Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it. This is dedicated to my Twitter friends who pushed for me to write a story about 7.03. If you haven't seen it, this is one big spoiler.
It's Been A Long Day
By WritePassion
A black flight flew them into the Dominican Republic and another flew them out, only the second time Sam wasn't piloting the plane. It was just as well because he was beyond tired. Sitting in the uncomfortable seat, bouncing with each wave of turbulence, their conveyance felt more like a shaker loosening the last bit of energy from Sam's body. He imagined it dripped onto the floor along with the sweat from his skin, and if they didn't dispose of the plane the minute it landed in Miami, some CIA housekeeping lackey would mop it up and it would be gone. If only the day's events could be erased so easily.
"You okay, Sam? You've been pretty quiet," Jesse mumbled from the seat beside him. A particularly large air pocket caused the plane to drop like a stone, and he grabbed the edge of the seat to steady himself.
"I'm fine, Jesse." Sam stared out the window at the darkness, punctuated now and then by a bolt of lightning.
"Looks like they're trying to fly around a storm," Jesse observed. His mind raced as he tried to come up with a subject that would get Sam's mind off of what happened. But how do you distract a guy from recalling that he killed a man who had his back to him? Yes, Mike would have been dead if Sam hadn't taken the shot, but then again, who knew? The choice was made and it could never be taken back. Decisions like that were never pleasant, but when your friend's life is in the balance, you do what you have to do and deal with the aftershocks later.
Sam could only think about the pressure of his finger against the trigger as he watched Mike standing in the open, one second away from death. He waited as long as he could, hoping the merc would turn around before he saw Mike and take action. He had his orders. Either way Mike was going to wind up dead, but Sam couldn't stand for that.
When they went over the plan, Burke told Sam that if things got hairy he should take down Mike. He said it with no emotion or hesitation in his voice, and it sickened Sam knowing that he was supposed to shoot his best friend in cold blood. When Mike asked him if he was okay with it ,Sam was glad for the saliva created by his furious gum chewing, or he never would have been able to answer the way he did.
"Yeah, no problem." He didn't lie to his friends very often, but that was the biggest falsehood ever. There was no way in hell he could shoot Mike and kill him.
So a stranger was easier? The guy was just doing his job. Strong telling him that the guard was part of a dirty dealing group didn't help matters. He still killed a guy.
If he closed his eyes the scene played over and over behind his lids. Unfortunately, at the moment he was so exhausted that he couldn't keep his eyes open, and his turncoat brain forced him to begin the horror show again.
Waves of heat shimmered across the field and distorted the image, but through the scope he saw everything clearly. His molars ground against the gum inside his mouth to diffuse the tension. At the fateful moment, his finger pulled lightly on the trigger, the explosion rocked his ears, and the casing spit up into the air as the bullet zipped on its trajectory. Within a second it pierced the man's back right about where his heart was. Blood spurted from the exploding organ as his victim dropped like a lifeless sandbag. Sam spit out the gum. It was either that or the contents of his stomach. He saved Mike's life, but he wasn't the least bit proud of it.
As a SEAL, he often had to take down the enemy, but this was murky water in which he found himself. They were working with the CIA helping a criminal steal a truck from a company that Strong claimed was just as bad as Burke. He wasn't about to trust anyone in the CIA to tell the truth anymore. He was only there because of his friendship and loyalty to Mike, and he didn't want his friend to die because of Agency incompetence or worse.
The plane jarred Sam, and his head flew up. Dim lights in the cabin showed him that Jesse was still sitting across the aisle, a thin smiled pasted onto his face. "We're at the Opa-loka Airport, Sammy. We're almost home."
"Great." He was so wiped out, he couldn't even pretend to be happy that they were back in the Miami area and Mike was God knows where. Hopefully Burke didn't take matters into his own hands and kill Mike himself.
"You need a ride home, man?"
"No. No, I'm good. Thanks, Jesse." Sam stumbled on the last step before his feet hit the tarmac, and Jesse grasped his arm to steady him. He pulled away, feeling so disgusted with himself that he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be around him. "I'm fine, Jesse." Under the glare of a mercury lamp, he saw his friend's concern. "I'll be careful driving home. I promise."
"Okay." He agreed, but all the way to the cars Jesse kept casting glances until Sam was about ready to punch him. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay? Shoot some hoops in the morning? I still have that surveillance job, you know."
Sam's chuckle was weak. "Thanks, but I think I'll be sleeping in tomorrow. Night, Jess." He got into the car and pulled out before Jesse could say another word. He didn't need the look of pity in his eyes. Jesse probably never had to deal with a situation like this, so he would never understand. No one could. As he drove the highway back to Miami, Sam considered stopping for a drink, or two or three, to numb the unpleasant tingling in his nerve endings. When he curled his hand around the steering wheel he swore he could feel the trigger. He shook away the thought and swerved a little. Sam gasped when he realized that his eyes had closed and for a few moments he'd fallen asleep. He straightened the BMW, checked his speed, and continued on his way.
Red and blue lights dappled the ceiling and the sun visors. "Aw, crap. Just what I need." Without hesitation, Sam pulled the car off to the side of the road, put it in park, and turned on the dome light before resting his wrists on the steering wheel.
The cop approached him with caution, and he flashed the bright beam into Sam's face. "Sir, license and registration, please."
Sam glanced up at him, his eyes begging him to just let him be on his way. "What are you stopping me for, Officer?"
That was the wrong thing to ask. Beyond the light, he saw the officer shake his head before he spoke. "Sir, please get out of the car."
"I'm not drunk, Officer. I've just had a really... long... day." Sam unhooked his seat belt and slowly emerged from the car. He held his hands up so the officer could see he had nothing to hide. "If I could just go home and get into my own bed, I'll be fine tomorrow."
"Yeah, right." The officer stood close enough to smell Sam's breath. He looked confused that he didn't detect any alcohol, and with each field sobriety test he became more unnerved because Sam passed each one. Sam kept apologizing, saying, "I'm really exhausted, Officer. I swear that's all it is!"
Another deputy sheriff pulled up behind the first deputy's car. Between the two of them, they finally decided to drive Sam home, and in the morning he could get his car from impound. The deputy allowed him to sit up front, and the seat was cushier and more comfortable than the airplane seat. He drifted off before he was even close to home.
That's not to say his sleep was pleasant or dreamless. The visions came back and with them the tension. He bit the inside of his cheek thinking he was still chewing the gum. He fought the urge to thrash, and in his half-asleep state he had no doubt the cop was only too happy to deposit him on the doorstep of Elsa's mansion with the butler looking on in surprise.
"You're home, Mr. Axe."
"Yeah. Is Elsa here?" Part of him hoped she wasn't, because he wasn't prepared to see her. She wouldn't know how to deal with him.
"She's in the office at the moment, Sir. Shall I..."
"No, don't get her. I'm going to bed. Night." Sam used the last of his energy to trudge upstairs and dragged his feet all the way to the bedroom at the end of the hall. He opened his eyes and smiled slightly. Seeing the soft, fluffy bed with the cloud-like pillows forced his feet to move forward. He flopped face first into the downiness and exhaled, a deep moaning accompanying the action.
But he wasn't finished yet. He felt sticky and gritty, and no doubt the remnants of his guilt clung to him more tenaciously than his sweat. He needed a shower to wash it away, at least the physical evidence. The rest would stick with him forever.
The spray from the fancy water tiles in the shower came at him from all directions and massaged his skin with warm prickles, an onslaught that made him think about combat. They hadn't been in combat, at least not in the general sense. The man he shot could have been one of his own countrymen working in the DR. He wasn't an enemy... or was he? The whole situation was so convoluted, it would drive him crazy trying to sort it out. In the end it didn't matter. It wouldn't bring his victim back.
The first sob jerked him like a hiccup. Sam whisked the water away from his face as another came on its heels. He was too wiped out to fight it, and soon the uneven pattern of his weeping echoed against the dark Italian tiles. The water fell from overhead and three sides like a gentle rain beating him until he fell to his knees. He covered his face, trying to hide from the condemnation his conscience heaped upon him.
"Sam? Sammy. Oh my god, Sam! Are you okay?"
Elsa's voice sounded like it was miles away until she opened the glass door. The water splashed up and hit her, but her only concern was the man who crouched in the puddle on the floor, his arms folded over his head, his entire body jerking with the release of his grief. Elsa shucked her shoes and got into the large shower, reached for the controls, and turned off the water. It stopped falling on him and the rushing sound, which was usually peaceful and relaxing, faded away.
"Sam, what happened? Are you hurt?" Elsa crouched beside him and raked an arm over his wet back, not caring that her expensive suit would probably be ruined. In a soft, soothing voice, she begged, "Please, Baby, talk to me. Talk to me. What happened today?"
He didn't answer, but at least he uncovered his face and looked at her. She had never seen such agony emitting from him. Elsa stroked the water-logged hair around his ear, smoothing it and trying to soothe him.
"I... I can't talk about it, Elsa. I... I just can't." A new wave of sorrow hit him knowing that she could never know why he broke down. He had half a mind to just spill it and be done with it, but he knew it would be just a momentary fix. In the morning, regret would accompany the guilt and make him feel even worse.
"Well, let's get you out of here and into bed. You look exhausted, and maybe in the morning after a good night's rest, things will look different."
Her words, meant to be comforting, were anything but. He allowed her to grasp his arms at the shoulders and guide him to stand, and he was like a lifeless doll as she wrapped her arms around him. He knew what she was risking, and a small weak chuckle came from him. "Sweetheart, you know you're messing up your suit."
"I don't care." She held him tighter. "I just want to hold you, to let you know that whatever happened, I'm here for you." Elsa pulled her head away from his dripping chest and her eyes were full of the desire to protect him. "I love you, Sammy. Nothing can ever change that."
His countenance threatened to break. "Don't, Elsa. You don't know what you're saying."
"I do. I love you, and my love is stronger than whatever it is that is plaguing you." Her hands framed his face and she kissed him.
Sam swore he could taste the remnants of the cinnamon gum as he dove into her loving lips. The memory of the flash and bang followed by a possibly innocent man going down flashed across his closed eyelids and renewed his self-loathing. He parted from her and backed up against the wall. He hid his eyes from her with his forearm, but she wouldn't stay away. Elsa caressed his arm, trying to convince him to drop it. Her other hand glided over his chest to his throat with light, gentle touches.
Her voice was full of emotion and ache for him as she asked, "What happened? What's got you so upset? Is it Michael? Is he okay?"
Sam nodded.
"Is Jesse okay?"
He nodded again.
"Was your mission successful?"
That was a loaded question. Sam wasn't sure, since the whole thing imploded from his killing the guard to Burke taking off in the chopper with Mike and the hostage, or whatever he was. None of it made sense. Only one thing he was sure of, and that was a man was not going home to his family tonight because of Sam's excellent marksmanship. Another wave of despair hit him behind the knees and Sam sunk to the floor with Elsa holding onto him in a vain attempt to keep him upright.
He didn't expect her to grab the sides of his face and force his head up until he looked her in the eye. "Sammy, I want to help you but I don't know what you need. Tell me. Please!"
Somehow, around a huge lump in his throat, he answered, "I shot and killed a guy today, Elsa. I shot him in the back, in cold blood."
He waited for her to react with disgust, but that didn't happen. Instead, his pain reflected in her expression and she hugged his head to her chest. "I know you, Sam. You would never indiscriminately shoot someone. You had a reason. Maybe not the best reason, but it was probably the lesser of two evils." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Am I right?"
Sam couldn't answer that question. "Later on, I had to grab a scoped rifle and shoot at Mike."
"You didn't hit him, did you?"
"No. I was ordered to take him out if things went south. I just... circumnavigated my orders, at least as far as Mike was concerned. Twice. And because of my actions, a guy is dead." If he'd been following orders, Mike would have been lying on that warehouse floor instead of the stranger. Not that he would feel any better about it. "Elsa, from the first day I was trained as a sniper, it was drilled into me to be careful about who I targeted. I... I didn't have time to think about that today."
Not knowing what to say, Elsa held him until he settled into her and wrapped his wet arms around her. She started to rise and to her delight he followed, clinging to her all the way. Her steps guided them to the bedroom. Elsa plucked a towel from the rack along the journey and pulled away long enough to give him a quick toweling off. She felt his eyes on her the entire time. Rising from drying his legs, she saw such sorrow in his eyes, it broke her heart.
"I'm sorry for burdening you with this... with me."
"Why do you say that, Sammy? I would never think of you that way."
Sam took the towel from her and ran it over his hair to soak up the excess water. "In a battle or a mission, when you're in the middle of things, you can't let what happens negatively affect you. It could kill you. I thought I could come home, grab a shower, and get to bed before you had to deal with any of the fallout." He caressed her cheek. "I'm sorry, honey."
"It's okay. I have a feeling that as long as you're running off to help Michael, this won't be the first time you're overwhelmed." She kissed his lips, a brief press before saying, "I just want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how horrible it is, you can come home to me."
He fought the tears when she took him into her arms.
"You are not a monster. The fact that you're so broken up about this proves it." She pulled away and released the button holding her damp suit jacket together. With a small smile, she said, "Let's go to bed, and if you feel like talking about it, we'll talk. If not, just lay there and let me love you."
"That's the best offer I've had all day," he said with a sad smile.
Elsa stripped down and joined him under the covers. Her movements were slow and tender, with the promise of more if he wanted it. Sam basked in it, falling asleep under her attention, hoping for dreams of the future rather than nightmares of the past. He was past exhausted and needed rest like a dying man needs comfort. It had been a long day.