A/N: This is the first of two companion pieces about the fallout from 6.06Shockwave. The story continues in Chapter 10 of While Michael Sleeps, which should hopefully be posted over the weekend. Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing and for continuing to support #burnnotice Fan Fiction!
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It wasn't supposed to be like this.
During her months in Allarod, he had dreamed about what this moment would be like.
And it was not this…
"Anson will get what he deserves. I promise you that."
The second time he had seen Fiona in prison, it had been with a sense of razor sharp anticipation, not the nightmares and the combination of dread and distress that had preceded his first visit to her. This time he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and for once he was fairly certain it wasn't another oncoming train. It had made him almost sick not to answer her calls, to brush her off in the middle of the mission, but he had gotten it done, keeping his promise to both Rebecca and thereby Fiona as well.
"What do you say, Card? Greyson is in cuffs. Is that enough to make the Agency happy?"
"Well, Michael, as of 20 seconds ago, Fiona got invited to the CIA company picnic. She is an official asset. Now it is up to you to apprehend her 'get out of jail free' card. Go get 'em, tiger.
Card had gotten what he wanted and Michael had gotten what he wanted, an opportunity to see her again, to tell her personally to keep her guard up and her head down because their ordeal was almost over and reassure himself as well. This time seeing her swathed in that horrendous orange uniform had not brought him tears but a smile of hope. She would soon be back where she belonged in his arms.
Except now he was in her embrace and it was nothing like he'd imagined it.
This was supposed to be a joyous occasion…sure, there would have been bumps in the road…Going back to the loft would have been tough and they'd have to confront how it was they came to be on such opposite sides of the question as to how to deal with Anson Fullerton.
There would have been things that needed to be said and while they were both admittedly bad at that, her absence had improved his reticence to loosen his tongue and say back to her some of the things she'd said and written to him while she'd been locked away in that place of purgatory for both of them.
"I have been supplying Anson with travel documents and cash every couple of weeks. I can tell you the exact location of the hotel in Atlantic City where he's expecting his next drop."
Rebecca had kept her end of the bargain. Now it was his turn to keep his promise and there was no way he would fail. Seven phone calls, four texts and two cryptic emails later, he had it all set up, an urgent cloak and dagger meeting in the woods with Agent Pearce to get the additional resources he needed.
"No. I'm running this op. You came here because you need CIA resources. If you want to pick the team, fine, but not Sam. If he's in the mix and we come up empty handed again, every one of my bosses will line up to kick me."
He should have known then that would be trouble. Sam was the only other person who had kept him on point during this whole sorry mess… Sure, Jesse and Dani had helped, but they weren't Sam.
He'd made these arrangements with his friend, not knowing when he would get to use them, but knowing he would need them eventually…Because to do otherwise, to think that Fiona would never get out of prison alive, either killed within its walls or locked away forever, would have been the end of him.
"Come on! I've been helping you slog through this burn notice garage for how many years now and I don't get to be there when you finally put the wraps on the last bastard standing?"
Now he smelled the scent of ocean in the air, heard the whoosh of the water as it lapped at the shore and felt the sand shifting underneath the soft fleece blanket they were lying upon just inside the little cabana where the light breeze caressed the canopy top overhead and he clung to the warmth of her.
This never would have happened if Sam had been there…. Sam should have been there….
A little section of the beach that belonged to the Darabont Hotel, where all their surfside cabanas were suddenly be closed down for a mysterious mechanical problem and the area cleared with the apologies of the owner and the offer of another night for free, that had been his plan for this night, a night under the stars with no more closed walls for Fiona until she was ready to use Elsa's private penthouse.
"I'm just helping with transpo, keeping the head count down and besides, no one knows Atlantic City better than I do. I drove a limo up there and gambled. Well, mostly I gambled..."
But somewhere between Pearce telling him Sam couldn't go and him telling Sam he couldn't go, Michael had stopped at his mom's house to tell her that Mr. Axe would be keeping an eye on them, since he couldn't go on the final leg of the mission to capture Dr. Fullerton. He hadn't actually asked his best friend to do that just yet, but he knew what the ex-SEAL would say after some well-deserved objections.
"Ma, I can do this. Come on, Mike needs the help. He's already down a man. I'm just going to be driving. What's dangerous about that? Seriously, you're the one that's always telling me I should step up."
As his little brother had been quick to point out, they had both gone into the field to assist Agent Pearce in capturing the man who had killed her fiancé and he had been just as determined to help out this time.
But somehow, this time, it wasn't his mother pushing him to include his younger brother… No, this was the Madeline Westen who'd threatened to put a cigarette out in his eye if anything happened to her baby boy, the one that thought that things were too dangerous for Nate Westen to get involved in… That side of his mother had come out in full force when he'd told them where he was headed, this time.
"No, he's not. No, he isn't…" And the slap rocks his head to the side and she's hitting him as hard as she can until he pins her arms to her sides in a tight bear hug. "You should … you shouldn't have…."
He tightened his grip on the woman lying next to him, burying his face in her hair as the memory of his mom's howled accusations washed over him and his heart hurt, threatening to pound out of his chest.
One of the hardest parts in any take-down operation is waiting for the target to show. There's nothing to do but wait and watch, knowing that even the smallest mistake can ruin everything.
He doesn't want to cry…He'd spent most of his life refusing to allow himself to weep over anything, so why should he do in now and ruin their reunion with his grief, with his guilt, with his anguish…
"Dammit, Nate, that's the second time you've jeopardized this operation! I can't keep cleaning up after you, not on this one! You need to go. I mean it, out the back, now."
Michael could still feel the charged silence in the room, the tension his outburst had caused, even now while embracing the one woman he'd been dreaming about holding for all those miserable months…
"Look, Mike, I get it. But that was a little harsh, man. I mean, he's your brother."
"Fiona's life is on the line, Jess. I can't have Nate… There is no margin for error on this."
And the tears were forming in spite of his attempts to hold them back… Fiona deserves better than this. He'd tried so hard to do everything right… How the hell had it gone so wrong? And he trembles too as the memories he can't stop keep flashing through his head, torturing him in ways too painful to bear.
"So, now you need me, huh?"
"Nate, I will apologize later. But right now, I'm just trying to get over there. He's probably going to be armed. So I want you to get eyes on him, but do not approach him. Do you understand me? Do not approach him."
"Mike, I got this."
That was the last time they would really talk, the last promise Nate Westen had ever made and one of the few he'd keep, except he didn't do what he'd told him to. When had his kid brother ever listened to what he'd said? Yes, he'd been hard on the younger man, but Anson would have gotten away if Nate hadn't been near the airport. He'd also still be alive if he hadn't paraded his prisoner in front of the…
"Mike, we got him, man."
"It is about time."
He squeezed his eyes tighter, his face a mask of pain. In his mind's eye he can see it again. The chest of his hated enemy blossoming red before Anson Fullerton, the puppet master who had almost ruined his life, collapses to ground like the proverbial marionette with his strings cut, and then… and then….
"NATE!" He's running towards him, like a nightmare because that's exactly what this is, his limbs unable to move fast enough, his panicked blue orbs refusing to believe what they're seeing.
"Nate…" He's feeling for a pulse, looking at the wound, his years of field experience telling him that it's already over, but it can't be... "You're gonna be alright, okay? Look at me… you're okay… you're okay. I'm gonna get ya help, alright?" Both hands are holding his brother's blood-spattered head now. Michael's lying to himself more than he's lying to Nate because he knows it's not going to be long now…
"I'm scared…"
"Come on, no, no, no, no, come on, no, no, no!" A single tear falls from each of Nate's eyes.
And now the tears he had refused to shed, the ones he'd held fast, are trying to break free…
"No… No…Hey! HEY NATE! NATE! NATE!"
He'd held his spy façade firmly in place. He hadn't let it slip, not once…
Not when the EMTs had come to take the dead away…
Not when he had insisted on riding in the coroner's wagon…
Not when he had stood by in stony silence while Dani had offered to take care of the debriefings…
Not when he'd snatched the receiver out of Pearce's hand, advising his former training officer that…
"You just make sure you get Fiona's lawyer, the judge and the warden on the same page NOW, Card, because I am picking her up TONIGHT even if I have blast a hole in that fucking prison to get it done!"
Not when he'd stormed away, parting operatives like the proverbial Red Sea with Jesse in his wake…
Not when he had sat stiffly in the back of the transport plane, being given a wide berth by everyone…
Not when Sam had met them at the airport and had driven him back to the loft, leaving him alone to shower and change after they'd finalized the arrangements he'd made anticipating happier times...
"I'm so sorry, Mike. I shoulda been for you there, brother. The CIA be damned, I shoulda been there."
"It's not your fault, Sam… it was mine."
Not even when he'd held his mother while she'd pelted him with her fists and then her words, screaming and sobbing out her rage and her hatred before she'd thrown him out of the house…
"You were supposed to take care of Nate, protect him… Why, Michael, why? Why did you let him die?"
Not even driving away from her house to pick up Sam and Jesse or afterwards on that long muted drive from Miami out to Allarod Federal Penitentiary, sitting in the back now and pretending to be oblivious…
"Fi, I need you more than ever."
He couldn't then, but he couldn't stop himself now. Michael knew Fiona wasn't asleep anymore, probably hadn't been yet. She had been giving him the peace to mourn in private. But now she was softly stroking over his trembling form and whispering words of comfort in her Gaelic brogue.
He should be the one… He should be showering her with kisses and caresses, not squeezing the life out of her while all his pain broke free, pooled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, ran down his chin, while he tried to burrow deeper into her embrace to keep from flying apart as he shook from his sorrow.
She had been the one to suffer… She had been locked away, nearly killed… He should be the one to…
And the memory of the night they had spent on the beach, sitting in the Charger near the ocean, the night Anson Fullerton had exploded their lives as surely as the Consulate had, that came back to him as the breeze shifted, a breath of coolness to the moisture on his face… The sonuvabitch was finally dead.
He had been comforting her then…It wasn't right that she was the one to have to hold him together now. But his brother had… His mother had… She had almost… If anything happened to her because of…
Spies are trained to react immediately when an operation goes bad. Every minute that goes by is another minute your enemy can use to regroup and get stronger. But there are times when you have to remember that denying grief and loss and love can be dangerous too, because in the heat of battle you have to know what you're fighting for.
Michael choked back a sob as Fiona gently wiped the water away and pressed kisses into his hair.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
