6.10.1
"I hope you know, I miss that time, too."
"Michael, I don't need Ireland. All I want is this."
"A junkyard in Panama?"
"You and me working together. Just us, the way it used
to be. At the end of the day, this right here, is how it should be.
He realizes this is the second time she's said something
like that. And he also realizes what he meant to say? Wanted to say? Whatever
that thought lurking in the back of his mind, prompting him to mention Ireland
as they build their own bulletproof glass breaching shells, is based on that
idea.
You and me working together. That's always when he's been
happiest. That's when he's been filled with the sense of satisfaction that
comes from doing what's right.
When he's with her, he's not selling his soul. He's not doing
bad things for the sake of some nebulous greater good.
When he's with Fi, life is pretty clear. There's right and
wrong, good guys and bad guys, and he knows which side he wants to be on.
And he knows that for the last thirteen years there's always
been something standing between him and her and working together.
He knows that's why they were so unhappy in Ireland.
He also knows why he's been cagy about long term
commitments. Why he'd never said he loved her before three days ago.
And that was always the problem for them. Not a lack of
love. There's always been love. Love is the easy part.
The lack has been commitment. The CIA owns Michael. He spent
years trying to get back to them, but now that he's there...
Jesse had it right. Too much red tape. Too much compromise.
Too much...
He's spent thirteen years torn between a demanding wife,
who's given him less and less in the way of respect, attention, and affection,
and a mistress he's adored.
It's time to ditch the wife, and marry the mistress.
It's time to make Fi his number one commitment.
In a junkyard in Panama, he's having an epiphany moment, one
that he probably should have been self-aware enough to have already had, but
well, he's not good at this sort of thing.
He's not good with people. Not good with relationships. And
he's not good with them because it's easier to be bad at them, safer. His walls
can stay in place, and he can keep his heart from being trampled if there are
no real people in his life.
So he married his job. He gave himself to it body and soul,
and it was more than happy to have him.
But he's not the same man who signed up for the CIA all
those years ago.
And there are people in his life now.
And if he wants them, more importantly, wants Fi, then it's
time for a divorce.
It's time to take his body and soul back from the CIA,
because he can't give it to anyone else as long as they hold the papers on it.
As he thinks that, he feels the hold the CIA had on him
break. He's well and truly done.
He looks at Fi, and he could say, "I love you."
But that's not the important part here. He loved her in Ireland, and he left
anyway. He loved her in Miami, and he still put the job and the Burn Notice
first. So, no, those aren't the right words, not now.
He could say, "Let's get married." Which would
please her, and would cover what he's thinking, but right now he's still not
entirely his own to offer to her. And before he says anything like that to her,
he wants to be able to make good on the promise. A proposal from a married man
is meaningless.
So instead he says, "After I get Grey, I'll leave. I'm
out."
"The CIA?" she asks, not sure if she's followed
his train of thought.
"Out of all of it."
"Don't say that if you don't mean it."
"I do." He pauses for a beat. He sees it in her
eyes. She knows this is worth a thousand I-love-yous. And he can see she
doesn't quite trust it. But his sense is that has more to do with a sense of
foreboding on what catastrophe will come next, as opposed to him not being
sincere.
And he can see, from the way she's looking at him, that this
is what she's wanted to hear for years.
"How does that sound?" he asks.
"Well, if we live long enough to see that happen, it
sounds really good."
Fair enough. He looks
at her and makes a silent promise to himself, to her, that they will live long
enough for him to make good on this. And she looks back, accepting his promise,
and adding her own to it. They don't touch, because, well, they're just not
touchy-feely, cuddly types, especially in a junkyard in Panama where someone
could come walking in any moment.
But he knows the next moment they have really alone, when no
one is within ear shot, and the world isn't about to fall apart around them,
that he'll tell her he loves her and lay his soul at her feet, knowing that
she'll take it and cherish it, and finally give him the home he's always wanted.
And he'll finally be able to accept it, and give it to her in return.
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