BN Oneshot: Impossible Things Are Healing Here

[jesterladyfic]

Title: Impossible Things Are Healing Here
by Jesterlady
Pairing: Michael/Fiona
Summary: What happened between the explosion and the funeral?
Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice. The title is by Ann Voskamp
A/N: Many others have undertaken to explore the missing bits of the finale. But here's my take.



Impossible Things Are Healing Here

When Michael jumps, a firebomb blazoning across the building behind him, he has the curious sense that he’s jumping toward more than saving his life. Up to this point, he has been trying to survive, to navigate the mess and betrayal of two secret organizations and his own role balancing between them and his family. The family he has betrayed so, so recently and let down too many times to count before that. The wind is cold on his front as he plummets toward the water, and the heat of the explosion scorches his back. His hand grips Fi’s tightly, and he never plans on letting go. He is finally clear on who he is, what he wants, and what the future can hold. When his feet hit the water, he knows he is free.

He plummeted into water the day before, but this time is much better. No hurt friend lurks to carry him away, instead the water revitalizes his mind and washes away his fears and failures. He surfaces and gulps in the fresh air, looking around for Fi, because they need to swim farther from the blast zone to be truly safe. Her head cuts through the water beside him, and she throws her head back, laughing. He watches her, her face gleeful and carefree. He hasn’t seen her this way in so long. He doesn’t want it to stop. He wants to join in.

He smiles when she looks at him and knows she can see that he feels it too, the adrenaline, the excitement, the victory, the rush of escape, and the thrill of adventure. This is what the two of them were made for, so long as they are together. His water to her fire, his earth to her air, their combined skill a lethal force fatal to all who oppose them. He stretches his arm towards her as he treads water, and she follows him toward the bank.

He hauls himself out and leans down to pull her upward, his gunshot wound flashing pain in protest. He doesn’t mind; it’s a small price to pay for freedom. When she is safe on the land, dripping water over his already soaked body, she puts her hands on his chest and leans in to kiss him. It is their first kiss in so long. He finds he is trembling in anticipation and nerves. At first, he is unsure whether he can give her anything after all he’s done. Does he deserve to enjoy this moment? especially after hesitating on the rooftop. But she presses more insistently against him, a reminder of many such kisses given during their history, through every one of his past mistakes. She is not letting go, and he wants her more than he's ever wanted anything.

He gives in to his impulse and wraps his elbow around her neck, drawing her as close as possible. It is reminiscent of years ago, another escape from fire, another water-drenched kiss, another impossible reunion. He does not know why he is given this second chance to be hers again in so similar a fashion, but he doesn’t plan on screwing it up this time.

Miami is usually unbearably warm, but the wind along the bank chills his wet skin. Yet he isn’t cold, he is burning where she’s touching him, from the friction of their lips, and the hunger of his blood for their new lives to start. Even as they pull apart and stare at each other, his mind begins working a plan, something he hadn’t thought possible when this desperate gambit began.

“We need to find Sam,” he says. “And make sure he got out.”

“He better after all that,” she replies, but stands up, extending a hand down to pull him up.

He grips it and rises and thinks that this is what she always does for him. He is prone to falling into darkness and single-minded causes. She is always there to call him back to love, back to family, and back to truth.

They don’t let go as they walk. He knows they are both scanning the area, avoiding sightlines, and executing all caution. He doesn’t have to tell her it’s vital they’re not seen. She knows these things even without knowing what he is planning. It’s part of what makes her the best partner he’s ever had.

When they reach the car, an ashen Sam trembles as he opens the car door and gets out.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you two were goners for sure.”

“We almost were,” Michael replies. “Can we get a ride?”

“You got it, brother,” Sam says, his old grin shining across his face.

Michael is glad to still be called brother. He knows he doesn’t deserve it.

He gets in the backseat with Fi, unwilling to be parted with her, even as far as the front of the car. She flashes a knowing grin at him, but doesn’t comment as he tucks an arm around her.

“Were there any other men outside?” Michael asks Sam as they drive away.

“I didn’t see anyone. I think we got away clean. Now we just need to get these drives to your buddy Strong.”

“He’s not my buddy,” Michael says, more sharply than he intends. Sam looks at him in the mirror with a raised eyebrow, but when Michael looks down at Fi, she has a savagely satisfied grin on her face. He can’t regret his tone for that alone. “And we can’t do that yet. We need to meet Jesse at the rally point.”

“Sure thing, Mike,” Sam says, though Michael can tell he has other questions he wants to ask.

Michael intends to answer them all, but for now they need to get away without being seen. He needs to continue putting the pieces together in his mind, and he needs everyone’s input before they can move forward.

Old towels lie on the floor of the car and Michael picks them up, giving one to Fi and using the other to dry off his face and arms as best as he can. They smell musty and old, but they’re better than nothing. Sirens echo around them from the distance as they merge into traffic and are lost to the usual rush of cars at this time of day.

Michael leans his head against the headrest, listening to Sam and Fi’s chatter as she details James’ death for Sam, appreciating the fact that they don’t try to involve him in the conversation. He is planning, and he is relishing the joy of being alive and with them. Close behind the joy lurks the tears that have been threatening to spill since the moment he hung up with his mom. He can’t deal with that just yet.

They cross the bridge to the boathouse, the one Sam pushed him off the day before. Michael wonders if Sam is remembering it; Michael remembers, and he blanches at his own dark thoughts. But the thoughts have been purged, by Fi’s stubbornness and his family’s love. He is back to the version of himself that makes the most sense. A version they can depend on. They intended to kidnap him and save him from himself. This time he urges the car forward, a willing victim to their original scheme.

When they pull up to the boathouse, Jesse is already there. He is sitting on the tiny couch in the back, Charlie sleeping by his side, and he aims his gun at their entrance, relaxing his hand when he sees it’s them.

Michael is heart-glad to see them there. Until now, he hasn’t known for sure that his mom’s plan had worked, and that he hadn’t lost three people instead of just one. He stops for a moment, the relief too overwhelming to even walk. Fi glances up at him and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back his response and runs his other hand over his face, as if that will clear away the emotion.

“I’m glad to see you guys,” Jesse says quietly, getting up carefully and moving toward them. “I heard the report on the news about the explosion and I thought you all bought it.”

“These two almost had their numbers come up,” Sam says, gesturing toward Michael and Fi, receiving Jesse’s slap on the shoulder.

Jesse moves on to give Fi a hug; Michael hates even the momentary separation of their hands. But then Jesse looks at him. Michael knows the other man wants to say something, maybe anything, that will explain and make better what happened. It’s impossible, but Michael appreciates him trying.

“Mike, uh, I’m sorry. I wanted to . . . but you know her. I wish I could’ve-”

Michael cuts him off by putting his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. In some ways, Jesse has given up more than anyone else, his life burned in the wake of Michael’s crusades. Michael has no more resentment left to give; perhaps it was washed away in cleansing waters under a fire sky. Either way, he doesn’t want it anymore, and he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer the burden of guilt, despite how heavily it weighs on his own shoulders and probably always will.

“You saved Charlie, Jess,” he says firmly. “You saved yourself. That’s more than I had hoped for. Thank you for everything. I mean it. Everything.”

Jesse nods, clearly not knowing how to reply to that. Michael lowers his eyes because he didn’t think he’d needed this knowledge. But, now that he’s here, he finds himself needing to know-desperate to know-what his mom had said, and what she had done in her last moments.

“Was she-” he asks, but he can’t say anymore because his throat swells up and slices his words from existence.

“She was fierce, man,” Jesse says, smiling proudly, even through his evident sadness. “She wouldn’t let me argue. She-she knew what she was doing. She had a tactical plan you would’ve loved.” Michael hears Fi’s ragged laugh from behind him, but he can’t look away from Jesse. “She hugged Charlie. She hugged me. I tried-I tried to hug her for all of you.” Jesse looks down, and Michael stares at him, hungry for the words. “She was everything and more. She took them with her and she gave me what I needed to get us out.”

Michael nods; now it’s his turn to not know how to reply. His preferred action is to curl up in a ball and weep all the tears he should be crying. No matter how much pain and resentment there was between him and Madeline Westen, he finally understands her better. Sometimes you can’t protect the ones you love, even when someone else is hurting them. Sometimes you choose to do the wrong thing and they get hurt even worse. Sometimes loneliness and abuse are the same thing. Sometimes you get chances at redemption. She used hers, and he would spend the rest of his life mourning that he couldn’t thank her for that, and trying to live up to her finally being the mother he’s always wanted.

A sob of pain does tear itself from his throat, despite how he tries to repress it, and he turns his head away from Jesse, fighting for control. Fi’s hands, normally passionate and kinetic, gently slide around his middle, gliding toward his face, smoothing away his tears. He turns into her touch and lets her strength fill him with a fortitude he needs. He will have plenty of time to cry. For now, he needs to end this.

“Can I get you anything, Mikey?” Sam asks softly.

There are too many answers to that Michael could make. Some of them are dismissive, some sarcastic, some tension-breaking, some trite. Some will make him cry even harder.

He says none of them.

“I’m okay, Sam.” He straightens up and turns to face them; all of them are broken in their own grief. “Uh, now that we’re all here, we need to talk about what to do next.”

“Isn’t the plan to give the drives to Strong?” Jesse asks.

“Yes,” Michael says, “but there’s a new element now that we hadn’t planned on.” They all look at him, sudden confusion, suspicion, and anxiety in their faces. He doesn’t blame them. “I want you to tell me what to do.”

He almost chuckles at how quickly the looks turn to shock when he says it. Granted, he’s not usually in the habit of asking for advice, but he genuinely means it this time. He leans back against the railing of the stairs and is glad when Fi leans next to him, twining her hand back into his. He still needs her touch and, apparently, she needs his.

“What do you mean, Michael?” she asks.

“I’m tired,” he says in reply, looking down at her own exhausted expression. “I am tired of fighting this war; I am tired of everything I do backfiring on me. I hate what I’ve done to all of your lives. So, this decision isn’t mine alone. I have a plan, but I can’t execute it without you. And I won’t do it unless each of you agrees that it’s the right thing.”

When Fi stares up at him, her eyes light with knowledge and a deep-kindled hope that inspires a mirrored hope within him. She understands him as she always does. For once in their entire relationship, there is no hint of a question or reserve or anger in her eyes. They are finally unified in their desires, all barriers swept away in a deluge of water and fire. There is a release of a long-held weight inside his heart, and he almost sags with its disappearance, though he does not regret its loss.

“Yes,” she whispers.

He briefly strokes her face in answer, letting his fingers say what he cannot in front of the others. There will be time for that later. He promises her every word he’s ever denied her.

“Would the two of you care to clue us in?” Sam asks.

Michael returns his attention to the worst part of his plan.

“Fi and I are dead,” he says simply. “No one knows we didn’t die in that explosion. We can be free; we can finally get away from everyone trying to kill us or use us.”

“So that means . . .?” Jesse says, rolling his hands in a circle in front of him.

“That means you and Sam would have to be the ones to give the drives, and I don’t know what the CIA will do,” Michael explains. “I think it’s possible they’ll hold you for a long time while they vet the information and hunt down James’ organization. I think they’ll release you after that, but I don’t know for sure. Even if they do let you go, Jesse, you’d never be able to work with them again. Sam, they could take your pension. It’s a risk, and one I’m not willing to make unless it’s what you want. I refuse to let you take the fall for something I did. I won’t run away while you’re in trouble. Neither of you left me, even when I deserved it.”

The two men stand silent for a moment or two and Michael lets them think, not willing to influence their decision with more words. Fi looks like she wants to say something, but she also remains silent. She is always more in tune with what is needed in a situation than he is.

“Come on, Mike,” Sam says finally, batting his hand at Michael. “Pension schmension. I got Elsa and I don’t need anything else.”

“I quit working for the bastards years ago, remember?” Jesse says immediately after. “Besides, I know we were planning on running only yesterday, but the idea of a nice, cozy detention cell is starting to sound real good right about now. And, honestly, I’m sick of running. I want my life back. I’m willing to take the risk.”

“The same goes for me, Mikey, you know that,” Sam says. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Michael releases the breath he hasn’t been aware that he is holding and nods at them both.

“Thank you,” he says.

The words are insufficient, but they are all he has.

“So, I guess this is goodbye,” Jesse says into the poignant silence.

“Maybe someday it will be hello again,” Fi replies. “But for now, we have to disappear.”

“Okay, but there’s one more person in this room.” Jesse turns soft eyes toward Charlie. “What happens to Charlie in this plan of yours?”

Michael studies Jesse’s expression, and a part of him wishes he has a different answer. There is no question in his mind that he wants to take Nate’s son and hold him close and never let him go and somehow make up for all the pain and loss of not only their childhood, but Charlie’s. He knows without a doubt Fi will agree. But Michael also feels the unfairness of the fact that Charlie barely knows him and has barely spent any time with him. Jesse has been more of an uncle than Michael ever has. While he’s grateful for that fact, he feels uncomfortable with it. Both because he wishes he could have done better and because he doesn’t want to take that away from Jesse or Charlie. But he doesn’t see a better option. At least Fi has been in Charlie’s life; at least he will have the stability of a person he knows and trusts.

“Fi and me will take him,” Michael says quietly. “You can say he died with my mom and there’s no one who will question that.” Michael pauses and shifts his feet before continuing. “I think that, in a way, it would be nice if he could say here, maybe stay with you, but . . . but we don’t know what’s going to happen. Even if we did, I don’t see anyone in the system allowing you to take him. If he stays, he’s going to end up with strangers and alone.”

Jesse studies Michael back and, after a moment, he nods his assent.

“Good call,” he says. “Very logical.”

“And I will do anything for him,” Michael states. “I will do everything for him.”

“You better,” Jesse says, flashing a hollow version of his normal smile.

“I promise,” Michael says, clutching the words tightly in his gut, absorbing them into his heart and soul.

He will die before breaking them.

Jesse turns back to Charlie, kneeling before the couch. Fi looks up at Michael and he can see again the happiness she feels about his decisions. It’s a bit strange really, she hasn’t argued with him once, and he isn’t used to that. He feels confident she’ll begin again eventually. For now, he cherishes the sweet synchronicity of their thoughts and the fact that he’s a part of it. He flicks his eyes toward Sam and she gives him the barest of nods.

Releasing Michael’s hand, Fi moves toward Jesse and kneels beside him, speaking in a low voice.

Michael turns to Sam and nods his head toward the other side of the room.

“That’s a hell of a plan you’ve got cooked up,” Sam says, as they make their way out of hearing range.

“I’m glad you approve,” Michael replies. He sighs and rolls his shoulders back before speaking. “Look, Sam, about yesterday.”

“Forget it, Mike,” Sam says, his discomfort clear to Michael’s seasoned eyes. “It’s literally water under the bridge.”

“No, it’s not,” Michael says firmly, reaching for the resolve he normally uses to face down murderers and psychopaths. It takes everything inside of him not to fall apart when he thinks about the day before. “I said things to you that I can’t forgive myself for. You were trying to help me. You were trying to be my friend and I . . . acted like you didn’t matter.”

Sam looks aways and then purses his lips.

“I think if you thought I didn’t matter, you would have killed me,” he says finally.

“I-I thought about it,” Michael admits.

“I . . . see,” Sam replies. “But, hey, the good news is you didn’t.”

“No, but after everything-Sam, you’re my best friend.” Michael lets the turbulent emotions inside him break through his tone. “I am so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“Without hesitation,” Sam says, smiling softly. “Look, Mike, I thought we’d lost you. I told the others it was too late. I’m the one who should be asking you to forgive me for giving up on you.”

“But you didn’t,” Michael says, wiping away the tears that refuse to stay inside of his eyes. “You came with Fi and Jesse and you got me out. I owe you all my life and my eternal gratitude.”

“Just don’t do it again.” Sam chuckles, using his innate gift of humor to defuse the heaviness between them. “I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“That is definitely not the plan,” Michael promises, letting Sam’s laughter drown out the tears for the moment.

“Good,” Sam replies, opening his arms, and Michael gladly steps into them.

Sam is the most loyal friend Michael has ever known. Michael does not deserve that loyalty, but he is grateful for it, and he doesn’t ever want to take it for granted again.

“Goodbye, Sam.” Michael steps back from the hug.

“Just give your ole pal Sam a call anytime you need him,” Sam says. “And be glad that soon we’ll have an ocean between us so we don’t have to remember this moment face-to-face. By the way, you going to share where you’re headed?”

“I don’t know where we’re going actually,” Michael realizes, tilting his head. “Fi does though. But either way it’s better we don’t tell. I think you know that.”

“I’m just glad I know you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Michael replies, glancing back toward the others.

Fi and Jesse are hugging as well and then Fi is gathering Charlie’s things.

“Are we ready?” Fi asks as they join them.

“Almost,” Michael says. “I guess I should ask since I wasn’t there, but you do have papers and things planned for our little getaway, right?”

“Oh, Michael,” she tuts, “of course. We should probably make a few changes to them once we get where we’re going, but everything we need is in the boat.”

“I’ll leave it to you,” Michael says, gesturing toward the water.

Sam stands in front of Fi before she can walk away and grins down at her.

“Say, now aren’t you glad you never shot me?”

“Little bit,” she says, holding her fingers together, and smirking at him.

Sam laughs and hugs her, and Michael takes the time to exchange a quick hug with Jesse.

Then the four of them are standing in a circle, looking awkwardly and yet contentedly at each other.

Michael doesn’t know if they will ever be in the same room again. He hopes so, but he doesn’t imagine it will be for years to come. He is grateful for and devoted to each person here, and the only thing he would change, besides his own actions, is to be able to have the people he’s lost here with them.

He wishes desperately he could hug his mom again, inhaling her unique scent of ash and oranges, hating it, but loving its familiarity. She was a good hugger, for all her rough edges. Her voice could soothe, for all that it could bite. He’s pretty sure any loyalty he has comes from her.

Michael bites his lip, not able to think about her just yet, or to follow the lead of those thoughts into his grief about Nate and his family in general. Maybe now he will finally have the space and maturity to process all the things he has ignored in favor of being a spy.

“Thank you,” Michael says simply. “I owe you all everything.”

“It’s been fun,” Sam says lightly, using his gift again.

Michael turns to Charlie and kneels down, picking up his sleeping and fragile body. He follows Fi across the floor to the water, to start a new life, leaving Miami and the rest of their family behind.

Once they are out on the ocean, they take turns changing into dry clothing. Fi redoes Michael’s bandage on his arm, and they search each other for burns and cuts to mend. The act is so familiar and natural to their way of life. Michael slides past each scar on her body like an old friend, marking each new wound in his memory. For now, this is the touching they are able to do, reassurances of survival and reacquaintance. Other things will come later.

Charlie sleeps through it all, which Michael can’t quite understand, but better the boy be that way than like him. It will lead to less nightmares.

The boat is bigger and more luxurious than Michael expected it to be, and he understands now that Fi means to take them on a long sea voyage before they make their way to a new home. When he asks her where they’re going, she smiles and uses her real voice for the first time in so long. Her brogue evokes a pang of longing, strong within him, and he thrills that he will always get to hear her this way now.

“We’re going home. Now that we’re dead, it doesn’t matter.”

Michael nods and smiles. He can make Ireland his home again. It’s where he found his home the first time. And he won’t miss the humidity.

Charlie lies on the comfortable bench in the glass-enclosed boat. Fi sits idly at the helm; there’s not much to do with the open sea at hand, but it certainly pays to be alert. Michael flexes his arm and sits next to her, craving her touch now that he’s allowed it again.

“I know I shouldn’t ask,” he says, “but are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s a little late to be asking me that,” she says, laughing, no trace of ire left in her beautiful voice.

“I know, I just . . . I don’t want you to regret choosing me,” he says softly. “After everything, you deserve-”

“Exactly what I want,” Fi snaps. “And I knew it long ago. What I want is you. So shut up and be happy already.”

“I will,” he says, reassured by the familiarity of her irritation. “It just might take me a while because I’m not sure I ever really learned how to do that well.”

“I might be bad at it myself,” Fi admits. She leans in close and puts her head on his shoulder. “Shall we learn together?”

He likes that idea. For once, it’s not about her mission or his mission or desperate attempts to save each other. It’s about them, about untangling the years of suffering and restoring them into peace and unity. It’s about giving Charlie the childhood neither of them had. It’s about finally conquering the demons that have driven them for so long.

He looks into the future and he doesn’t see boredom. They are not built for idleness. They’re built for action and adventure and helping people. They can still do that. They can teach that to Charlie. They can learn to trust each other completely again, exorcise old memories, and unlearn all the bad habits, keeping the good. There will be time to cry and mourn and heal and he knows they will spend the rest of their lives trying their hardest to rebuild a life worth living. There will be yogurt and explosions and gun safety and dancing and nights spent by the fire. He’s happy with that, which is a miracle, and it’s good.

Somehow, even though he didn’t predict it, he’s not surprised this has happened. Fi has always been his road, even when he couldn’t see it. Her perseverance and fidelity have brought them here. He will do his utmost to keep them that way.

“Together,” he says, winding their fingers together, just like their destinies.