"You're going to what?" Fiona barked.
"I'm going to cut a deal with them. Darian walks away I fight in his place," Michael replied calmly.
"Did it ever occur to you that you have just signed up to participate in the one kind of combat you don't understand?" Fiona asked, her voice low, fierce, equal parts irate and terrified.
"I'm sure I can piece it together," Michael answered, shrugging and taking off his jacket.
In two hours he would be getting an innocent kid free of a Thai street fighting ring. He would also be going up against one of their top fighters himself. And as much as he didn't want to admit it – Fiona was right, it was one of a handful of styles where he was completely lost.
For now he was hoping he could wing it – throw in what he knew and hope he didn't break any rules – since he had a bad feeling that going off reservation in this kind of fight might leave him with a bullet between his eyes.
Fiona couldn't bring herself to watch. She stood in the back, holding Michael's already sweat-dampened shirt, trying to focus on the hordes of drunk spectators, trying to keep her eyes off of Michael and his opponent. She heard blows land. She tried not to speculate about who'd landed them.
So far as she knew Michael's opponent was ex-North Korean black-ops – in other words, one of a handful of people who could likely take him down.
Another blow, another reaction from the crowd. She tried not to listen. But when the gunshot cut the air she rushed forward, acting on instinct rather than reason.
As she broke through the front line of spectators, climbed into the ring, she saw Michael laying crumpled on the dirt floor – blood pouring from a wound in his side.
A dozen different languages swirled around her as she knelt down beside him, pressing his discarded shirt against the wound, trying to ignore how he winced. She dialed Sam as the ring cleared out, hoping he'd be able to hear her over the chaos.
Michael hadn't passed out – and the wound looked to be clean – in and out – no severe damage – but that didn't mean he was safe.
"Sam," Fiona's voice had an edge to it, try as she might to stay calm, "Michael's been shot. Come now!"
And with that she hung up, finally finding the space in her mind to focus on the bleeding man she held.
"Oh Michael," she murmured, "what did you get yourself into this time?"
He was bloody, from the bullet wound, from a split lip, from a cut running along his temple. Fiona didn't think she could find an inch of skin that wasn't bruised or scraped. But he was conscious, and that was good. He was breathing fairly regularly too, considering there was a bullet in his side.
Sam got there in less than five minutes – meaning he couldn't have come from home – meaning one of them would have to go get his med kit at a later date.
"We can take care of this," were Sam's first words as he joined Michael and Fiona on the dirt floor.
"Glad to hear it," Michael moaned, drawing a hand across his face, wincing as Fiona applied more pressure to the wound.
She pulled the bloodied shirt away long enough for Sam to make a quick evaluation, turning to the dozens of other, minor injuries that would require tending.
"Only a flesh wound, buddy," Sam said brightly, "couple of stitches, solid dose pack of antibiotics, some pain killers – you'll be fine in a week."
"Sam," Fiona's voice had an edge to it as she said his name.
Michael lifted his head enough to shoot her a concerned look.
"It's nothing," Fiona said quickly, hoping not to spook Michael anymore, not when he should be laying still and calming his thoughts to avoid shock.
"Course, like I said, everything will be fine," Sam repeated, "let's get you in the car."
Once Michael's wound was stitched and he was firmly ensconced in bed with a heavy dose of penicillin and norco to keep him there – Fiona approached Sam again.
"We have a problem," she said quietly.
"What's wrong…he's gonna be fine. It's just a flesh wound," Sam repeated for what must have been the tenth time.
"Sam there's a needle track on his arm – they gave him something, and I don't anticipate it's anything good."
"Okay – I am gonna make a quick call – a buddy of mine is a toxicologist – he should be able to help us take care of this – stay with him – get him back awake – and keep him talking," Sam said quickly, grabbing a pistol and sticking it in his waistband before rushing out.
Fiona lay down next to Michael's prone form, running her fingers along his bare shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest, then kissing him, repeating his name, until he woke up for her.
"Sam says you've got to stay awake," she told him, meeting his confused stare with innocent eyes.
"What happened?"
"They injected you with something – presumably after the bullet hit and before I got to you," Fiona murmured, stroking his forehead.
"After the bullet hit?" Michael mumbled.
"Yeah…at the Thai street fighting ring...you were trying to get Darian…" she trailed off taking in the look of confusion on Michael's face.
"Fi this is Dublin, when have I ever gotten into street fights in Dublin?" Michael asked, trying to sit up and crying out when it disturbed the wound on his side.
"Michael," Fiona went from mere worry to panic in a moment, she took him by the shoulders and made him lay back down, "Michael we're not in Dublin. Michael we've been in Miami for years. Michael!"
He was slipping away. His eyes falling closed. And there was nothing she could do.
Sam was back within fifteen minutes – one of his countless "buddies" in tow. Fiona was kneeling on the mattress beside Michael, two fingers pressed up against his neck to monitor his pulse, her other hand resting on his shoulder – her fingers moving gently, rhythmically trying to comfort him though he was already unconscious.
"What happened?"
"He doesn't know where he is. He thinks we're back in Dublin. Sam, do something!" Fiona demanded, jumping to her feet.
"I can't do much but…Barry can."
With that Sam stepped back and let Barry take a look. He was a big guy, past sixty, wearing the standard blue button front shirt and khaki pants of American middle management. Fiona knew though, that if he was a friend of Sam's he must be something more.
"He was developing biological weapons during the Cold War," Sam said simply, "knows just about every toxin, venom and virus out there. If anyone can fix this it's him."
Fiona nodded, shrugging away from Sam's hand when he tried to reassure her with a pat on the back.
"Habu," Barry said, getting to his feet, "I can get anti-venom – that's the only chance he's got. It's everywhere in his system by now."
Fiona just nodded as she watched Barry pull out a syringe, an IV bag and a little tube of yellow-white powder.
"Sam can you get that IV in?" Barry asked, grabbing a bottle of water from his bag and starting to mix the anti-venom.
"Take this," Barry said, gesturing to Fiona and handing her an Epi-pen.
"What's it for?" she asked, looking at Michael with a new rush of worry.
"Sometimes there's an anaphylactic reaction. Not often, but frequently enough that I'd like that on hand."
"So you might kill him with the anti-venom?" Fiona snapped, sitting down on the mattress and laying a hand protectively against Michael's clammy forehead.
"That's why we have the Epi-pen," Barry replied.
"We can't take him to a hospital," Fiona put in as they worked.
"Why not?" Barry asked, "I mean I assumed if you could you would have gotten him there by now but…"
"Mikey was burned a couple years back – he's not exactly been a good retired spy since," Sam explained as he finished setting the IV.
"I see."
And with that Barry injected the anti-venom into the IV port and they all waited. Five minutes, ten.
No anaphylaxis.
He'd made it.
Now they just had to make sure he never tried a stunt like that again.
When Michael woke up, after the inevitable question - why was Fiona kneeling next to him with an Epi-pen - his first request was for Darian's safety.
Happy that their stunt had at least proved effective he focused on, in Fi's mind, more important things. Like recovering fully from the countless bruises, the bullet wound and the venom.
Once he was strong enough to tolerate her lecture Fiona took pains to make him fully aware of her disapproval.
Her final words to him before he went to meet his next client, "You try another stunt like that and I will kill you before they get a chance."
He paused in the doorway and replied, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."