This was my first BN fanfic and I just went back and tweaked a couple things. As usual, the characters are not mine, just having fun with them!

Down Time

By WritePassion

"You know, Mikey, it'd be nice to take a vacation." Sam squinted and addressed his friend, Michael Westen. "Just get away from all the action for awhile."

"Excuse me? Aren't you retired, Sam?" Michael stared at Sam sitting to his left, sharing beers with him and Fiona at a table with an umbrella, on a sunny, hot Miami afternoon.

"Not when you're around, man." Sam swigged his beer and grinned. "You never let me get any down time."

"You don't have to get involved in every job, you know." Fiona narrowed her eyes across the table at Sam as she nursed her own drink.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, and let you have all the fun? I don't think so. Besides, there are just some things that..."

"Michael." They recognized the voice, but it sounded different. Tense. All eyes were on the speaker in an instant.

"Barry, this is a surprise," Michael said as he picked up his beer.

The guy looked like a walking pincushion, but when it came to anything financial, Barry was the man. He'd been very instrumental in some of their missions in the past. And now... "I'm cashing in a favor. I need your help."

"Well, that's a switch." Fiona quipped and took a bite of her celery.

"What is it? You look like you've got Jesse watching your back." Michael took a swig from the bottle as Jesse stepped up behind Barry.

"That's because I am. Look, Barry did a job for my client, and while he was looking at some...sensitive material...he came across a certain person of interest: Carlos Montoya."

At the sound of the name, Michael could have grimaced, but he maintained his cool. "Oh yes, my good friend Carlos. I haven't seen him since Bogota...1998."

"Oh yeah, how could I forget?" Sam swallowed his beer and made a face. "We were lucky to get out of there with our lives, never mind our shorts."

"Oh, this sounds good." Fiona smiled slyly at Michael and rested her chin on her hand. "Do tell." She sucked on her straw seductively.

Michael rolled his eyes. "It's a long story, Fi. One I'm sure we don't have time for. Do we?"

Everyone's eyes roved to Barry, who seemed to shrink a little. "Yeah, um, anyway. Like Jesse said, I found this guy's name. He's looking to smuggle some guns and drugs from Bogota to Miami, and he has a friend who is going to help him."

"My client," Jesse said with a deep sigh. "We think he's gotten wind of Barry finding out, and now he and Carlos are after him. He needs protection, and I couldn't think of a better team to provide it."

Michael glanced at Fiona and Sam, who sat to his right and left respectively. "Well, we can't very well leave Barry swinging in the wind, can we?"

"Of course not. Barry's our man." Sam downed the last of his beer. "So where do we start?" He set the bottle down, and when the waitress stopped at his elbow with another round, he waved her off, to the surprise of everyone at the table. To an outsider, this action would seem trivial, but to the people at this table, it spoke volumes. Sam Axe was on the job, and he took Barry's personal safety seriously.

"As unglamorous as this sounds, we need to get Barry to a safe house. Sam, you think you can call in a favor?"

"Oh yeah, I'm all over that." He fished his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial. "Kelley, hey it's Sam. Sam Axe..."

Safe houses are all about security and should be places your enemies would never suspect you would hold someone. A safe house in a gated community is a plus, because you've got free use of the rent a cops hired by the management to assist you in basic security. If it's a furnished house, all you need is a grocery run, and you can dig in for awhile in comfort. The hardest part is keeping the target inside and away from windows, and everyone sane while cooped up.

Michael and Fi worked to discover where Carlos was and how he planned to get to Barry. If they could trap him in the middle of his transaction, all the better. While they did the legwork, Sam and Jesse did the babysitting.

"I hope I get hazard pay for this," Sam grumbled as he witnessed Barry downing another bowl of Lucky Charms with a beer chaser the next morning.

"It's not so bad."

"Right. You didn't have to try to sleep in an overstuffed chair while he hogged the entire king size bed. And his snoring...it was like World War three," Sam retorted under his breath. "I can't watch this anymore." He picked up his coffee cup as he stood and made his way to the living room. On a normal day, the large picture window would have filled the room with natural light. But this was no normal day, especially after having to share a room with Barry. He needed the go juice today, even though he would have preferred one of those beers, of which Barry also finished off the last one.

The curtains not only kept prying eyes from viewing the activity inside the house, they also prevented anyone from seeing out. Sam carefully pried back the edge of the curtain and scanned the road in front of the house. The morning sun beat down on the yellowing lawn, bouncing off the white mailbox at the curb and the sun-bleached concrete. Not a single tree in sight. Sam shook his head. It was advantageous to keep someone from taking cover, making them more visible before they could get a jump on the occupants. But if he and Jesse needed to bug out fast with Barry in tow, having no cover just might be a disadvantage.

He moved to the back of the house. In the dining room, large French doors opened up to a lanai and a small pool. The cool blue water looked good. What he wouldn't give to take a dip! Unfortunately, they were on the clock and trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Work now, play later. He took another sip of his coffee and sighed in resignation.

"Hey Sam, why don't you get some shuteye? I've got the day watch."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Why? You think I can't keep an eye on Barry?"

"No, not at all. I'm just kind of wired now," he lifted up his cup, "And I'm not sure I'll be able to catch any z's."

"Oh, just give it a shot."

Maybe, if he'd tried, he could sleep. But Sam was feeling on edge today. It was like something was about to go down, and he didn't want to be sleeping on the job when it happened. He moved from room to room, checking out the view by sliding the curtain or blinds a sliver to see outside. A black sedan with Illinois plates passed the house too slowly for his tastes, so he watched them through the slit and widened it as they approached the corner. The sedan turned left, and soon it was out of sight.

"You're supposed to be sleeping."

Sam jumped. "Jesse. Thanks a lot man, you nearly scared the hell out of me."

"Ah hah, evidence that you need some rest. Go on, I got Barry covered." Sam grumbled, and Jesse came forward, plucked the cup out of his hand and reiterated his admonition. "It's okay. I'll keep watching the windows."

He still didn't feel good about it, but Sam decided to take Jesse's advice. He dropped onto the bed in the spare room, and in no time at all, he was out. He slept well, maybe too well, until he was awakened by yelling, explosions, and smoke. Lots and lots of smoke.

"Sam!"

At the sound of Jesse's cry for help, he threw himself off the bed and slipped his gun from the night stand where he laid it before settling in. He ran down the short hall and found a group of black-clad men with ski masks over their faces. One of them had Barry in a firemen's carry over his shoulder. Barry wasn't moving, which meant he was either knocked out or bound so tightly he couldn't struggle. Jesse was busy warding off two men, and a fourth came out from Sam's peripheral vision to try to bean him with a heavy object. But Sam dodged him and gave the assailant a few jabs and a good solid left hook that sent him flopping over the back of the couch and onto the floor like a dead fish, out cold.

The two working over Jesse saw their friend was down and that the third man made a break for it with Barry, so one punched Jesse with a force that sent him into the wall. His breath came out in a whoosh, and he slid to the floor, momentarily stunned. The men ran out the front door. Sam chased them to the front yard and watched helplessly as the black sedan peeled off down the street. He got off a couple of rounds, but they were too far gone.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed. "Yes, security. There's a black four door sedan heading for the front gate, Illinois plates Robert Charlie Tango 489. Stop that vehicle! They just committed a kidnapping."

"Yeahhhh, sure."

"I'm not kidding! If you don't stop that car, you'll be facing a lot of heat for not doing your job."

"Why would anyone wanna kidnap anyone in here? You're crazy man."

In the background, Sam could hear the revving of an engine. He would bet a round of mojitos that it was their guys. Then there was the sound of metal fatigue, crashing, and yelling. He didn't even bother to stay on the line to hear what the security guard had to say about that. Instead, he called Michael as he hurried back into the house.

"Hey Mike, we just had a surprise party here. They've got Barry." He paused and checked over Jesse, who was dazed but conscious. "Jesse got roughed up pretty good, but he'll live."

"How many were there?"

"Four. We still have one here. He's taking a nap, but when he wakes up he'll be gift wrapped." Sam leaned over the unconscious man and ripped off the ski mask. "Jeez, Mike. It's Carlos's brother Mateo. Wow, I can't believe they'd leave him behind."

"Nice. Now we've got something to work with. Did you get a good look at the car?"

"Yeah. It's a late model black Lexus, Illinois plates, Robert Charlie Tango 489. I'm betting the plates were boosted off another vehicle, and the sedan itself is probably stolen."

"No doubt. Fi and I will continue working on our end. We've got a lead on where Carlos is hiding. It's a warehouse on Pembroke in Hallandale. We're headed up there right now, and if we find our friends in the black sedan, I'll give you a shout."

"Roger that. We'll package up our friend here and get him ready for transport."

After Sam hung up, he pulled some zip ties out of their gear bag and bound up their prisoner. Jesse was upright now, and he helped Sam haul the limp body to the trunk of the Cadillac, a gift from Sam's latest lady love.

"This is why I love Cadillacs. They're so roomy in the trunk!" Jesse smiled and slammed the lid soundly.

"Let's grab the hardware and some snacks. This might be a long afternoon." Sam's phone rang as they made their preparations. "Whatcha got, Mike?" He listened and nodded a few times. "Okay, we're just about ready to go. We'll meet you in about 20 minutes. Sooner if I can get past the guard."

"They're at the warehouse?" Jesse asked as he stuffed the last of their supplies into a plastic shopping bag.

"Yep, and we're rolling." He grinned. "Time to have a little family reunion."

"I love family gatherings." Jesse returned the grin. He closed the front door, but the lock was beyond repair, so he didn't even try to fasten it. He and Sam hurried out to the garage. Their captive was banging on the inside of the trunk, yelling to be let out.

"Aw, looks like Carlos's little bro needs to take another nap," Jesse said. He nodded at Sam, who pushed the button to pop open the trunk. Mateo tried flipping himself out of his makeshift holding cell, but a solid fist to his jaw courtesy of Jesse caused his head to snap back, and he was once again unconscious.

"Nice work. Now let's get going. I don't want this guy waking up half way there."

Sam pulled out of the garage and burned rubber down the road, not even bothering to close the garage door. There were too many more important things to deal with at the moment. The speed limit in the complex was 25, but he pushed at least 55 all the way. With the twisting roads, he didn't dare go any faster. As he approached the front gate, a rent a cop driving a golf cart took up the chase. It wasn't even close to a fair match, and the frustrated guard beat up his cap against the steering wheel as Sam broke through the remnants of the front gate and skittered out onto the street. He barely avoided a collision with another vehicle as he took a sharp right and sped down to the causeway and up the coast to the warehouse.

Negotiating the exchange of a hostage for an unsavory individual is not something you want to do if you can avoid it. It's like having a bird in the hand versus two in the bush. If things go wrong, you lose your bird and possibly the bush. Better to bluff your way through, get your hostage back, and then trap the entire flock.

When Sam and Jesse arrived, they found Michael and Fiona waiting near the Charger. Waves of heat bounced off the roof of the black car, obscuring the view slightly.

After they were assembled, Jesse asked, "Okay, how are we gonna do this?"

"Carlos is pretty upset right now about his missing brother," Michael replied. "If we go in there, using him as a shield and a bargaining chip, we can get Carlos to negotiate for Barry's release."

"I hate negotiating with terrorists," Fiona exclaimed through clenched teeth, forgetting that she herself was once one and had done plenty of negotiating with authorities.

"In the meantime..." Sam began.

"In the meantime, you and Jesse will go around back and we'll hem them in. They'll have no choice but to surrender."

Jesse frowned. "There's four of them, if you count the brother."

"As long as he's in our custody, he's not a threat. So it's four against three."

"Sounds like good odds to me. Let's do this." Fiona slid the bolt on her automatic weapon. It made a solid, satisfying click, and she smiled.

"You'll have a clear view of me from that door, Sam, Jesse. On my signal, break in and cover everything from the back. If you have to, you take 'em out. Clear?"

"Like crystal," Sam answered and shoved back the bolt on his weapon. Jesse nodded and did the same.

"Okay. We'll cover you while you get back there, and then we'll come in from the front."

Michael's plans almost always worked out the way they were supposed to, or came out even better than expected. No one thought this one would be any different. Sam and Jesse ran across the street and toward the back of the warehouse. Jesse checked the door knob. It was locked. But it was an easy pick, and within seconds he had it open. They waited for the signal. After delivering it, Michael and Fiona crossed the street with a blindfolded Mateo in tow between them. Through the metal door, Sam and Jesse could hear raised voices. Carlos was clearly agitated to see his brother treated like a lowlife prisoner. Never mind that he was a lowlife prisoner.

Jesse opened the door, and he and Sam snuck through it without a sound. Then they fanned out behind boxes and crates, took up firing positions, and waited.

"What are you doing to my brother?" Carlos growled and stepped forward. Michael held Mateo back, just out of reach, and Fiona covered him and their prisoner with her leveled gun. "What is this?"

"We just want to make a little trade. Our good friend Barry for your brother Mateo." Michael stood straight and confident while he watched Sam and Jesse take up their positions several yards away, behind a wall of crates.

"No. No trade. This man, he saw too much. He needs to be taken care of."

"No, I think you need him. Otherwise, you would have already killed him. So what's up, Carlos? Your usual money launderer not doing his job?" He smirked, just enough to set Carlos's already jittery nerves off balance.

Carlos spat on the concrete floor and paced. "That doesn't concern you! Just give me my brother back, and I don't kill Barry."

"Not good enough. Barry stays alive, with us. There's no other option here."

"There's another option."

Michael smiled thinly. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"My men pick off yours and then you surrender to me."

Sam was suddenly distracted by a yelp coming from his left. He turned and saw Jesse being slammed into a crate. His body crumpled, and he was out cold.

"Aww, jeez." The next second, Sam was kissing pavement as someone jumped him from behind.

He managed to turn himself around and come face to face with his attacker. The guy was bigger and heavier by fifty pounds, and for a moment Sam wished he hadn't slimmed down. But he was stronger than he'd been since his SEAL days, and he was ready to rumble against this threat. He threw a punch that connected soundly against the guy's head, which snapped back from the blow. But the guy was resilient, and he gave as good as he got. Sam's head cracked against the concrete floor, and he saw stars for a few seconds. Just long enough for the guy to get in a few sucker punches to the midsection.

Still, Sam was able to bring up his knee and do a little damage of his own. The assailant curled up and rolled off him. He jumped to his feet and reached for his rifle, but the guy grabbed onto his pant leg. With the butt of the gun, Sam delivered one final blow that rendered him unable to fight back. One bad guy down, who knew how many more to go. When Carlos left the safe house, they assumed he had a small crew, but apparently they'd underestimated the size of his army. He ducked below the crate line and searched for Jesse, but he was gone. He'd been taken by one man, so that meant that Carlos's forces were down by two. Would that be enough to overcome them?

Cautiously, he peeked over a crate to see the battle being waged in the warehouse clearing. It was all hand to hand combat, Michael and Fiona versus two of Carlos's goons. While they mixed it up, Carlos worked his way around to get to his brother. Barry, who sat tied to a chair and unprotected, tried sawing through his bindings using a sharp piece of metal clinging to a column. Sam raised his rifle and used the crate as a tripod. Then he took careful aim at Carlos, and fired. The bullet skinned the concrete in front of him, forcing the gangster to stop and assess his options. Sam drove him back with another bullet. Then Carlos zeroed in on him. Sam eyed him through the scope and smiled in victory. He had the man in his sights, and with one squeeze of the trigger, all their problems would be over.

The last thing he said to Michael was, "Go, Mike! Go! I've got you covered!"

Through the hail of bullets, Michael hauled a bound and gagged Barry over his shoulder and ran to the Charger. Fiona pulled a couple of flash grenades from the arsenal wrapped around her tiny waist and set them off. It gave them enough cover to make it to the car, shove Barry into the back seat, and get him out of there to safety. Meanwhile, Sam covered them by emptying his entire magazine at the thugs who were left. The Charger's distinctive roar trailed off, and Sam was relieved that they'd gotten away. His ammo ran out, so he seamlessly changed over to his handgun. Now it was his turn to evacuate, and maybe things wouldn't be so screwed up any more. But, in an instant, things got worse. Much worse.

Shots rang out from a catwalk around the perimeter of the warehouse, near the roof. Wood splintered near Sam's head, and he ducked. He determined where the shots were coming from, turned and aimed at the sniper, but he made a mistake. He gave the gunman a better target. White hot pain ripped through Sam's chest, and he hit the concrete like a sack of potatoes.

The echoes of gunfire off the metal warehouse walls faded away, followed closely by squealing tires and cracking gravel under stressed tires. He would have preferred to be running after Carlos Montoya and his band of scumbags, or catching up with Michael and Fi. At first, all he could think of was that he had to get up and follow them. The fuzzy edge of consciousness was the last place that Sam wanted to be. With a herculean effort, he found the strength to raise his head, but not much else. He gazed down at his chest and bemoaned the death of one of his favorite Tommy Bahamas. It was easier to think about his wardrobe than what caused the red stain that slowly spread across the surface. Like a spring, blood gushed rhythmically and soaked into his shirt. His head fell back, hitting the concrete with a solid thud. Amazing that he could hear that after all the report of gunfire and explosives still ringing in his ears.

Sam didn't know how much time had passed, or if he'd lost consciousness. One thing he did know: the adrenaline was wearing off, and everything hurt. His ribs for one, some of which had to be cracked, at the very least. His head felt as if he'd tied on one too many mojitos, except he'd been completely sober for the past 24 hours. But it was his chest where the fire burned, and every breath was an agonized rattle. He coughed, choking on his blood. This was definitely not a good scenario!

Wonder if Mikey and Fi even realize I'm not tailing them. It seemed easier to think about that, rather than the fact that he was alone, with no chance of help arriving soon. In the haze of pain, he suddenly remembered his cell phone in his pocket. Slowly, he reached in and found it at the bottom. As he pulled it out, it snagged on the material, but he freed it and brought it up over his face. He didn't have the breath to swear at the sight of the mangled plastic. Looking on the bright side, if it hadn't been for the phone, that bullet would have probably hit an artery, and the phone would have been unnecessary. He dropped it on the concrete and the clatter echoed off the walls, while his hand dropped heavily onto the hard surface.

He thought he heard car tires scratching gravel outside. Just when he suspected that maybe hysteria had set in due to lack of blood flow to his brain, he heard a car door slam. Footsteps, just one set, crunched louder and louder towards the warehouse. Someone was running towards him. This was it. If Carlos or one of his men came back, he was finished. He managed to bring up one leg and bent it at the knee, trying to rise. It was a lost cause.

"Oh crap. Sam!"

"Jesse," he spoke the name barely above a whisper. He'd never been so glad to see one of the team. "You...got away."

"Never mind about me. Aw man, what happened? Mike thought you split off from him, and he couldn't get a hold of you..." He looked around, scanning the area for remnants of Carlos's gang, just in case. They were alone.

"Been here..." Just two words were enough to leave him breathless. He gasped for air as Jesse dropped to his knees.

Jesse hovered over him, and his face swam as Sam's vision began to fade. He saw the wide eyes and dread in his expression. With one hand Jesse pressed hard on the crater in Sam's chest, and with the other he dialed his phone. Sam grunted at the new pain, but there was nothing he could do. He was too tapped out of strength to resist.

"Mike, it's Jesse. I found Sam...it's not good. Get back to the warehouse, asap." He listened a moment, and he retorted with a tight voice and gritted teeth. "No, this isn't something we can fix on our own. He needs some serious trauma care. Now."

Jesse snapped shut the phone and then dialed again. "I need an ambulance at the warehouse on Pembroke in Hallandale. There's a man down with a serious gunshot wound to the chest. He's barely breathing. We need help now!" He hardly waited for the response. If he had, he would have known that police were already on the way, thanks to a citizen hearing gunfire and the explosions so expertly executed by Fiona.

Sam lay in a limbo of time, and he noticed that his extremities were starting to go numb. He felt paralyzed. The strangest thing was, he didn't care. The pain faded to the background, and the stillness drew him in. He'd never come this close to dying, and now that he was there, it wasn't so bad. Kind of peaceful, really. After the last few days, it seemed good to check out from the craziness that had become his life. If he made it through this, he was really going to need that vacation.

"Sam, hold on! Don't you go dyin' on me now! Michael will kill me if you do."

He heard Jesse blabbering, but the words were muddy and unintelligible. A multitude of sirens screamed in the background, and Sam took offense at the intrusion in his downtime. Didn't they realize he was trying to rest in peace? Voices crashed and melded all around him. Above it all, there was one he recognized.

"Sam! Jesse, what happened?"

"I don't know, Mike. I got away from my attacker and came back, and I found him like this."

"Michael, he's so cold."

Fiona's hands gently cradled his head, and she rested it against her knees. The warmth of her skin felt good and kept him grounded in reality. His friends were all here, with the exception of Michael's mom Maddie, and it afforded him a sense of security and a responsibility to stay alive.

Strangers touched and handled him brusquely, and then a voice ordered Fiona to move. "Sorry ma'am. We need you to move back."

She dutifully and gently laid his head on the concrete. He suddenly felt cold again. No, don't make her go! It was impossible for Sam to speak. It would have taken too much energy. Someone shone a light in his eyes, and blinking alone seemed to be too much. He finally succumbed to the thick blanket of unconsciousness.

Light filtered through his closed eyelids, and as his mind came slowly awake, he wondered if he was on the other side of the pearly gates yet. With his luck, they would have kicked him out right away. So where am I? Somewhere else, obviously. A place where machines beeped rhythmically and clacked when the oxygen was forced into his lungs. He tried opening his eyelids, but they scraped his eyeballs as if he he'd spent the night face down at the beach. His lungs certainly operated as if he'd inhaled a bucket full of sand.

"Michael! I think I saw him blink!"

He heard shuffling feet, followed by a dull vibration as hands hit the bedrail. "Sam. Sam, can you hear me?"

It was so good to hear Mike's voice. As nice as oncoming death seemed to be, he would much rather be living, thank you. However, until he could drag himself back to lucidity, he wasn't so sure this was real or some sadistic, supernatural joke.

"Sam, if you don't open your eyes, I swear I'll...I'll kick your a-"

"Fi, I think the last thing he's going to want is to have the crap kicked out of him right now."

I didn't think she cared that much! The thought would have brought a small smile to his face, except for the fact that he currently had a breathing tube down his throat. Instead, just the corner tipped up a little, enough for Fiona to see. He heard her gasp.

"See, Michael? He's coming to!"

"Yeah, I see."

When a teammate falls, that's when you discover how much they mean to everyone around them, and how their being in danger can affect others besides the team. Like your mom. Avoid getting her angry, keep your team safe. Otherwise, you'll have to answer to her.

"Michael? What happened to Sam?"

Maddie. Sam wondered where she'd been, and as his brain grabbed a tighter hold on reality, he remembered that she was out of town visiting a friend. She had no idea what had transpired over the past few days. Her voice cracked with emotion as she entered the room. Sam could smell her perfume, some sort of spicy thing mixed with the odor of stale cigarette smoke. If Mike called her wherever she was, she probably chain smoked and drove 95 miles an hour all the way back to Miami when she heard the news.

"He was shot, Ma. We were on a job, and...it went bad."

"You told me that part already. I suppose you can't really go into more detail, can you?" Bitterness crept into her voice.

"Well, Barry was kidnapped and we were rescuing him."

Her attitude quickly changed to one of concern. "Oh. He's okay, though, right?"

"He's fine, Ma."

She ran a hand through Sam's hair like a mother does to a child, and caressed his cheek. "Did you get the men who did this?"

"Yeah. We picked them up this morning. They're now guests of our government's finest penal system."

Her voice shook with emotion. "You should have just shot them."

"That's what I thought, too," Fiona said with a distinct annoyance in her tone. "But they were in possession of valuable information that the government will be happy to have. So it seems it was a good thing we let them live."

"As long as Sam survives." Madilyn whispered, her voice choking on the rage she tried to control.

He wished he could say something to convince them he was okay, that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon, but he wasn't sure he could. For starters, someone snaked that tube down his throat, which was really uncomfortable, by the way. His chest felt as if an elephant sat on it, making it hard to breathe. It was easier to let the machine do the work. It was also easier just to lie there and exist in that foggy place between sleep and cognition.

"Looks like he's going to be out for awhile yet," Michael said in observation. "Fi, come on. Let's go get a bite. We'll be back in a little while, Ma. If he wakes up, give me a call. We'll be downstairs in the cafeteria."

"Michael, how can you eat at a time like this?"

"Fi, it doesn't help Sam if you starve yourself. Come on, I'll buy you a yogurt." His voice was exceptionally soft and cajolling, a tone she often found hard to resist. This time was no exception.

"Hey Michael, you mind if I tag along?" Jesse's voice faded as he left the room.

"It's just you and me, Sam." She continued stroking his hair. "I...I wish you people would be more careful. First, it was Michael almost dying last year. Now you. Who's next, Fiona? Jesse?" She paused, sorrow clogging her throat. "I'm not ready to let anyone go yet." She broke contact, pushed a chair closer to the bed, and took up Sam's hand in hers, avoiding all the tubes and wires running from it up his arm. "Just what on earth were you all tangled up in this time?"

Sam was silent, so she was forced to wait until Michael, Fiona, and Jesse returned. By the time her son set foot in the room, Maddie was fuming again.

"I can't believe some of the things you get your friends into, Michael! Sam could have been killed."

"Mom, it wasn't supposed to go this way. We didn't anticipate Carlos would have more people working for him." He always had to justify his actions with his mom, and it was getting old. Everyone else understood the risks involved. Why couldn't she?

"Next time, think before you get anyone in the line of fire. That's all I'm asking."

"Yeah, Ma. I'll do that. I guarantee it." He could promise her the moon, but bad guys were always unpredictable. You could only plan so far.

Sam, who lay in a void between blissful ignorance and consciousness, heard every word of Michael and Maddie's exchange. It felt good to be cared for so much, but Sam also respected Michael and his expertise. Hopefully some day Maddie would see why they did what they did, and that risk was just part of the game. This time, it nearly cost him his life. The good thing about it was that he'd finally get that vacation he'd been thinking about. Just himself, his lady, and a private villa far away from Miami. Maybe on some deserted island in the Caribbean somewhere. Yeah, that would be great. A little down time to get well and refocus. That was certainly something to live for.