Disclaimer: This is all for fun. Neither Behind Blue Eyes or Broken Crown belong to me. BBE was written by Pete Townshend. BC was written by: Edward James Milton Dwane, Benjamin Walter David Lovett, Marcus Oliver Johnstone Mumford, Winston Aubrey Aladar Marshall. Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Ltd.
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A/N: Thank you for your continued support of this fan fic. Your reviews, alerts and favorites are all very much appreciated. I was listening to this track and decided to include it in this story as I think it fits perfectly with where Michael's head was after James had been rummaging around in there and our hero discovered the CIA was using Simon Escher to get the job done.
On a separate note, the last of Jedi's Pals Christmas Reconnecting stories has been delayed due to some pesky computer problems, but will be coming soon.
For those of you who have been asking, a Dodging Raindrops chapter is being worked on and should be ready to be posted very soon.
Lastly thank you Jedi Skysinger for fitting in the time to Beta this chapter.
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BEHIND BLUE EYES
Part Three
Broken Crown
Touch my mouth and hold my tongue
I'll never be your chosen one
I'll be home safe and tucked away
Well You can't tempt me if I don't see the day
The pull on my flesh was just too strong
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs
Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie
'Cause when I opened my body I breathe in a lie
After Sam closed the door, the windowless room was thrown back into near darkness. Michael remained seated on the edge of the narrow cot with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The foggy haze from the drugs his so-called friends had used on him was slowly clearing away allowing him to truly get a grip on what they had done to him.
"We saw ya, Mike. We tailed ya to that marina. You're telling me on the phone you haven't seen James and I'm watching you shake hands with the sonuvabitch." The accusation sounded loud in his head.
Sam had said tailed, but what he had meant was tracked. They had somehow managed to get a tracker on him without raising his suspicion. Since Mexico, where he'd had his eyes opened to what his CIA masters were capable of, he had made a point of avoiding his friends and family where possible. He had told each one of them to stay away, as his mission was nearing completion and he needed to be particularly careful.
Then it came to him in a rush. Fiona had been the one to slip through his defenses. She had turned up at the loft late at night, disregarding his wishes because she wanted to talk.
"You can't do this alone, Michael," she had begun her lecture. "If your cover is blown, the CIA will hang - you - out - to dry. Know what you'll be left with?"
He had finally allowed himself to look at her as she had taken his gun from under his pillow.
"This is not enough." She'd held the weapon up and then pulled the clip, flicking several bullets out into her palm. "And these... They're not enough... You need our help."
She had taken the bullets from his gun, shown them to him and must have pulled a switch, swapping the real thing for a dummy shell with a tracker inside when she reloaded the weapon. And because he'd trusted her, because he always trusted her, he hadn't rechecked the gun. He fell back on to the thin hard mattress to stare up at the ceiling, unable to deny the fact that he had been a fool.
He turned his head to stare at the door of his prison. Only it wasn't a prison, Sam hadn't locked the door on leaving, just pulled it closed. He could walk out any time he wanted to. He could, if he really wanted to, go out there and drag the location of the airboats missing spark plugs out of Sam or one of the others and be on his way.
Only where would he go?
Agent Andrew Strong and the CIA?
Never, never again, whatever happened now, he was done with being used as a weapon by his government, by the people who could free a monster like Simon Escher and put that walking nightmare in charge of a team. His rage at that particular betrayal still ran through his veins unabated. Simon was dead, but how many other monsters were out there, freed because they served a purpose?
No, he would never allow himself to be used again.
Wiping a hand over his eyes, he thought about his other option. If he went back to James, if he could convince the leader of the organization he had been captured and had no part in Sonya's arrest. If he proved beyond doubt he was loyal...
"You have to let your friends go."
Sonya had been right. He should have listened to her and let them go right from the start. He should have done whatever was necessary to make them back off. James would want retribution. He would expect his new number two to show where his true allegiance lay. The former Delta would require...
He desperately tried to stop the thought, unwilling to follow that trail of reasoning to the obvious conclusion.
A shiver went up and down the spy's spine and another wave of heat flushed over his skin and he was back on his feet, running for the door, flinging the thin piece of rotting wood wide before the rising tide of nausea overtook him completely.
Standing over the sleeping figure of Rafael Serano's daughter, the silencer on his gun aimed straight at the child's head...
Charlie curled up with his toy dinosaur, sleeping as peacefully as only an innocent is capable, while some stranger stands over him, waiting for the word to end his life...
Staring at Roger Steele through his rifle scope, apologizing to the man just before he blew a hole through his chest...
Sam sitting outside Carlitos, a mojito in his hand, when the shot comes...
His Mom, Jesse, Charlie, Sam, Fiona, all hiding in what they think is a safe house when a helicopter gunship descends...
"Here," Fiona called, seemingly stepping out of nowhere, urgently grabbing his arm and directing him towards the bathroom and then down beside the toilet bowl. He could feel her presence behind him as his stomach clenched and he threw up again. Afterwards, once he was back on his feet, the miserable dark haired man gripped the old enamel sink and stared into the badly tarnished mirror before him.
"Here, wash your mouth out with this." Fiona handed him a bottle of water, the lid already twisted off.
Taking the bottle with a shaky hand, Michael swilled out his mouth and then spat into the toilet before pushing down on the flush. Then after taking several sips from the bottle to ease his sore throat, he turned to face the woman he had once loved.
"Why are you really here, Fiona?" he asked, his tone flat and cold.
She looked at him, her eyes widening and her lips forming a nervous smile. He knew that look. It was the expression she wore when she had been discovered doing something she shouldn't and she was about to try to justify her actions.
"We -"
"Not we, you. Why are you here, Fi? You had no problem last week, using me, using Sonya to rescue your boyfriend. And then – what? After I give you what you've been asking for this whole time... I back off, I tell Strong to leave you alone, I do everything in my power to remove you from my life, just like you wanted. What then? You change your mind?"
He knew he was as good as begging to be hit. Hell, he knew if he didn't stop talking it would happen. But that didn't mean the stinging slap to his cheek didn't hurt.
"I hated having to drag you in to help save Carlos and I wish I'd never asked you to involve Sonya and that damn organization you've aligned yourself with. But at the time I didn't realize exactly how far that bitch had sucked you in."
He was taken aback by the fury in her words but clueless as to the reason; they had only done what she asked them to. It wasn't their fault that Carlos Cruz was unhappy with the methods used to save his life.
"Well, in future if you have a boyfriend in trouble, deal with it yourself." He wanted to push past her and go back to hide in his dark little cell, just seeing her this close and knowing what she had done was making him feel ill. But she stood her ground, blocking the doorway and showing no sign of getting out of his way.
"Sonya used a helicopter firing missiles to destroy a house. Seven people died... They weren't all guilty, Michael. Some of those killed or injured were women and children."
"And if she hadn't done what she did, we would all be dead," he answered her accusation calmly. "Those people, they were living with a cartel boss..."
"Can you hear yourself? You're explaining away a massacre."
"You forget, we're over. You moved on. I don't have to explain myself to you... Now, get outta my way."
The former lovers stared at each other, neither one willing to back down.
She'd had no problem with the methods employed to save her boyfriend's life until the hand wringing former gangbanger dumped her. She'd claimed to be upset about the death of Ben Snyder, the coward who would have let her burn to death in order to save his own miserable existence. But she had to understand that cowardice had no place in an organization such as James was running. Besides, what could he have done to stop the execution?
And then when he had given her what she wanted, instead of being happy she had attempted to undermine his mission and spied on him, placing a tracker in his gun to keep tabs on where he went. She confused him, trying to follow her logic was near impossible. Collateral damage was unfortunate, but it happened.
Sonya hadn't been in Columbia when she had passed the order on for the gunship to attack. She hadn't known who was in the compound... Then a little voice in the back of his mind broke into his thoughts, clawing at his reasoning. But the blonde had been on the scene when she went to order a similar attack on the home of his friend, Roger Steele. The former GRU operative had known exactly how many people would have died inside the villa on the Canary Islands, but it hadn't stopped her from going to make the call. If he hadn't made the offer to kill a man who had helped him numerous times during his career. If he hadn't assassinated a friend...
Michael blinked and did his best to stop that particular chain of thought. Roger had to die in order to protect the organization. It was as simple as that. Softening his expression, he smiled sadly. "I'm not going to fight with you, not any more, you should all be busy coming up with a plan for when James finds you."
Her expression mirrored his own as she move aside to let him past. "Not just us, you too."
"And whose fault is that?"
I will not speak of your sin
There was a way out for Him
The mirror shows not
Your values are all shot
But oh my heart was flawed. I knew my weakness
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness
So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace
The auburn haired ex-PIRA terrorist watched the dark haired stranger through narrowed blue-green eyes as he walked swiftly across the living room of the abandoned house, ignoring his friends and his mother to go outside. She bit down on her lower lip in an effort to control the rising tide of temper which was flooding her mind and body.
How dare he! How dare he dismiss them all as if they were nothing. He had dragged them all back into his life, putting them in danger, and then he thought he could just walk away.
The Irishwoman followed in the wake of her wayward former lover, Sam might want to play softly softly and try to nudge the stubborn bastard in the right direction. But that wasn't how she did things.
"Fi! Fiona! Dammit, Tinkerbell!"
She took great satisfaction in slamming the door shut in Sam's face.
And then she let rip, not caring one iota about the venom pouring out from her mouth in words and tone.
"Do you care about anyone except for yourself? Do you care that your Ma is petrified, not only for herself, but for you too?... And what about Charlie? D'ya think he'll like it in foster care?... How about Sam, your best friend? The man who has just walked away from a woman he loves to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life. And Jesse? You ruined his career trying to bring down an organization exactly like the one you've thrown in with. How d'ya think he feels about that?"
She could see her words were having an effect. She could see the play of his muscles through the thin white T-shirt he was wearing. She watched his sharply defined biceps bunch as his long fingers flexed as they gripped the porch rail.
That last comment, comparing his sacred James with Vaughn and Management, had hit a spot. It was like Sam had said when he had brought up Anson Fullerton and the death of Michael's brother, Nate. But she wasn't finished yet.
"D'ya know what's really sad? You becoming the thing you hate and you can't even see it... You're willingly betraying your country on the word of a man who slaughtered his own team. You know what James Kendrick did to his own people. Here, let me remind you... Your new best friend waited until his team mates were asleep and then he crept through the camp and slit their throats. Are you ready to do the same, Michael? Do we all need to sleep with one eye -"
"It's not like that," he interrupted, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.
"No? Really? Tell me, please, what it is like then?"
He shook his head and then turned to face her. "You wouldn't understand. You haven't spent your whole life being lied to." He sighed. "All James has done is show me the truth."
She laughed at him, laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Stepping in closer, she smirked as he straightened up, pushing away from the rail he had been resting against. Good, he was feeling threatened.
"The truth of it all? Oh my God, d'ya hear yourself?" She raised an eyebrow, and took another step into his personal space. "The truth of it is, he has duped you into becoming a traitor and made you his puppet."
He attempted to move her, his hands on her shoulders shoving her backwards. But she dug in her heels and used her arms and elbows to break his hold. If he wanted to get away that badly, he could go over the rail and take his chances with the snakes and alligators.
"Fi..." he growled out a warning.
"Sam said to you, one day somebody would get in your way and you would have to decide how far you were willing to go. Well, I want to know how far you're willing to go for your cause. You know right now James is coming after us all and, when he finds us, he will want our blood. He is going to slaughter your mom, Charlie, he'll -"
"STOP! J- ju-just STOP!"
He pushed her away so hard she fell onto the rough unvarnished wooden deck. The distress in his voice was heartbreaking to hear, but she couldn't let him walk away. Scrabbling back to her feet, she brushed her hands down her clothes to remove the dirt and splinters while giving chase, following his path around the porch.
"What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will you stand and watch as he does it, the way you did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean you must hate us all, enough to risk having us all thrown in jail. You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs."
He had been striding away from her, but now he was frozen in one spot. She could see the tremors running through his body and it was the scariest thing she had ever seen as, all of a sudden, he crumbled in front of her, falling to his knees and then shifting and shuffling until he could put his back against the wall of the house. Then, with his knees drawn up to his chest, he buried his head in hands.
The fiery Irishwoman had been ready for a full blown screaming and shouting, a stand up, knock down fight. The last thing she expected was to see the man she truly madly deeply loved... yes loved, she had been a fool to fight it... fall to the floor and shatter before her eyes.
"Michael?" She went to sit beside him and then stopped unsure what to do. This was just like when he had come back to them after James had interrogated him. When he had taken one look at her face and sobbed for over an hour, she had been at a loss then, too.
"You should all go..." he sniffed. "You should go, leave me... I'll – I'll think of something."
"No," she dropped down next to him, wrapping an arm around his hunched shoulders. "We'll think of something, and get it done it together."
So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace?
So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I can take the road and I can fuck it all away
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate