Title: Flash Burn

Author: i luv ewansmile

Summary: Injured on the job, Michael finds himself in a world of darkness.

Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own Burn Notice. This is just for fun, not for profit. I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.

Author's Note: This is a little different than my usual stuff. I had originally written it in Michael's POV but I didn't like it, so I changed it. But there still may be a few mistakes I didn't catch. Please review and tell me what you think.

Part 1: If you play with fire, you will get burned, literally.

Even though a flash burn from welding isn't exactly a burn from an open flame or an explosive, it still hurts like hell. And it's just as dangerous and can take away something very precious to you, such as for example your eye sight.

By the time Michael Westen had finished welding the metal pieces reinforcing the inside of a vehicle to be used on a job Sam and him were working, he had unintentionally done enough damage that he'd regret ever agreeing to help Sam out with this job in the first place.

Sliding off the face shield, his eyes are immediately assaulted by the intense Miami sunlight. He blinks, squinting his eyes against the stinging rays and reaches for his sunglasses. Even with them on they don't provide enough protection from the light or soothe the sand paper feeling of his eyes.

He quickly scales the steps of the loft and goes in search of a cold wet washcloth. Lying down on the bed he lays the cold compress against his eyes and waits. The coolness soothes some but by now his eyes are burning. An hour later and still no ease from the pain, he admits defeat and reluctantly calls Fiona.

A couple hours later, he lets Fiona take him by the hand and lead him out of the ER, needing her assistance since he's unable to visually navigate by himself.

Smack!

Fiona's gasp was enough to tell Michael that she didn't intentionally walk him into the glass door but he still couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped his lips.

He stumbles backward in shock. His arms fly out to brace himself as he starts to tumble backwards. Fiona's hands latch onto his forearms and steady him.

"Ow," Michael complains louder than he probably should have but he was already growing frustrated with his predicament. He brings his hand up to touch the sore spot on his forehead and his nose where they had collided with the door.

Fiona's laughter rings in his ears and he drops his hand and turns in her direction and makes a face which he had meant to be a stern glare but Fiona's soft laughter increases in volume.

He pushes forward, brushing past her, holding his hands out in front of him. They come into contact with the annoying door but this time he pauses, giving the motion sensor enough time to read his presence. He waits patiently as the door slides open and he steps out into the sunlight.

Fiona has pulled the Charger up to the curb before she came in to drive Michael back home. He can hear her walking beside him and the creak of the door as she opens it for him. He frowns as he feels her hands as they guide him into the car, making sure he didn't hit his head on the way down.

Thanks to his run in with the door, now not only do his eyes itch and burn, his head is throbbing with a merciless headache.

He feels for the lever on the side of the passenger seat, finding it, he pulls it, leaning the seat back far enough so he can rest comfortably.

After a few minutes he snaps, not able to take it any longer and fingers the bandage over his eyes, rubbing at it. "Stop it," Fiona growls, but Michael can hear the smile in her voice. He pauses his rubbing for a second before resuming.

The swift pop to his hand makes him feel like a child being reprimanded for stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar right before dinner. The pop did the trick though. He lays his hand down on his lap and focuses on the sting of pain there on his skin and imagines the red finger prints that most likely colored his hand.

Michael clenches his fingers into a fist and relaxes them and does it again, and again. He starts to do it again when a soft hand slides into his and holds on tight.

He sighs, breathing out through his nose, "This is going to be a very long two days." She only squeezes his hand tighter in reply and doesn't let go until they reach the loft or what Michael assumed was the loft, since he couldn't actually see where they were going.

He steps out of the car and closes the door and stands in place, not going anywhere. As a spy he had learned to be constantly aware of his surroundings, until today he had never really realized nor fully appreciated how much his sight meant to him.

He can hear the wind blowing through the palms, and feel the sun upon his skin. He stands imagining the layout outside the loft, the gate, the car, the stair case.

"You coming?" Fiona's question brings Michael out of his thoughts. He hesitates for a second before stepping in the direction he heard her voice.

He walks carefully around the front of the car and comes to stand in front of Fiona. He reaches his hand out and his fingers brush against the hot metal railing of the steps leading up to the door.

"Shall we?" She says sweetly and loops her arm over his and he can hear her step onto the metal step.

The thought crosses his mind to shoot her a witty comment asking her if she intended on walking him into something again or worse yet, off of something but then he shoots down the notion less he planted the idea in her head.

They make it up and inside without a hitch, which Michael was grateful for. He had never felt like such an invalid in his life. Shrouded in darkness he felt a growing sense of unease as he shuffled across the loft with tentative steps.

Fiona must have been still, watching him because he couldn't hear her footsteps, just his own.

His shins connect with the mattress he called his bed and he turns and flops down upon it. He can hear Fiona as she moves across the floor and then the sound of the water tap being turned on and a glass being filled up.

He flinches at the sound of the glass being set down on the tiny table next to his bed. He had forgotten how light on her feet Fiona was when she wanted to be.

"You should get some rest," her voice floats over him like a soft ocean tide. It's pleasant but doesn't wash away the burn of his eyes or the ache in his head.

He protests softly, "Can't. Got a job to finish," and moves to sit up but Fiona pushes him back down gently.

"I can handle it," she says and Michael can hear the cockiness in her voice, and nearly smiles.

"I thought you had some shopping to do," he questions her. He would have raised an inquisitive eyebrow if it didn't hurt so much and it wasn't trapped under a semi-pressure dressing covering his eyes.

"I do. But you said this was a two man job you and Sam were doing. Well, I figure any job for two men can be easily accomplished by one woman." She struts easily to the door, the sound of her high heeled wedges give Michael the impression that she is excited, enjoying the challenge.

"I'll call Sam and get it taken care of," she says opening the door.

"Thanks Fi." Michael calls out softly. She lingers for a moment before replying, "You're welcome Michael. Feel better. And be more careful next time. You're not much use to me if you can't see."

And there it is, the comment he had been waiting for. She hadn't berated him yet for his idiocy. He should have known better.

Michael groans and curls up under the covers and eventually drifts off into a light sleep.

To Be Continued...