Title: Tears
Fandom: Burn Notice
Summary: "One of the many good things about rain, the tears of the thunderstruck heavens, was that they not only reflected the tears of grieved humans but masked them too." Bit of an add-in for Hot Spot, of course. :)
Rating: PG
Pairings/Characters: Michael/Fiona
Length: 850 words
Genre: romance, angst
A/N: Yay. I'm happy I wrote this. The scene was just too awesome for me not to write about it. That and I seem to be on a bit of a Burn Notice roll right now – I have another brief ficlet in the works too. :)

One of the many good things about rain, the tears of the thunderstruck heavens, was that they not only reflected the tears of grieved humans but masked them too. When they were coming down thick enough, it was impossible to distinguish raindrops rolling down a face from tears doing the same.

Michael Westen was certainly not a man given to crying. He could probably count the number of times he'd cried in his adult years on one hand.

But the silent tears that leaked from his eyes now were impossible to stop; he'd given up trying. No, they just spilled from his eyes and over his cheeks, mingling with the rainwater that washed over his head and ran down his face.

The roiling thunder bursting in the sky disguised the thunder of his thudding heart. But as he drove and drove and drove around the city, looking for her anywhere she might be, and his thudding heart gradually began to dissolve into a frozen mass in his chest, the thunder too began to ease.

It was still booming, but more distantly than before, when he pulled up, resignedly, to the loft. The rain was still pouring down even though the thunder had begun to ease, and he was drenched again as he slowly, painfully climbed the steps towards the empty home that would mirror his empty heart.

He had to stop just inside the door. He was almost certain he'd collapse right there.

And then he heard it. The ghost of her voice. His mind was taunting him. His chest ached with the sound of that voice. Ached for the cruelty of his mind in that instant. But still, he couldn't resist turning his head in that direction.

For a moment, the pain in his chest intensified a thousandfold – he was seeing her now too.

But then he realized he wasn't. He wasn't hallucinating this. He was seeing her not because his mind was torturing him, but because she was there. She was there.

He was so dumbfounded he didn't hear a word she said as gravity sluggishly pulled him across the room towards her.

All he could do was stare. She was there. She was here. Alive. Alive. Alive. His mind was numb. Reeling.

All he could do was stare. And, when he was close enough, touch her. He caressed her face, felt with his hands what he saw with his eyes. She was there. Alive. Whole.

Finally, she noticed. "Michael, you didn't think that I…?"

He couldn't answer. He had. He'd known it in his gut. Felt the blow of that knowledge beat him ruthlessly from the inside out again and again and again. But here she was, proving it all wrong. Here she was.

Slowly, he moved his forehead down to rest against hers. And he breathed in the scent of her. So strong, it overwhelmed him.

She was here. Alive. He still wasn't sure he believed it.

He moved down to kiss her, capturing her lips with his. And she responded. Fervently. She was here. She was alive.

He pulled her close – as close as she could possibly come, her body pressed against his. He had to know she was real. To feel her. Here. Now. Alive. In his arms, her heart beating strongly, relentlessly against his.

And there he held her for the longest time. Close, so close.

So close that she had to be able to feel the shiver that ran through his body. But if she did, she didn't react. She just stood there, pressed against him, her arms wrapping possessively around his back. She probably thought it was just that – a shiver. He was soaking wet with chilly rainwater; he was shivering.

And the shiver – which didn't come from his cold skin, but somewhere inside – ran through him again.

This time, she tightened her grip, if that was even possible, pressing her warm body against him, and pressed her lips right against his ear. "I'm right here, Michael," she whispered. "I'm right here."

She was so close she had to hear the strangled breath coming from his lips, the only sound from the sobs that were racking his body. She had to hear it, so close to her ear, but he prayed she didn't understand the sobs.

He didn't even know tears were spilling from his eyes again until they were literally dripping off of his face and onto her shoulder.

She drew back, and he instinctively reached out to draw her back again.

But he stopped as her lips moved to his face – moved to his chin, his cheeks, and finally to his eyes. Kissing the tears away.

And it reminded him of once, a long, long time ago, when the roles had been reversed; when he'd done the same for her. Kissed her tears away. The strength of the memory was so powerful it bordered on painful.

Turning his face, he captured her lips with his again.

And though the tears stopped and he was inside, out of the rain, he was now drowning more than he had been the whole night – drowning more than he ever had in his entire life. Drowning in her.

Outside, the thunder rolled, the lightning flashed, and the rain poured. And inside, he blissfully, willingly, drowned.

Finis