
~~I can never forget
So don't remind me of it forever.~~
And the bottle that's not there called his name, as he wiped a trembling hand across the light perspiration that's accumulated upon his brow, trying not to think about what he was going to find when he got back.
~~What if I just pulled myself together,
Would it matter at all?~~
Michael kicked himself mentally for the millionth time for not realizing that the act he had put on would crush her and, in his fear that he would say something that would cause them to hand her over to MI6, he had inadvertently said the one thing that was guaranteed to break her belief in him and send her fleeing.
~~What if I just try not to remember,
Would it matter at all?~~
Then there was Sam, Jesse and his mom… After the debacle with Fiona, apparently Strong wasn't going to take any more chances. While a couple of the guards were carrying the man she had incapacitated off the helipad, Michael had approached the trio only to be met by two other agents that informed him he was needed in the control room and they would handle showing everyone out of the facility. He had nodded mutely as his chance to rectify the situation and get a message to anyone had just flown out the window.
~~All the chances that have passed me by,
Would it matter if I gave it one more try?~~
"Wait, what is going on here? Where are you taking us?"
"They're releasing us. Let's go before they change their minds."
"What? I don't get to say goodbye to my son? Michael, where are you going?"
"Mike's gotta job to do. Come on, Maddie, we gotta get going and find Fi before she kills somebody."
"Michael!"
~~Would it matter at all?~~
Unable to stand sitting around with nothing but his regrets for company, Michael went out in search of a ride to take him to the small remote airfield that transported commercial cargo and other things to Miami.
Even though he'd arrived early, the crew was ready to go, but his handler apparently was nowhere to be seen. As he paced around the aircraft in its hangar, he thought about how he was going to find a way to get a message to his friends. He couldn't get this close and blow the opportunity to alert them… again.
"What's going on?"
"I needed to protect you. I needed to protect all of us. I'm heading to Stockholm."
That's all he would have needed to say, he berated himself once more. Except he had no idea what she would have done if he'd told her in code he was going on a suicide mission alone… He couldn't risk it if—
"Time to go, Westen," Agent Strong announced as he strolled in, the last one to arrive. Michael quickly settled into his seat, eager to be on his way. He took the mission brief and began to read, grateful that while detoxing had been a painful process not quite done, he was finally beginning to think clearly again.
~~I know I'm a mess and I wanna be someone,
Someone that I like better.~~
Apparently their mission was now two-fold. In addition to the mystery man asking about him in Miami, his mother had been asking about him at all levels of government. Now they had to arrange some alone time for her and her son. As he pulled out a surveillance photograph of Madeline at the park she used to take him and Nate to as boys, he was conflicted as always about his mom. A tiny part of him had a grudging respect for the fact that she had gotten exactly what she wanted by harassing everyone.
~~Can you help me forget?
Don't wanna feel like this forever...forever~~
The rest of him had a multitude of emotions, annoyance at her jeopardizing the mission near the top of the list, fear that no matter how much he tried, he couldn't seem to keep her safe, especially if she-
"This is exactly why you were supposed to keep them out of it." Strong leaned across the aisle to tender his opinion on the status of the operation again. "The whole point of that little charade to convince them you were back in was so your friends didn't get involved. We need to get this under control before they-"
"He contacted them," Michael cut him off. "And if you'd have let me read them into this from the beginning, they would have all known what to do and we wouldn't be cleaning this up right now."
The rest of the man's rebuttal washed over him unheard as another conversation came to mind instead.
"I know what I'm doing, Strong, stop second guessing me from the sidelines."
"Sidelines? Westen, this investigation has taken up eight years of my life. It's dragged me across three continents and it ended my marriage. And what does it all add up to? You, my friend…"
~~What if I just pulled myself together,
Would it matter at all?~~
Andrew Strong had been after a terrorist network for eight years across three continents and all the man had to show for it was the agents who died in the process, ruined lives and wasted resources culminating in the Agency allowing him to be used as a last ditch effort to finally get someone close to Burke and he'd accomplished more since he'd been given this lifeline to save his friends than the man had in eight years?
~~What if I just try not to remember,
Would it matter at all?~~
The truth of the situation hit him like a sucker punch as he shuffled through the surveillance pictures. He was caught up in Strong's obsession to take down Randall Burke, just as surely as his friends had been caught up in his own obsession, to find the people who burned him, to take down the organization, to take out Anson Fullerton, to take down Tom Card… They were all paying the price now for his fixation then.
~~All the chances that have passed me by,
Would it matter if I gave it one more try?~~
Michael swallowed thickly and closed the folder, remembering Fiona's reaction when he had returned after being held in Vaughn's secret prison for months, setting him straight with a tightly packed punch over his so-called pouting that they hadn't missed him. They'd done everything they could and then had gone on with their lives. They'd all said it to him in one way or another over the years, that he expected everyone to put their lives on hold while he was chasing his ghosts. Had they finally given up on him this time?
~~If I live tomorrow,
Would anybody care?~~
He knew that having no contact with his friends was part of his cover, that if the CIA was watching them, eventually Burke's network would watch them as well. Part of it was making sure they were safe from the repercussions of being in contact with him. Part of the plan of pretending he was back in with the CIA was to give them all some kind of closure this time. If the mission had gotten him killed, they wouldn't be stuck forever waiting and wondering, that they could go on with their lives. Only had it worked too well?
~~Stuck in this sorrow
Going nowhere.~~
He knew exactly what the CIA and Strong were trying to do to him. His friends and his family were the assets he needed to operate. Cut him off from them, turn them into liabilities and they would have the means to control him, to put their unstoppable sonuvabitch on a short leash and make sure he behaved.
~~All the chances that have passed me by,~~
The more frightening realization was their lives were all at the mercy of a man who was the epitome of the Peter Principle: managers rise to the level of their incompetence. Now he had to find a way to not only finish this mission and contact his friends, but keep them and himself safe from Strong's ineptitude.
~~Would it matter if I gave it one more try?~~
He held fast to that same determination that had kept him going throughout the last nine months in hell.
"Michael, all I wanted was to be by your side. I'm not leaving it again."
He had promised her things would be different and he had broken that promise, though that never had been his intention. He had done what he had to do to save them all, though he certainly could have done a better job of letting them know that. He prayed that he still had one more last chance to make it right.
~~Would it matter at all?~~