Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it.

The Late, Great Sam Axe

By Write Passion

"Oh my..." Elsa sucked in a breath. "Sam, you're dead."

"What?"

Sam was thinking about the morning's activities that began with a little Sammy time with Elsa. After breakfast in the hotel cafe holding hands across the table and sparks of love flashing back and forth between them, he was with her in her office, waiting for Elsa to finish up some business before they spent the afternoon together. Ever since his best friend Michael Westen took off to do God knows what with the CIA, Elsa had been a very worthy distraction to keep at bay his anxiety for his friend's safety.

"Sammy, you're not listening to me!" Elsa lightly slapped his shoulder, shocking him from his daydream.

"Well, if I'm dead, how'd I feel that?" From where he sat in the cushy kid leather chair, Sam scowled and looked up at Elsa standing over him with a manila envelope in her hand, and he zeroed in on the packet the size of a piece of paper. "What's that?"

"This came in my mail." Elsa held it out, a thin stack with a sheet of stark white government stationery on top. "You're not going to believe this, Sam. Someone in the government thinks you're dead."

Scowling, Sam took the paperwork from her and scanned it. "What the... this is ridiculous! It's gotta be some kind of joke!"

"I only read the first paragraph, but if it's a joke, it's pretty elaborate. I mean, look at that stationery, it looks real," Elsa said with a worried furrow to her brow. "Who would do this to you? It's sick."

"Oh, somebody probably entered a wrong Social Security number in the system, and it just snowballed from there." He scanned the letter and muttered a few curses under his breath. "This is not good, Elsa. They're cutting off my pension, looking for my next of kin to arrange my burial... how the hell can they do that without a body?"

"I'd be really worried if they already had a date and time in that letter." Elsa remarked. "Your good suit is at the cleaners. I'd hate for you to show up at your own funeral looking like a mess."

"Haha, very funny," he muttered and threw the papers on her desk. "You know if something happens to me that I'm being buried in my favorite shirt and white pants. Right?" He growled and ran a hand through his hair while his mind raced. "Never mind, this is pointless. Don't worry, Baby, I'll make a few phone calls and get this all straightened out." He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed the papers and turned, eager to get everything worked out before lunch time. "See you later!"

Only it wasn't as easy as he thought. A call to the Social Security Administration turned into an hour long bounce from one person to another. Sam tired of telling the story over and over, and no one seemed to know who should take care of it.

"I'm sorry, Sir. You'll have to provide proof of death to straighten this out," one disinterested woman intoned as if he was the hundredth problem she'd been given that morning.

"But I'm not dead, so how can I produce a death certificate? That's insane!"

She paused, and Sam felt a spark of hope rise up in him. He'd gotten through to her.

After a few seconds, she replied, "That does put you in a bit of a bind, doesn't it. I'm sorry, Mr. Axe, I don't know how we can reconcile this without a copy of the death certificate. I suggest you contact the county in which you reside for a copy."

"You mean there's nobody there who can just flip numbers or undo whatever they did to begin with?"

"Not without documentation. Here, let me transfer you to my supervisor..." Her voice was quickly replaced by a muzak version of Barry Manilow.

Sam groaned and hung up the phone, and he flipped through the phone book to locate the nearest Social Security office. He should have done that to begin with, because how could anyone argue he was dead when he was obviously standing and talking right in front of them? Elsa was busy in a meeting, so he left a message with her assistant and hurried to his car. Familiar with how government could royally screw up the simplest things, Sam was determined that he would get this resolved before he did anything else. That meant no cruising with Elsa. He sighed, got into the car, and took off with a little more gas than necessary.

Driving toward downtown, Sam let the breeze and the ocean air calm him. He would need all the serenity he could get if the people at the SSA were as thick skulled as the lady on the phone. He heard a short burst of a siren and looked into the rearview mirror to see red and blue lights flashing at him.

"Aw man, what now?" He was doing the speed limit. He just installed the new plates on the brand new BMW Elsa gave him two weeks ago, so the registration was up to date. Sam had no idea what the problem could be. With a heavy sigh harmonizing with the wind, he signaled and pulled to the side of the road and readied his license and registration for when the cop approached. Still, he kept his eye on the officer as he sidled up to the driver's door. He could never be too careful. Working with Mike the past few years made him paranoid that way.

"License and registration, please, Sir," the cop said as he held out his hand. Sam placed the items in it. "Thank you."

"Was I speeding or something, Officer? I didn't think I was," Sam said, playing the innocent, which he was certain to be true.

"Are you really Sam Axe," the officer asked and squinted at the drivers license before eyeing Sam's profile.

"Yes, Sir, I am." He glanced upward at the officer. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"I was doing a random plate check, and... well, I hate to tell you this, Mr. Axe, but... you're supposed to be dead."

Sam's left eyebrow rose and he couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah, you're not the first person to tell me that today. As a matter of fact, I was on my way to try to get this worked out. Obviously, I'm not dead."

"And you sure don't look like a zombie," the officer cracked, his demeanor relaxing slightly. He gave the documents back to Sam and said, "I had a friend whose cousin went through that. His identity was stolen, and before it all got fixed, the government declared him dead."

"Oh, great. Thanks for the encouragement." Sam took the license and registration and dropped them onto the seat beside him.

"Mr. Axe, I'll have to ask you to step out of the car." The officer sounded apologetic, and he spread out his hands as if he had no choice. "I can't allow you to continue to drive with a suspended license."

"Suspended? Oh, come on, really?" Sam pressed his head back into the rest and closed his eyes. "This is getting worse by the minute."

"I'm sorry, Sir. When you're dead, the DMV suspends your license. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Yeah." Sam leaned out the open window and gave him a pleading look. "Can't you just give me a citation, or just forget the whole thing? I'm trying to go to the Social Security office and fix this mess right now. I tried over the phone, but that was useless. I figured that if they could see I'm breathing, maybe they'll reverse whatever they did."

The cop glanced around, thinking. Sam's phone rang. He ignored it and it rang again. The cop said, "You should probably get that. I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"Sure, no problem. I've got all the time in the world, since I'm supposedly dead." Sam picked up the phone from the console and barked, "What do you want, Fi? This is not a good time."

"Oooo, touchy touchy," Fiona responded. "Wake up on the wrong side of Elsa this morning?"

"Real funny, Fi. You and Elsa must have compared notes on jokes. I'm sorry, until I get this fiasco fixed, I'm not in the mood."

Fiona's teasing tone changed to concern. "What's wrong, Sam?"

He explained his situation to her in a few sentences. By then the cop returned to his window. "Look, Fi, I gotta go. The cop's on me for driving with a revoked license."

"Where are you? I can drop what I'm doing and I'll pick you up."

"Seriously?" He held up an index finger, a silent request for the officer to wait.

"Yes, Sam. I'll be right there to pick you up. Madeline can drive your car."

"But the plate's been revoked too, Fi." Sam exhaled sharply. "They'll probably tow it."

He made arrangements with Fiona to get him, and all the while he was amazed at her willingness to help. Over the past six years, their relationships with Mike brought them together and they bonded like a team, and Sam would even say that Fiona had become a very good friend. He never really knew how she felt about him, although Sam had to admit he hadn't exactly been up front with her, either. After Mike ran off to do the CIA's bidding, their paths crossed often, even if it was just to share a beer and unwind from a bad day. Maybe it was their own way of bonding to each other. Whatever the case, this was the baddest day ever, no doubt, and he hoped that Fiona's offer of a rescue was the turning point to making it better.

"I assume you've made arrangments for someone to pick you up," the officer said after Sam hung up.

"Yeah." Sam watched a tow truck swing around the two vehicles and park in front of the BMW. "I see you made arrangements, too."

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Axe. I have to follow procedure."

"Hey, I was in the Navy. I know about protocol." Sam picked up his license, got out of the vehicle, and stuffed the now useless slip of plastic into his wallet.

"Mr. Axe, I'd suggest you go to the county records division and pick up your death certificate."

"But I'm not dead," Sam protested, poking his chest with his index finger. "See?"

The officer smiled. "I know. But they'll have a certificate on file. Most likely, someone entered an incorrect Social Security number in the system and whoever that was will have signed the certificate. You find that person, you know where to start cleaning up this mess."

Sam stared at him and believed by the officer's expression that he was trying to help. Nodding, he said, "Thanks. I'll do that." He saw a flash of red and heard the screech of tires as Fiona's little coupe pulled in and parked behind the police car. She slammed her door and flew to Sam's side.

"Are you okay," she asked, and behind the big lenses of her sunglasses, Sam had no doubt a fire raged in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Fi. They're hauling my car to the impound lot. Don't worry, I'll get it back."

Fiona harumphed and turned her disgust on the officer. "Was this your doing? How can you do this to a man who has been victimized by the government?"

Sam wondered if that was a blanket question regarding not just him, but Mike as well. Not that the cop had anything to do with it. She just got a little fiery sometimes and let reason fly out the window.

"Ma'am..."

"Oh, don't mind her," Sam said with a chuckle. "Fiona gets excited now and then when it seems like the establishment is messing with her friends." As he spoke, Sam grasped Fiona's upper arms at the shoulder and turned her toward her car. "Thanks for the ride, Fi. We've got some work to do now." He turned to the officer. "And thanks for your help. Now I don't feel like I'm treading water with no place to go."

"Good luck, Mr. Axe."

"Sam..."

"Fi," he cut her off and goose-stepped her to the car. "We're going to county records. Now. Before any other government agencies or my bank decides to make me a dead man."