A/N: Michelle and Tony finally resolve their conflict of intersest; thusly, A Conflict of Interest comes to a close. I' m sad to see it end, but I'll be writing more! An extended thank-you for all the wonderful reviews-- it meant a lot to me that my work was appreciated.The ending isn't super-fluffy, but it felt fluffy to me. My standards of fluff are, apparently, "not that fluffy.";) But at any rate, I 'm not sure if this came off a little too sappy, so tell me what you think!I'd also appreciate feedback on the story as a whole, so I'd love a review whether you've given any in the past or not. Thank you all!
Some hours later, Tony was woken by Michelle's cries of pain. "Tony, oh god Tony, move, please, oh god…" she was sobbing. That was when he realized that in sleep, they had shifted so that her arm had ended up wedged under his back.
Horrified, he pulled away from her, and she gasped at the release of her arm.
"Oh my god... Michelle baby… sweetheart, are you okay? Oh god, I am so sorry. God, Michelle. Sweetheart, are you all right?"
"I'm— I'm okay… I'm okay," she sighed, rolling onto her side and clutching her hand over her arm. "It just— the pressure hurt… it sounded a hell of a lot worse than it felt," she added self-consciously, smiling a little.
"But it still hurt, baby. God, I can't believe I—"
"Tony," she cut in, "it was probably me moving just as much as you. Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Just stop acting like you strangled a baby or something—"
"Maybe I shouldn't sleep her tonight…"
"No!" shouted Michelle, a little too quickly. She blushed, but continued. "I don't want to be by myself, Tony. Please, I just, I need…" her voice trailed off and a single tear carved its path down her cheek, leaving more of a mark than all the torrents of tears she'd cried that day.
"Sweetheart… sweetheart, it's gonna be okay. I'm here; it's okay; you'll be okay," he murmured, sliding back towards Michelle. She nestled against him, curving her body so it matched his, and her muscles relaxed. Wrapping one arm around her small, warm body, Tony lifted a finger and wiped away the tear, tracing its path up her cheek and in that single, fluid motion he made it as if the tear had never been.
After a moment, she pulled away and sat up. "Tony, we need to talk."
"About what?"
"You know what." Michelle felt unsettled from their earlier shouting match. Glossing everything over by talking about goddamned torture only lasted so long.
He sighed. "Okay; all right. We'll talk."
"You're too protective." She folded her arms— or the left one, anyway— and stared at him, waiting for an answer.
"I thought we already talked about this, Michelle."
"We talked about it; we didn't resolve it."
"Can it wait till morning?"
"No. I've got enough on my mind tonight that I don't need to be worrying if my marriage is falling apart."
"You think our marriage is falling apart?" he asked, incredulous. She almost sounded serious.
"It's called an 'exaggeration,' Tony." Michelle rolled her eyes. "But I am serious. I want to talk about the protectiveness thing. I really want… I want… I don't know, I just want you to say that—"
"That I trust you to be okay on your own?"
"Yeah."
"I do, though, sweetheart. That's what I was trying to tell you before. That I know you're gonna be fine, I just want—I want to make sure. I've come too close to loosing you…" he choked on his words, and Michelle put her arms around him and smothered his lips with a kiss.
"Oh, God, Tony. I— I just— I've come close to loosing you, too. It comes with the job, Tony, we both know that. I need you to understand that I— I want to be able to do my job. I can do it. I want you to let me do it." Tears of frustration brimmed in her eyes.
"Michelle…" he murmured, brushing his lips on hers and holding her close. She relaxed against his body, and buried her face into his shoulder, kissing his neck.
"All right," he sighed, "So… what do you want me to say here, Michelle?"
"I want you to do, not say. I want you to let me do my job without trying to get in the way. That's what I want."
"Michelle, you're my wife. Do you really expect me to let you put yourself in danger all the time?"
"Yes!" He stared at her, but she plunged on. "When we're working, I'm not your wife; I'm one of your agents. I want that, Tony. We're good at leaving home at home and work at work. Now I want you to leave your wife at home and let me be your agent at work."
"I don't know if I can do that, Michelle."
"Well, I want you to try."
Tony hesitated to answer for several moments. Battling in his mind were the desire to protect Michelle under all circumstances and the desire to respect her wishes. The latter finally won out. "I can try, Michelle. I don't know how good I'm gonna be at it, but I can try."
"Thank you, sweetheart."
"Okay, baby." They settled together, breathing steady and in rhythm, but after a few minutes Michelle rolled over.
"There's something else."
Apprehensively, Tony sighed. He wasn't sure just exactly why Michelle was so bent on marriage counseling in bed at three in the morning, but she was his Michelle. Even if he wasn't always willing to talk with her when she needed it— which he was— she was hurt and he was worried enough to give her whatever she wanted. And that, right then, was his attention— something he was always willing to give her in abundance.
"What is it?"
"Tony, why do you always push me away when work is hardest?"
"You think I do?"
"Well— you— it's like you're intentionally being cold to me when we're all really stressed. And that's… that's when I need you the most. That's when I need you to call me to ask if I'm okay, like you do when I'm having a bad day or when I have a headache. And you're just— mean to me when it gets really bad and I don't know why." As she spoke, Michelle had to blink back the tears threatening to show Tony just how much this bothered her.
Neither the cause of the tears nor the tears themselves were lost on Tony, who was agonized to realize that he really had been hurting Michelle. Laying a hand against her face, Tony attempted to soothe Michelle. "I… Michelle, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just don't know how else to— to stay professional when I'm stressed and you are too and I just want you; I don't know how else—"
"Tony…"
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I just— didn't know if you were doing it on purpose, or—"
"I don't know. I just know… I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to stay the way I need to be for work if I'm not like that when I need you so much…"
"I think I understand. I just… want… just for you to not act like you're angry at me. It's okay if you keep your distance, just don't act like you're angry."
He smiled at her, a little. "I can do that."
"Okay." She paused a moment. "Thank you, Tony… I know it's the middle of the night, I just… I needed to talk and I—"
"Sweetheart, it's okay. I'm always here; you know that, don't you?"
"I know."
"Okay."
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you so much," he whispered as he folded her back into his arms and they finally went to sleep.
By the end of the next day, Michelle was beyond exhausted. Against Tony's adamant protests, she had gone into CTU that morning to work, fighting off the throbbing of her head and the pain in her arm.
She didn't want to sit home alone all day to think about how close she'd come to dying and about all the horrible things she'd done in her life. Far more, she wanted to work. Stress was infinitely preferable to misery.
But given how much her body was hurting and how little sleep she had gotten the night before, it had been a long day to say the least. But that she was used to. It felt good to return to the relative normalcy of constant tension and endless work.
Snapping her briefcase shut, Michelle looked up to see if Tony was ready to leave. As if on cue, he was just coming down the stairs, laptop in hand.
"Michelle. You ready to go?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah." He paused and examined her pale, tired face closely. "Hey— you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Let's go home," he said simply, understanding that she just wanted to get out of CTU and go unravel in private. Glancing around, but not really caring who saw, Tony picked up Michelle's hand in his. She smiled mischievously and squeezed it back.
Michelle was sprawled on the couch, absently watching American Idol while Tony, in the kitchen, worked on dinner. "Tony?" she called, distractedly.
He appeared in the doorway a minute later. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"Do people actually care about this show?"
"Uh… Michelle?"
"What?"
"Do people care about American Idol?" he repeated, staring at her.
"Well, do they?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "Sure they do. The ratings are through the roof."
"No, but like… are there people who actually care about this stuff? How can you care about a stupid talent show when… do they know how many times the world has come really, really close to like… ending?"
Tony sighed and returned to the kitchen. Disappointed, Michelle thought he was dismissing her questions as rambling. But instead, he turned down the heat on the food he was cooking and returned, settling down beside Michelle on the couch.
"Sweetheart, can you tell me why you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Tell me why you're always willing to risk your life. Why you've given up any shot at a normal life for a risky job and constant crises."
"Because… because someone has to. And I'm good at it, so… so I… need to—someone has to do it."
"Why does someone have to do it?"
Understanding, Michelle answered, "So everyone else can watch American Idol."
"Right. Look at me Michelle," he whispered roughly, tilting her face toward his. "This is what we do. And I want you to know something: we do it together. You understand me? This isn't an easy life to live, but it's the one we've chosen.And we're in it together: you can always talk to me about it. Know that, Michelle."
"I know it, Tony," she murmured, "I know it."
He grinned slightly and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Okay. Now you wanna come keep me company while I make dinner?"
She leaned into him, kissing his shoulder. "Sure," she sighed, and they stood up together. Michelle rested her head on his shoulder as they ambled toward the kitchen, her arms twined possessively around him. She wasn't normally this clingy, but tonight she just needed to feel him. Needed to know that he was really there.
Finally starting to relax for the first time in nearly a week, Michelle slid into a seat at the counter, silently accepting the glass of water he handed her. Her eyes followed Tony has he moved around the kitchen, and a feeling of contentment begantto wash over her. She was soothed by the gentle sizzle of butter in a pan, Tony's steps on the kitchen floor, the cat weaving between his legs and meowing in hopes of a treat.
But then she glanced toward the drawer where a handgun lay. One gun of many that she owned. And then her gaze focused on her open laptop on the table in the next room, where she'd been idly scanning sleeper cell profiles in hopes of finding another connection to Linden—a task she'd undertaken because she figured she might as well, not because she had to. All thoughts of returning to American Idol evaporated.
Instead, she rose from her spot at the counter and sidled up behind Tony. Michelle slid her hand up behind his shirt, tracing slow circles around his back. She rested her chin on his shoulder, turning her face towards him and brushing his neck with her lips as she whispered, "I love you, Tony."
He turned back around, placing his hands on her waist, and titling his head into her neck. She could feel his hot breath tickling her as he spoke. "You are the only woman in the world who can do this, you know that?"
"Do what?" she questioned lazily, luxuriating in the feeling of Tony.
"Understand," he said hoarsely.
"Yeah?" she murmured questioningly. "I'll show you what I understand." And then her mouth was on his, their lips and mouths pressing together in an urgency neither one of them could explain. Tony, taking care not to jostle her arm, scooped her up against his chest. Squealing, she let herself be carried, nibbling at the skin on his chest as they went off toward the bedroom.
He tossed her lightly onto the bed; she tugged him down after her. Michelle's suit jacket had long ago been shed, but the sleeveless, thin, fitted silk blouse had been driving Tony insane all night, and he began fumbling with the buttons.
Giggling, she reached for the hidden zipper on the side and undid it. Tony cursed softly and nuzzled her neck as he removed her top. She wrestled his shirt off of him— within a few moments, all clothing had been shed.
And they were tangled together on the bed, Michelle straddling Tony. They kissed feverishly: tenderly, but almost frantically—but not so frantic that they weren't savoring every second, every kiss, every brush of the hand.
Finally, with neither the control nor the will to wait a moment longer, they joined as one. But the union was just as much emotional as physical. While in previous relationships for both of them, sex had been an act unto itself, the same no longer held true. It was, on the contrary, and extension of something already in existence. It was an unbreakable bond between souls and minds, making two beings one. Even as they conflicted, it was not hostility between two people: it was dissonance between the two parts of a whole. But no such friction existed now; harmony was complete.
And they solidified the harmony as they joined the two bodies that already shared a soul. Love.