(FIC) (Burn Notice) "She Wears Heels" (1/1) (PG-13) (Pearce/Fiona)
Title: She Wears Heels
Author: Missy (rise_your_dead)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing/Characters: Background Pearce/Jesse; Pearce/Fiona (one-sided)
Rating/Category: R; angst and drama, sexual content
Word Count: 1,600
Disclaimer: Doesn’t belong to me, belongs to Matt Nix/USA/etc.
Spoilers: General show spoilers; this is season 6 AU.
Summary: It’s a world without boys when Fiona and Pearce go in search of a kidnapped Jesse in Australia.
Notes/Warnings: Written for merryghoul for Gallentine’s Day ‘13. Thanks to Tam for beta.
The heels are never a problem.
They’re enormous - nearly twice the size of her tiny feet - but somehow they never fly off in an awkward moment; not even when she’s running at full speed with mig assault rifle strapped over her shoulder like a Prada purse do they stir from her soles. Those shoes have an almost holy, mystical ability to make her look tough and strong without reducing her appearance to that of a silly fashion model lost on her way to a Prada show.
The heels are just one part of her allure, but Pearce considers them the most enviable. “How do you do it all without breaking your bones?” she asks one day.
“Run in these things?” Fiona points the toe of her heels toward the sky and smiles. “I feel as if I were born in them. Running’s just my second state.”
The two women are perched atop a Humvee in the middle of the Australian territory of Adelaide, waiting for a contact within the local Aboriginal tribe to give them the all-clear. Michael and Sam are back in the states, running interference on Michael’s latest scheme, and neither women makes mention of their distracted comrades; they’ve come to this sunblasted land of blue skies and high trees for one reason - to rescue Jesse Porter, who disappeared on a routine tour of the territory last week.
“I warned him not to take charity,” Fiona says, spitting on the barrel of her gun before putting a rag to it. “But you know how stubborn he can be.” Dani’s arrived in clear pursuit of their lost lover; she is painfully aware of Jesse’s stubbornness, as far as Fiona knows. Dani’s expression shifts under the throb of the son; the oppressive heat and nasty mosquito bites have come to dominate their conversation, the sudden topic switch to Jesse takes her off balance.
Only temporarily. Fiona admires that about her. “I think that’s the best part of him. That stubborn streak is just what I need when the chips are down.”
When they hear that the men have been taken by an enemy warlord, they arm themselves to the teeth and move northward. Fiona’s shoes turn into sensible boots for the journey, to Pearce’s disappointment.
Even the bracing yet wildly impractical Fiona can’t force herself stomp through the jungle in six inch platform heels.
***
The rainy season sets in before they find Jesse’s trail. They settle together in tents and play pinochle and poker until Pearce’s fingertips grow weary from the sharp pressure of the cards secreted in her fist. They take a break for more booze and Fiona starts re-arranging her hair, de-knotting the miles of burs and tangles they’ve managed to gain over the weeks. They share rainbarrel baths and speak of their childhoods in low, laughing whispers.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go back to Ireland,” Fiona declares, the air damp and mossy-smelling with new greenery, the both of them shivering in the atmosphere but still craving it, especially in comparison to the stifling heat that had accompanied most of their days.
“It’s beautiful over there,” Pearce observes.
“You’ve been?” Fiona asks. Pearce notes the rising tone of her voice and breaks off the conversation, only to have Fiona re-engage her in the mess hall. “I have a hard time listening to tourist opinions of the old home country,” she says. “You haven’t been in the middle of a firefight in your own apartment, have you? Buried your mam and your baby sister because of a poorly-timed bomb?”
“No, but I have sacrificed. Ireland was my first assignment,” Pearce explains calmly. “I served as a ground solider. We worked as intermediaries between the Irish people and the English government. I saw both sides of the conflict Fiona. I know you can’t be as impartial as I am for obvious reasons…”
“But that’s all in the past, right? Don’t bring it up again,” Fiona snaps. “Or Jesse won’t be the only one to go missing in Borneo.”
Pearce raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
***
Days pass by in stolid, stony silence, the two women grandly avoiding each other for as long as they can humanly stand the silence. It’s Pearce who breaks their moratorium on speech - she needs Fiona’s opinion on a tactical decision she’d made to find out where Jesse had been lodging. When the dust settles from the meeting, Fiona sashays over and offers her a sip of tea.
“I’ve been wondering what’s the matter with us,” she declares. “And I’ve come to realize you’re just as much of a sociopath as I am.”
“You’re a soldier yourself, Fiona.” Pearce says, then adds with great meaning, “You know what it’s like to bury people you love, or simply just like. You’ve seen them lose themselves and die. I didn’t personally lead any massacres.”
“So I have. And I suppose so have you. And our hands are as clean of innocent blood as they ever have been,” Fiona declares.
They both grew silent, knowing that their very fingers drip with the lifeblood of the innocents around them.
Pearce coughs and empties the last of her coffee onto the fertile ground before her. “We have twenty days to go and forty miles of rocky terrain to climb through, Fiona. I suggest we put up and shut up or suffer for our sins.”
“All right,” Fiona says, the firmness of Pearce’s voice drawing her confidence forth. They’re in this together, right to the bitter end.
***
She’s not quite sure how it ultimately happens. They’ve been getting along splendidly throughout the long hike up the mountainside, famously even. On the eighth day of hard hiking they make a pit stop at a fresh water stream, where they split a cake of soap and a waterfall that secluded them from the rest of the group.
One kiss leads to another, which leads to the middle of an outpost and a comfortable and very private room, the rush of unfamiliar hands and the mannerless playful dance of an agile tongue. Men pass by outside, immune to their squeals, but cocooned within they remain overjoyed by the relief of their lust.
Fiona rises from their bed a few hours later, intel freshly received, a meeting scheduled with Jesse’s kidnappers. When she speaks it’s like a needle scratching its way off a vinyl record. “I think we can make this work.”
She circles her mouth with hypnotic, cherry-red strokes of bright red, then smacks them at her own reflection. Quickly adjusting her cleavage, she smirks at her own reflection. “How do I look?”
Pearce pulls back her sweat-covered hair, visibly amazed. Fiona is already herself again, and Pearce cannot gather herself together. Fiona adjusts her skirt and says, “you were right back there, Danielle. Two sides to every story, right?”
“That’s what I thought. But I’m also starting to think that we might be telling the same story,” confesses Pearce.
Fiona smiles. “Honey, we’re not even in the same book.”
Fiona leaves to save Jesse in those impossibly high stacked heels of hers, and Dani feels a streak of guilt skate down her spine. She only wants Fiona to be safe. And this is the scariest part…
…She doesn’t care if Jesse comes back anymore.
THE END
Author: Missy (rise_your_dead)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing/Characters: Background Pearce/Jesse; Pearce/Fiona (one-sided)
Rating/Category: R; angst and drama, sexual content
Word Count: 1,600
Disclaimer: Doesn’t belong to me, belongs to Matt Nix/USA/etc.
Spoilers: General show spoilers; this is season 6 AU.
Summary: It’s a world without boys when Fiona and Pearce go in search of a kidnapped Jesse in Australia.
Notes/Warnings: Written for merryghoul for Gallentine’s Day ‘13. Thanks to Tam for beta.
The heels are never a problem.
They’re enormous - nearly twice the size of her tiny feet - but somehow they never fly off in an awkward moment; not even when she’s running at full speed with mig assault rifle strapped over her shoulder like a Prada purse do they stir from her soles. Those shoes have an almost holy, mystical ability to make her look tough and strong without reducing her appearance to that of a silly fashion model lost on her way to a Prada show.
The heels are just one part of her allure, but Pearce considers them the most enviable. “How do you do it all without breaking your bones?” she asks one day.
“Run in these things?” Fiona points the toe of her heels toward the sky and smiles. “I feel as if I were born in them. Running’s just my second state.”
The two women are perched atop a Humvee in the middle of the Australian territory of Adelaide, waiting for a contact within the local Aboriginal tribe to give them the all-clear. Michael and Sam are back in the states, running interference on Michael’s latest scheme, and neither women makes mention of their distracted comrades; they’ve come to this sunblasted land of blue skies and high trees for one reason - to rescue Jesse Porter, who disappeared on a routine tour of the territory last week.
“I warned him not to take charity,” Fiona says, spitting on the barrel of her gun before putting a rag to it. “But you know how stubborn he can be.” Dani’s arrived in clear pursuit of their lost lover; she is painfully aware of Jesse’s stubbornness, as far as Fiona knows. Dani’s expression shifts under the throb of the son; the oppressive heat and nasty mosquito bites have come to dominate their conversation, the sudden topic switch to Jesse takes her off balance.
Only temporarily. Fiona admires that about her. “I think that’s the best part of him. That stubborn streak is just what I need when the chips are down.”
When they hear that the men have been taken by an enemy warlord, they arm themselves to the teeth and move northward. Fiona’s shoes turn into sensible boots for the journey, to Pearce’s disappointment.
Even the bracing yet wildly impractical Fiona can’t force herself stomp through the jungle in six inch platform heels.
***
The rainy season sets in before they find Jesse’s trail. They settle together in tents and play pinochle and poker until Pearce’s fingertips grow weary from the sharp pressure of the cards secreted in her fist. They take a break for more booze and Fiona starts re-arranging her hair, de-knotting the miles of burs and tangles they’ve managed to gain over the weeks. They share rainbarrel baths and speak of their childhoods in low, laughing whispers.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go back to Ireland,” Fiona declares, the air damp and mossy-smelling with new greenery, the both of them shivering in the atmosphere but still craving it, especially in comparison to the stifling heat that had accompanied most of their days.
“It’s beautiful over there,” Pearce observes.
“You’ve been?” Fiona asks. Pearce notes the rising tone of her voice and breaks off the conversation, only to have Fiona re-engage her in the mess hall. “I have a hard time listening to tourist opinions of the old home country,” she says. “You haven’t been in the middle of a firefight in your own apartment, have you? Buried your mam and your baby sister because of a poorly-timed bomb?”
“No, but I have sacrificed. Ireland was my first assignment,” Pearce explains calmly. “I served as a ground solider. We worked as intermediaries between the Irish people and the English government. I saw both sides of the conflict Fiona. I know you can’t be as impartial as I am for obvious reasons…”
“But that’s all in the past, right? Don’t bring it up again,” Fiona snaps. “Or Jesse won’t be the only one to go missing in Borneo.”
Pearce raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
***
Days pass by in stolid, stony silence, the two women grandly avoiding each other for as long as they can humanly stand the silence. It’s Pearce who breaks their moratorium on speech - she needs Fiona’s opinion on a tactical decision she’d made to find out where Jesse had been lodging. When the dust settles from the meeting, Fiona sashays over and offers her a sip of tea.
“I’ve been wondering what’s the matter with us,” she declares. “And I’ve come to realize you’re just as much of a sociopath as I am.”
“You’re a soldier yourself, Fiona.” Pearce says, then adds with great meaning, “You know what it’s like to bury people you love, or simply just like. You’ve seen them lose themselves and die. I didn’t personally lead any massacres.”
“So I have. And I suppose so have you. And our hands are as clean of innocent blood as they ever have been,” Fiona declares.
They both grew silent, knowing that their very fingers drip with the lifeblood of the innocents around them.
Pearce coughs and empties the last of her coffee onto the fertile ground before her. “We have twenty days to go and forty miles of rocky terrain to climb through, Fiona. I suggest we put up and shut up or suffer for our sins.”
“All right,” Fiona says, the firmness of Pearce’s voice drawing her confidence forth. They’re in this together, right to the bitter end.
***
She’s not quite sure how it ultimately happens. They’ve been getting along splendidly throughout the long hike up the mountainside, famously even. On the eighth day of hard hiking they make a pit stop at a fresh water stream, where they split a cake of soap and a waterfall that secluded them from the rest of the group.
One kiss leads to another, which leads to the middle of an outpost and a comfortable and very private room, the rush of unfamiliar hands and the mannerless playful dance of an agile tongue. Men pass by outside, immune to their squeals, but cocooned within they remain overjoyed by the relief of their lust.
Fiona rises from their bed a few hours later, intel freshly received, a meeting scheduled with Jesse’s kidnappers. When she speaks it’s like a needle scratching its way off a vinyl record. “I think we can make this work.”
She circles her mouth with hypnotic, cherry-red strokes of bright red, then smacks them at her own reflection. Quickly adjusting her cleavage, she smirks at her own reflection. “How do I look?”
Pearce pulls back her sweat-covered hair, visibly amazed. Fiona is already herself again, and Pearce cannot gather herself together. Fiona adjusts her skirt and says, “you were right back there, Danielle. Two sides to every story, right?”
“That’s what I thought. But I’m also starting to think that we might be telling the same story,” confesses Pearce.
Fiona smiles. “Honey, we’re not even in the same book.”
Fiona leaves to save Jesse in those impossibly high stacked heels of hers, and Dani feels a streak of guilt skate down her spine. She only wants Fiona to be safe. And this is the scariest part…
…She doesn’t care if Jesse comes back anymore.
THE END