BN Fic: Our Gritty Covenants of Beauty
Dec. 13th, 2023 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jesterladyficTitle: Our Gritty Covenants of Beauty
By Jesterlady
Pairing: Michael/Fiona
Rating PG:
Summary: Michael’s always done things on his own, when he has two promises to keep, will he be able to ask for help?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Burn Notice. Some lines are from the show. The title is inspired by Ann Voskamp
Our Gritty Covenants of Beauty
The monitors displayed their pictures, and Michael sat motionless as they mocked him with the evidence of his actions. There they were—in actual color—the people he considered his family, imprisoned as a consequence of his blind rage.
Because shooting Card hadn’t even been a decision. He couldn’t recall pulling the trigger. All he knew was that the man he’d blindly thought of as the father he’d always wanted was lying dead on the floor with a bullet hole in his forehead. Nate had been avenged—one more burden of choice laid on Michael’s shoulders—but at what cost?
The cost was an assault to his emotions as he watched Fiona pacing and Sam idly flicking cards. Some part of him knew they had made their own choice to stand by him, but that didn’t keep shame from overriding his logic—a shame for selfish, emotional violence when he had people he was supposed to protect counting on him.
He wondered what it would have been like if they had been able to run. If Riley hadn’t hired the cartel, if Bly hadn’t died, if they hadn’t been delayed so long. What kind of sanctuary could they have fled to? better than the current fate awaiting them. He didn’t think his mom could ever adjust to life on the run. She was too set in her ways, too accustomed to a civilian life, no matter how naturally good she was at interrogations and loading shotguns.
As for the others, though they had the training and fortitude necessary, he worried about the long-term impact. Jesse, who had already lost everything, a casualty in Michael’s wars—would he ever be fully content? Wouldn’t resentment build in him to the point of eruption? washing away the loyalty Michael knew he didn’t deserve and didn’t quite understand how he had earned.
True, the plan was to make it right. He had promised Sam, and that promise felt branded on Michael’s eyelids. He saw the words every time he closed them. They were to run, but not forever. Sam had a life to get back to, a relationship built on something more than risk and vengeance. Michael’s gut lurched, remembering that frozen moment of agony in the back of the car. Fiona had been reckless and desperate in her driving, all laws disregarded and left behind in a blur. Sam’s weight was heavy in Michael’s lap, blood thick in the air and sticky on his hands. Sam’s voice shook and pleaded and demanded, words of reproach pouring out of his mouth, finally asking repayment for the loyalty and fidelity of years.
Michael had not been able—had not wanted—to refuse. He had promised and the covenant stretched between them even now, iron clad and impossible. How could Michael make this right? How could he undo the betrayals and the poor judgment and the evil forces they had faced? How could he repair the broken future he’d led them to?
“It’s your lucky day.”
Michael stared at the CIA agent offering him a deal and despised him for more than just his mocking words. Instinctively, Michael sized the other man up and could almost taste his desperation, his need to have his offer accepted. That did nothing to lessen his position of strength. There was no other option for Michael to take and both of them knew it. But, no matter how good of a man Strong might be, or had been before his job defeated him, Michael hated him and saw in him a picture of Michael’s own unenviable future.
Not for the first time, but with more clarity than ever, Michael knew he wanted out from the CIA, to cut ties with that which he had thought would bind him forever. And it seemed it would, through sacrifice now, not choice. He was being offered a deal, a way to save his family from forever punishment for his sins. But the cost would be high and was contingent on Michael succeeding where many had failed. He knew his worth and his abilities, but the weight of that knowledge hung his head low.
The pain he knew such a deal would bring—the face of defeat it would display—brought his spirit still lower. He knew how Fi would react. He had promised her in Panama that after he caught the man who killed his brother, he would get out. That promise had already extended past the capture of Tyler Gray, past the killing of Card, and past the literal burning of their life together. Now, if he accepted this deal, it would shatter altogether. Hadn’t he failed her enough? Yet what other way was there that was in accord with his need to protect them and make things right?
The two promises hung in the balance, each counterpoised to defeat the other in his execution of fidelity. Michael stared, his gaze boring into the monitor, flicking between Fiona and Sam, Sam and Fiona. The two people he counted on more than anything. The people who had always been by his side, supporting him, even when the entire world had turned against him. They were his world, his best friend and the woman he loved. They represented all that he considered good and now . . . he would have to break one of their hearts. What else could he do? His mind raced for the answers, searching, frantic for a way out. He always found a way out. And yet now, helplessness stole over him, shadows lengthening in his soul.
His instincts told him to accept the deal. After all, it was a way forward and, it saved them all—potentially—and it meant that he would have time to figure out another way. But he kept seeing Fiona’s face and he searched his gut to have another, more immediate answer. What he did know was that in making this decision for them all, he would betray the loyalty and comradery they’d built over the last six years. Yet, that was typically how he made his choices, alone, with the certainty built over years of experience and training. Looking back, though, how many of those choices had led them here? to this trapped place of grief and servitude.
Perhaps he needed the counsel of another. Perhaps his independent arrogance, forged in the abuse of parents who had not cared for him, would be the worst guide of all. It had led him for too long. He was reminded of Fiona’s words of long ago, fingers held tightly over a button of destruction, a willingness to die for and with him evident in every line of her face.
“We’ll do this together.”
Together. His mind lingered over the memory, over how others had saved them that day. Over the many times he’d had to rely on them and their wisdom when he was undone. Something inside of him shifted, and what he’d once held so tightly, he felt the ability to release. His spirit sighed in relief. His need for control screamed in agony, but the deeper parts of him, the ones healed in the trenches of Miami, lavished with love from the ones who knew him best, took that control and gagged it. And he knew his answer.
“I need to talk to them before I decide for them.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Strong replied. “It’s this or that deep pit we talked about.”
“I talk to them or the answer is no.” Michael leaned forward, a cold-blooded smile—perfected over years and used to make his marks freeze in uncertainty—perched on his lips. He had already measured Strong and the man’s weakness, and now he knew how to use it. “If you want me, then this is the way to me.”
Strong studied him, frustration playing around his eyes. Michael kept his face impassive, but inwardly gloated in triumph. It was a small triumph, but it was real.
“Fine,” Strong said. “You can talk to two of them.”
Michael whispered a silent apology to Jesse and didn’t hesitate.
“Fiona and Sam.”
The promises slightly uncoiled their grip on Michael and he waited, words and explanations and possibilities colliding over and over in his thoughts. The process took forever—transfers and paperwork—and he almost went crazy in the interim. He had survived years of torture, but waiting to confess their terms was enough to make him want to fall to the floor and beg for it to end. He outwaited it, but he knew it was a close thing, and likely one of the reasons it took so long.
When finally, days later, the doors creaked open, Michael watched Fiona and Sam enter the room, shackles on their wrists. He clenched his jaw, but he had no time for anger as Fiona approached him and slipped her bound hands over his head, attacking his mouth with more fervor than accuracy. He felt the fire of his blood respond, surprising him with the need to feel her against him, worried that he wouldn’t have another opportunity.
“Is now the time?” Sam asked.
Michael’s hazy thoughts gathered themselves and he slipped from her grasp, yet kept her close, more for his own assurance of her than anything else. He saw Sam sit down across from them and something inside of him slumped in relief at the sight of Sam, walking, color in his face, and no longer in danger of death. Some good had come of them being held for so long. It had given Sam time to heal.
“Why did he have to come to this particular conjugal visit?” Fiona whispered loud enough for them all to hear.
Michael and Sam both stared at her for a moment while she smirked at them, before Michael folded his arms, to protect himself from their inevitable reactions.
“I was offered a deal,” he said simply.
Before he could continue, Fiona’s mouth burst forth.
“Michael, don’t you dare! You promised!”
“I haven’t said yes,” he said over the rest of her tirade. “And I also promised Sam I would make this right.”
She quieted, both of them wearing him down with their looks, the truth of his words resonating—they had both been there when he had promised.
“Mikey . . .”
“I don’t know how to keep both promises,” Michael said, letting his voice crack, yet keeping his body rigid, unwilling to appear weak in the knowledge their conversation was being listened to. “I’m going to fail one of you, no matter what I do. I, I need your help to decide.”
Fiona’s eyes flickered in surprise, but she didn’t say anything, a sudden restraint holding her and making her alien to him.
“Tell us the deal,” Sam said, his face unreadable, something Michael wasn’t used to.
Sam and Fiona both wore their emotions on their sleeves unless they were on a job. He sometimes envied that about them.
He told them the details, about how Strong hadn’t even wanted him to tell them the truth and about how their freedom was contingent on Michael’s success.
“Some deal,” Fiona snorted at the end, but Michael could see how her fingers gripped the edge of the table, the only sign of her intense interest in the conversation. “I really don’t see what you get out of it.”
“It’s not about me,” he said, meeting her eyes.
“Not. Acceptable,” she spat back.
“What’s the alternative?” he asked, aching to hold her, but knowing for so many reasons that wasn’t possible. Losing himself in the feel of her was always his way to bridge their gaps of communication and he hated how dependent he was on that. “Fi, if I don’t take that deal, we never see each other again anyway.”
“That’s your problem, Michael. You refuse to think creatively,” she said.
And she wasn’t wrong. Oh, Michael was brilliant at tactics that boggled the minds of CIA training officers and resourceful enough to garner Management’s praise and notice, but he tended to think very literally and practically when it came to the future and the safety of the people he cared about.
“I’m open to suggestions,” he said, with a quick glance at the cameras.
Her eyes flicked there with him and she settled back in her chair, her own understanding of their situation, forgotten in the passion of her argument, reclaimed and grounded into thought. He could see her mind working and hoped it could come up with something. Preferably one that didn’t involve them blowing everyone up.
“If I might interject,” Sam said, and Michael met his gaze with guilt in his own. “I think you’re forgetting something important.”
“My promises are the most important thing to me,” Michael answered him.
“Yeah, well, that’s supposing I even want you to keep mine.” Both Michael and Fiona narrowed their eyes at Sam, who grinned at them. “Don’t get me wrong, I do expect you to keep it. But how and when is a whole different subject. I want to get back to Elsa and I want to get back to the business of living, but if I wasn’t willing to trade your freedom for that before, I certainly won’t now.”
Fiona shot a look of prideful victory to Michael and he could recognize the gleam in her eyes and the words of gloating and arguments won that would grace their future abiding there. He almost wanted to laugh.
“So you’d rather go to prison yourself?” he asked Sam. “Because that’s what’s going to happen.”
“Is it?” Sam asked, looking at Fiona. She slowly smiled back at him, her savage smile—predicated on violent and gleeful energy—somehow in sync with him.
“Is it indeed?” she asked, her accent showing through her words.
“Is there something you two know that I don’t?” Michael asked, genuinely confused, knowing how much the two of them usually clashed when it came to plans or even moral concepts
“A lot of things,” Fiona said, gentle mockery implied.
He rolled his eyes.
“About this?”
“Just one thing, Mike,” Sam said, leaning forward. “We’re a team.”
“I know that,” Michael said, slightly wounded. Didn’t they see how much he was thinking of them as a team? As a family? “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Teams are a package deal, Michael,” Fiona said, explaining as if to a child. “If they want you . . . they get us.”
“Now hold on,” Michael said, his every sense rebelling against the idea. “I’m not doing that to you.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, almost kindly. “We are. You asked us here to advise you, did you not?”
“Yes,” he said, almost reluctantly, his pride and need for control still clamoring to take all the decisions unto himself.
“Then advice given,” she said, leaning back in her chair and casually crossing one leg over the other.
“Mike, there’s no way we’re letting you do this on your own,” Sam said. “Besides, I don’t see how you can. You might know this guy Burke and have to do the brunt of the work, but come crunch time, you’re going to need people on your side that you can trust.”
Michael’s training and tactical knowledge acknowledged the truth of that, but he still felt led to protest.
“And what about Jesse? What about my mom?”
“Well, I’m not planning on fitting her with a combat vest,” Sam said. “There’s no reason that original part of the deal can’t happen. She goes to Miami. If we fail, well, we won’t be around to see how pissed she’ll be.”
“And you know perfectly well Jesse will agree to help,” Fiona said, her faith in the man always strong enough to make Michael slightly jealous, even though he knew he had no reason to be. It was more that he wished Fiona would think that way about him. Still, that was his own fault after leaving her and constantly choosing his work over her. He’d have to build that again. And today was one small step. “If he didn’t give in to Riley, there’s no way he’ll abandon us now.”
“He should still get a vote,” Michael grumbled.
“Oh, we’re voting now. Michael, how American. I’m so proud of you,” Fiona practically purred, despite the sarcasm in her tone.
“You know what I mean,” Michael said, shooting her his patented expression of complete and utter irritation.
“Well, if anyone doesn’t get a say in this decision,” she pointed out, “it’s you. After all, you’re the one who promised us things. I think we have the most to say about it. And I’ll also add that I got my promise first, so that means I have top priority.”
“You know it’s not that easy, Fi,” Michael said, putting a hand to his temple.
“It’s never been easy,” she answered, then got quiet in a way that Michael usually dreaded, knowing he’d done something to cause her pain, but usually not knowing what. “Look, I know that it’s impossible for you to get out right now. I’m willing to try again because you were honest with me and didn’t just decide this for me. For us. But . . . I’m still waiting for Panama to come true and I will hold you to that.”
He stared at her, always taken aback by her constant twists and turns, throwing out emotional maturity and morality like the explosions she loved so much. Even her gentleness was a tidal wave to his soul. He regretted not listening to her before and he wished that he could hold his promise out with all the freedom in the world and shower her with the honor she deserved.
“You’re incredible,” he told her, awe peppering his tone with enthusiasm he normally didn’t show in front of others. “And I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t try. You’ll only make a fool of yourself,” she said, but the look she gave him spoke volumes of all the things she’d like to say and do to him, and he vowed one day she’d get the chance.
One more promise to keep, but this time to himself.
“I think we’re getting off the point here,” Sam said, holding his hands up and wearing his own expression—the one he seemed to reserve especially for Michael and Fiona. “So, Mike, you willing to make us your answer?”
Michael stared at the table, tracing the small scratches left by handcuffs, his mind trying to strategically run through all the lines of outcome, wondering how this could backfire. This, while his spirit flew into his throat, choking out words, gratitude and relief so immense it could take him years to understand it. This felt solid and right in a way neither of his other options had. And he knew, again, it was because of them. For the first time since he’d shot Card, something inside of him—angry, bitter, and numb—relaxed and let him think clearly.
“I don’t want you guys to pay for what I did,” he finally said, not to say no, but to give any type of explanation for how he felt about them.
“Michael, we deserve to buy back our own freedom for ourselves,” Fiona said, her hand reaching across to squeeze his. Her fingers slipped into between his, finding their way home. “That’s the part you always get wrong.”
“I guess so,” he said, chuckling only somewhat morosely.
She smiled, a clear smile of understanding and patience. He truly didn’t deserve her, but he was going to spend the rest of his life trying.
And he didn’t deserve such friendship, but he would never take back knowing Sam.
“The promises are on hold, buddy,” Sam said, grinning.
The promises themselves, held so tightly in Michael’s heart, nestled down to wait, their presence never to be forgotten, but not to be a noose, holding him hostage. He could breathe again. There were things to figure out. Michael still badly wanted Jesse to have his own say in what happened to him after having made too many choices that affected Jesse badly. As for his mom, Michael wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, but the little boy inside of him that demanded he keep her safe was most insistent on keeping her as far away from this as possible.
And the desperate, unknown gambit he didn’t know he could pull off? he was suddenly confident again, bolstered and supported by his family, their small force a terror and a balm over Miami for years. What was one more battle?
“Strong,” Michael said loudly, not looking at the camera, keeping his gaze fixed on Fiona’s eager face, silently promising her again that he would not fail, that he would eventually take her and run, and be everything she’d ever wanted. “We’re ready.”
By Jesterlady
Pairing: Michael/Fiona
Rating PG:
Summary: Michael’s always done things on his own, when he has two promises to keep, will he be able to ask for help?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Burn Notice. Some lines are from the show. The title is inspired by Ann Voskamp
Our Gritty Covenants of Beauty
The monitors displayed their pictures, and Michael sat motionless as they mocked him with the evidence of his actions. There they were—in actual color—the people he considered his family, imprisoned as a consequence of his blind rage.
Because shooting Card hadn’t even been a decision. He couldn’t recall pulling the trigger. All he knew was that the man he’d blindly thought of as the father he’d always wanted was lying dead on the floor with a bullet hole in his forehead. Nate had been avenged—one more burden of choice laid on Michael’s shoulders—but at what cost?
The cost was an assault to his emotions as he watched Fiona pacing and Sam idly flicking cards. Some part of him knew they had made their own choice to stand by him, but that didn’t keep shame from overriding his logic—a shame for selfish, emotional violence when he had people he was supposed to protect counting on him.
He wondered what it would have been like if they had been able to run. If Riley hadn’t hired the cartel, if Bly hadn’t died, if they hadn’t been delayed so long. What kind of sanctuary could they have fled to? better than the current fate awaiting them. He didn’t think his mom could ever adjust to life on the run. She was too set in her ways, too accustomed to a civilian life, no matter how naturally good she was at interrogations and loading shotguns.
As for the others, though they had the training and fortitude necessary, he worried about the long-term impact. Jesse, who had already lost everything, a casualty in Michael’s wars—would he ever be fully content? Wouldn’t resentment build in him to the point of eruption? washing away the loyalty Michael knew he didn’t deserve and didn’t quite understand how he had earned.
True, the plan was to make it right. He had promised Sam, and that promise felt branded on Michael’s eyelids. He saw the words every time he closed them. They were to run, but not forever. Sam had a life to get back to, a relationship built on something more than risk and vengeance. Michael’s gut lurched, remembering that frozen moment of agony in the back of the car. Fiona had been reckless and desperate in her driving, all laws disregarded and left behind in a blur. Sam’s weight was heavy in Michael’s lap, blood thick in the air and sticky on his hands. Sam’s voice shook and pleaded and demanded, words of reproach pouring out of his mouth, finally asking repayment for the loyalty and fidelity of years.
Michael had not been able—had not wanted—to refuse. He had promised and the covenant stretched between them even now, iron clad and impossible. How could Michael make this right? How could he undo the betrayals and the poor judgment and the evil forces they had faced? How could he repair the broken future he’d led them to?
“It’s your lucky day.”
Michael stared at the CIA agent offering him a deal and despised him for more than just his mocking words. Instinctively, Michael sized the other man up and could almost taste his desperation, his need to have his offer accepted. That did nothing to lessen his position of strength. There was no other option for Michael to take and both of them knew it. But, no matter how good of a man Strong might be, or had been before his job defeated him, Michael hated him and saw in him a picture of Michael’s own unenviable future.
Not for the first time, but with more clarity than ever, Michael knew he wanted out from the CIA, to cut ties with that which he had thought would bind him forever. And it seemed it would, through sacrifice now, not choice. He was being offered a deal, a way to save his family from forever punishment for his sins. But the cost would be high and was contingent on Michael succeeding where many had failed. He knew his worth and his abilities, but the weight of that knowledge hung his head low.
The pain he knew such a deal would bring—the face of defeat it would display—brought his spirit still lower. He knew how Fi would react. He had promised her in Panama that after he caught the man who killed his brother, he would get out. That promise had already extended past the capture of Tyler Gray, past the killing of Card, and past the literal burning of their life together. Now, if he accepted this deal, it would shatter altogether. Hadn’t he failed her enough? Yet what other way was there that was in accord with his need to protect them and make things right?
The two promises hung in the balance, each counterpoised to defeat the other in his execution of fidelity. Michael stared, his gaze boring into the monitor, flicking between Fiona and Sam, Sam and Fiona. The two people he counted on more than anything. The people who had always been by his side, supporting him, even when the entire world had turned against him. They were his world, his best friend and the woman he loved. They represented all that he considered good and now . . . he would have to break one of their hearts. What else could he do? His mind raced for the answers, searching, frantic for a way out. He always found a way out. And yet now, helplessness stole over him, shadows lengthening in his soul.
His instincts told him to accept the deal. After all, it was a way forward and, it saved them all—potentially—and it meant that he would have time to figure out another way. But he kept seeing Fiona’s face and he searched his gut to have another, more immediate answer. What he did know was that in making this decision for them all, he would betray the loyalty and comradery they’d built over the last six years. Yet, that was typically how he made his choices, alone, with the certainty built over years of experience and training. Looking back, though, how many of those choices had led them here? to this trapped place of grief and servitude.
Perhaps he needed the counsel of another. Perhaps his independent arrogance, forged in the abuse of parents who had not cared for him, would be the worst guide of all. It had led him for too long. He was reminded of Fiona’s words of long ago, fingers held tightly over a button of destruction, a willingness to die for and with him evident in every line of her face.
“We’ll do this together.”
Together. His mind lingered over the memory, over how others had saved them that day. Over the many times he’d had to rely on them and their wisdom when he was undone. Something inside of him shifted, and what he’d once held so tightly, he felt the ability to release. His spirit sighed in relief. His need for control screamed in agony, but the deeper parts of him, the ones healed in the trenches of Miami, lavished with love from the ones who knew him best, took that control and gagged it. And he knew his answer.
“I need to talk to them before I decide for them.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Strong replied. “It’s this or that deep pit we talked about.”
“I talk to them or the answer is no.” Michael leaned forward, a cold-blooded smile—perfected over years and used to make his marks freeze in uncertainty—perched on his lips. He had already measured Strong and the man’s weakness, and now he knew how to use it. “If you want me, then this is the way to me.”
Strong studied him, frustration playing around his eyes. Michael kept his face impassive, but inwardly gloated in triumph. It was a small triumph, but it was real.
“Fine,” Strong said. “You can talk to two of them.”
Michael whispered a silent apology to Jesse and didn’t hesitate.
“Fiona and Sam.”
The promises slightly uncoiled their grip on Michael and he waited, words and explanations and possibilities colliding over and over in his thoughts. The process took forever—transfers and paperwork—and he almost went crazy in the interim. He had survived years of torture, but waiting to confess their terms was enough to make him want to fall to the floor and beg for it to end. He outwaited it, but he knew it was a close thing, and likely one of the reasons it took so long.
When finally, days later, the doors creaked open, Michael watched Fiona and Sam enter the room, shackles on their wrists. He clenched his jaw, but he had no time for anger as Fiona approached him and slipped her bound hands over his head, attacking his mouth with more fervor than accuracy. He felt the fire of his blood respond, surprising him with the need to feel her against him, worried that he wouldn’t have another opportunity.
“Is now the time?” Sam asked.
Michael’s hazy thoughts gathered themselves and he slipped from her grasp, yet kept her close, more for his own assurance of her than anything else. He saw Sam sit down across from them and something inside of him slumped in relief at the sight of Sam, walking, color in his face, and no longer in danger of death. Some good had come of them being held for so long. It had given Sam time to heal.
“Why did he have to come to this particular conjugal visit?” Fiona whispered loud enough for them all to hear.
Michael and Sam both stared at her for a moment while she smirked at them, before Michael folded his arms, to protect himself from their inevitable reactions.
“I was offered a deal,” he said simply.
Before he could continue, Fiona’s mouth burst forth.
“Michael, don’t you dare! You promised!”
“I haven’t said yes,” he said over the rest of her tirade. “And I also promised Sam I would make this right.”
She quieted, both of them wearing him down with their looks, the truth of his words resonating—they had both been there when he had promised.
“Mikey . . .”
“I don’t know how to keep both promises,” Michael said, letting his voice crack, yet keeping his body rigid, unwilling to appear weak in the knowledge their conversation was being listened to. “I’m going to fail one of you, no matter what I do. I, I need your help to decide.”
Fiona’s eyes flickered in surprise, but she didn’t say anything, a sudden restraint holding her and making her alien to him.
“Tell us the deal,” Sam said, his face unreadable, something Michael wasn’t used to.
Sam and Fiona both wore their emotions on their sleeves unless they were on a job. He sometimes envied that about them.
He told them the details, about how Strong hadn’t even wanted him to tell them the truth and about how their freedom was contingent on Michael’s success.
“Some deal,” Fiona snorted at the end, but Michael could see how her fingers gripped the edge of the table, the only sign of her intense interest in the conversation. “I really don’t see what you get out of it.”
“It’s not about me,” he said, meeting her eyes.
“Not. Acceptable,” she spat back.
“What’s the alternative?” he asked, aching to hold her, but knowing for so many reasons that wasn’t possible. Losing himself in the feel of her was always his way to bridge their gaps of communication and he hated how dependent he was on that. “Fi, if I don’t take that deal, we never see each other again anyway.”
“That’s your problem, Michael. You refuse to think creatively,” she said.
And she wasn’t wrong. Oh, Michael was brilliant at tactics that boggled the minds of CIA training officers and resourceful enough to garner Management’s praise and notice, but he tended to think very literally and practically when it came to the future and the safety of the people he cared about.
“I’m open to suggestions,” he said, with a quick glance at the cameras.
Her eyes flicked there with him and she settled back in her chair, her own understanding of their situation, forgotten in the passion of her argument, reclaimed and grounded into thought. He could see her mind working and hoped it could come up with something. Preferably one that didn’t involve them blowing everyone up.
“If I might interject,” Sam said, and Michael met his gaze with guilt in his own. “I think you’re forgetting something important.”
“My promises are the most important thing to me,” Michael answered him.
“Yeah, well, that’s supposing I even want you to keep mine.” Both Michael and Fiona narrowed their eyes at Sam, who grinned at them. “Don’t get me wrong, I do expect you to keep it. But how and when is a whole different subject. I want to get back to Elsa and I want to get back to the business of living, but if I wasn’t willing to trade your freedom for that before, I certainly won’t now.”
Fiona shot a look of prideful victory to Michael and he could recognize the gleam in her eyes and the words of gloating and arguments won that would grace their future abiding there. He almost wanted to laugh.
“So you’d rather go to prison yourself?” he asked Sam. “Because that’s what’s going to happen.”
“Is it?” Sam asked, looking at Fiona. She slowly smiled back at him, her savage smile—predicated on violent and gleeful energy—somehow in sync with him.
“Is it indeed?” she asked, her accent showing through her words.
“Is there something you two know that I don’t?” Michael asked, genuinely confused, knowing how much the two of them usually clashed when it came to plans or even moral concepts
“A lot of things,” Fiona said, gentle mockery implied.
He rolled his eyes.
“About this?”
“Just one thing, Mike,” Sam said, leaning forward. “We’re a team.”
“I know that,” Michael said, slightly wounded. Didn’t they see how much he was thinking of them as a team? As a family? “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Teams are a package deal, Michael,” Fiona said, explaining as if to a child. “If they want you . . . they get us.”
“Now hold on,” Michael said, his every sense rebelling against the idea. “I’m not doing that to you.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, almost kindly. “We are. You asked us here to advise you, did you not?”
“Yes,” he said, almost reluctantly, his pride and need for control still clamoring to take all the decisions unto himself.
“Then advice given,” she said, leaning back in her chair and casually crossing one leg over the other.
“Mike, there’s no way we’re letting you do this on your own,” Sam said. “Besides, I don’t see how you can. You might know this guy Burke and have to do the brunt of the work, but come crunch time, you’re going to need people on your side that you can trust.”
Michael’s training and tactical knowledge acknowledged the truth of that, but he still felt led to protest.
“And what about Jesse? What about my mom?”
“Well, I’m not planning on fitting her with a combat vest,” Sam said. “There’s no reason that original part of the deal can’t happen. She goes to Miami. If we fail, well, we won’t be around to see how pissed she’ll be.”
“And you know perfectly well Jesse will agree to help,” Fiona said, her faith in the man always strong enough to make Michael slightly jealous, even though he knew he had no reason to be. It was more that he wished Fiona would think that way about him. Still, that was his own fault after leaving her and constantly choosing his work over her. He’d have to build that again. And today was one small step. “If he didn’t give in to Riley, there’s no way he’ll abandon us now.”
“He should still get a vote,” Michael grumbled.
“Oh, we’re voting now. Michael, how American. I’m so proud of you,” Fiona practically purred, despite the sarcasm in her tone.
“You know what I mean,” Michael said, shooting her his patented expression of complete and utter irritation.
“Well, if anyone doesn’t get a say in this decision,” she pointed out, “it’s you. After all, you’re the one who promised us things. I think we have the most to say about it. And I’ll also add that I got my promise first, so that means I have top priority.”
“You know it’s not that easy, Fi,” Michael said, putting a hand to his temple.
“It’s never been easy,” she answered, then got quiet in a way that Michael usually dreaded, knowing he’d done something to cause her pain, but usually not knowing what. “Look, I know that it’s impossible for you to get out right now. I’m willing to try again because you were honest with me and didn’t just decide this for me. For us. But . . . I’m still waiting for Panama to come true and I will hold you to that.”
He stared at her, always taken aback by her constant twists and turns, throwing out emotional maturity and morality like the explosions she loved so much. Even her gentleness was a tidal wave to his soul. He regretted not listening to her before and he wished that he could hold his promise out with all the freedom in the world and shower her with the honor she deserved.
“You’re incredible,” he told her, awe peppering his tone with enthusiasm he normally didn’t show in front of others. “And I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t try. You’ll only make a fool of yourself,” she said, but the look she gave him spoke volumes of all the things she’d like to say and do to him, and he vowed one day she’d get the chance.
One more promise to keep, but this time to himself.
“I think we’re getting off the point here,” Sam said, holding his hands up and wearing his own expression—the one he seemed to reserve especially for Michael and Fiona. “So, Mike, you willing to make us your answer?”
Michael stared at the table, tracing the small scratches left by handcuffs, his mind trying to strategically run through all the lines of outcome, wondering how this could backfire. This, while his spirit flew into his throat, choking out words, gratitude and relief so immense it could take him years to understand it. This felt solid and right in a way neither of his other options had. And he knew, again, it was because of them. For the first time since he’d shot Card, something inside of him—angry, bitter, and numb—relaxed and let him think clearly.
“I don’t want you guys to pay for what I did,” he finally said, not to say no, but to give any type of explanation for how he felt about them.
“Michael, we deserve to buy back our own freedom for ourselves,” Fiona said, her hand reaching across to squeeze his. Her fingers slipped into between his, finding their way home. “That’s the part you always get wrong.”
“I guess so,” he said, chuckling only somewhat morosely.
She smiled, a clear smile of understanding and patience. He truly didn’t deserve her, but he was going to spend the rest of his life trying.
And he didn’t deserve such friendship, but he would never take back knowing Sam.
“The promises are on hold, buddy,” Sam said, grinning.
The promises themselves, held so tightly in Michael’s heart, nestled down to wait, their presence never to be forgotten, but not to be a noose, holding him hostage. He could breathe again. There were things to figure out. Michael still badly wanted Jesse to have his own say in what happened to him after having made too many choices that affected Jesse badly. As for his mom, Michael wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, but the little boy inside of him that demanded he keep her safe was most insistent on keeping her as far away from this as possible.
And the desperate, unknown gambit he didn’t know he could pull off? he was suddenly confident again, bolstered and supported by his family, their small force a terror and a balm over Miami for years. What was one more battle?
“Strong,” Michael said loudly, not looking at the camera, keeping his gaze fixed on Fiona’s eager face, silently promising her again that he would not fail, that he would eventually take her and run, and be everything she’d ever wanted. “We’re ready.”
