After the positive response from "Chaos and Sandstorms", I decided to do another Michael/Sam pre-Burn Notice story. This takes place after Michael joins the CIA and Sam is still with the SEALs, but his team has been assisting the CIA with some of their operations. The two are called together to work on another mission, but will things work out this time? At least there are no sandstorms in Central America!

Saints and Soldiers Protect Us

By WritePassion

Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe was ready for his next mission. He'd just taken a shower and cleaned up after a secret junket into the jungles of El Salvador and barely made it back with all his men. Some of them were more banged up than others, but his team was tough and they got the job done without losing a man or an asset. The other guys came out a lot worse. When people used the cliché that the river ran red with blood, this time it was true. Sam didn't like killing, but it was part of the job, and if it was his life or an enemy's, there was no contest. The other guy was going down.

The Salvadoran weather, however, was an adversary that no one could beat without a good air conditioner. The hotel where he was staying kept him in cool comfort, so when he emerged freshly showered, shaved, and wearing clean civilian clothes for a night on the town, the humidity slapped him across the face like one of the bar girls after he'd given them one of his bad pickup lines in butchered Spanish.

"Lieutenant Axe, long time no see."

Sam turned, wary, and in the waning light saw the face he recognized from several years ago. It was the face of a friend who saved his life. Grinning, Sam responded. "Westen!" He moved to meet him and they shook hands, hesitated, and each one reached for the other. "Imagine finding you here, Mikey."

"I knew you'd be here, Sam. I just didn't expect to run into you so soon." Michael embraced Sam and slapped his back, and Sam did the same.

In his ear, Sam muttered, "I didn't know that Special Forces was in the area."

"If they were, you think they'd let the SEALs know?" Michael laughed and parted from him.

"Probably not," Sam replied with a smirk. "Hey, I was just heading out to a little cantina round the block. Wanna join me? The senoritas there are breathtaking."

"Well..." Michael hedged, glancing behind him for a moment.

"It's okay, if you've got something else going on, I understand. That just means more beer for me and my guys." Sam laughed.

Michael turned back to his friend and smiled. "No, it's okay, Sam. I'd be happy to join you. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Damn straight. Let's go!" Sam threw an arm around Michael's shoulders and steered him down the street. At the corner they turned right, and a half block down was an open-air cantina with bright, happy music provided by a live guitarist and a female singer accompanying his crisp baritone. As the day turned into night, the warm lights cast a honey glow over the tables and the people sitting around enjoying the evening and the entertainment.

After Sam and Michael were settled at a table with a couple beers, Michael leaned closer and told him, "I'm not with Special Forces anymore."

"You're not? You quit the Army?"

Michael shook his head. "Sort of. I've gone into something more... secretive."

Sam didn't say it aloud, but his lips moved, saying, "CIA?"

He didn't answer, but Michael's slight nod was answer enough.

"Are you sure you want to climb into that bed," Sam asked before he took a swig of his beer.

"You should ask, when your team is supporting me tomorrow," Michael muttered behind his beer bottle as he raised it to take a drink. "Seems like you SEALs are getting pretty cozy with the Agency lately."

"That doesn't make us Feds," Sam murmured in reply. He took an even larger swig, draining his beer, and raised the empty to signal the waitress to bring more. She returned with two bottles and a wide grin. "Gracias, bonita. Gracias." He pulled out some cash and gave it to her, holding onto her hand a little longer than necessary. She giggled, slipped out of his grip and hurried away, her skirt swaying in a flirtatious gesture as she waited on other customers. "Didn't I tell you the ladies here were hot?"

"You were right about that." Michael glanced around the cantina and observed the other patrons as if he expected someone to come pouncing out of the woodwork at him.

Sam tapped his arm, and Michael's head swiveled to face him. "Is everything okay, Mikey? You seem kinda jumpy."

"Got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"You have your orders already?" Sam asked and watched the tight as a wound up spring reaction.

"I can't talk about it here. It's not secure." He finished his first beer and eyed Sam's second. He was already half way through it. "You might wanna lay off a little there, Sam. I don't want anyone who's half off his game..."

"Relax, buddy. Three's my limit on a school night, so no worries." He glanced around. "The guys were supposed to meet me here, but maybe they got sidetracked by some other beautiful girls at the restaurant." Sam winked. "You know this town is crawling with 'em. The chicks and the air conditioned hotel are the only thing worth sticking around for. Oh yeah, and the margaritas, if you're so inclined."

Michael laughed, and for once in a long time, he relaxed. He should have known Sam better than that. In all the time they'd been friends, the man had a penchant for drinking when not on the job. Sam liked to have fun and let loose, unlike Michael, who always seemed to be on alert. Maybe that was why they remained friends since that week they spent in the sandstorm and Michael dragged Sam's sorry butt out of it. Sam always had a knack for getting him to settle down and have a little fun, and Michael always kept it in the back of Sam's mind that he wasn't just there for recreation.

"So, what have you been up to, besides sampling the local brew and women," Michael asked as he leaned back in his chair so he and Sam's heads were only a few inches apart. The guitarist had been joined by others, and the mariachi band was in full swing. The music served as an adequate cover for catching up and keeping things on the down-low.

"Since I last saw you in Poland?"

"Yeah." Michael reached for his second beer. The bottle sweated in the warm air, and he gripped it tighter to avoid losing it.

"One mission after another. You know how that goes," Sam answered. "Got a couple more war wounds..." He set his bottle on the table and waggled the fingers on his left hand. His wedding ring was conspicuously absent. "Amanda and I are through. I caught her warming the sheets with my best friend Mack, again, after she told me that was over." He picked up his bottle and drained it. "If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is."

"Sorry to hear that, Sam."

"Yeah, well, she couldn't handle me being gone all the time, and I can't say I blame her." He waved the bottle in the air, and the waitress brought him a third. He took it and said, "No mas." He tapped the empty and set it on her tray. "No mas." She nodded and took his money, and walked away. "Did you want another one, Mike?"

"No, Sam, I'm good. Thanks."

"I didn't think you would." He took a drink as if it might jog his memory of where he was in the conversation. "So, anyway, I'm sort of a free man. Amanda said the next time I was home she'd have some papers waiting for me, and it would be all over. Done." He fell silent and the two listened to the band for a little while.

"I heard you're getting promoted," Michael said with a genuine smile. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander."

Sam's face beamed with a semi-conscientious smile. "Thanks, Mike. It's not like I did anything spectacular to earn it."

"Yeah, right. That's not how I hear it. You proved yourself on several missions, taking over command when part of your team got separated from the others, and when you lost your commander on that one in Bulgaria..."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I was just doing what I was supposed to do. With a little Michael Westen thinking outside the box thrown in for good measure." He grinned and clinked his bottle with Michael's. "I'm really looking forward to working with you again, Mike. You're always so by the book, until you get into a bind and have to figure out a way to skirt around the lines to get a job done."

Michael smiled, his cheeks feeling the heat of his own self-consciousness. How often had his dimensional thinking gotten him into trouble in Special Forces, when his commanders wanted everything by the book? Joining the CIA was a God-send for him. He was getting restless working under the bonds of regulation. As an agent, he had carte blanche to do whatever it took to get the job done, and he did it well. Working with a SEAL who appreciated his creativity was like a cherry on top of this assignment.

"I'm looking forward to it too, Sam." He glanced at his watch. "But if we're going to get a move on at oh nine hundred, we better get to bed soon."

"Aw, Ma, do I have to," Sam whined, followed by a peal of laughter. "Ah well, I'm done anyway." He slammed his empty bottle onto the table and pushed out of his chair. At first he seemed a little unsteady on his feet, but he recovered.

"I'll walk you back to your hotel, Sam."

"Thanks, Mom." He chuckled.

Michael was glad that the hotel was just around the corner. Sam was usually a boisterous guy, but with a few beers in him, he was even more friendly. Several times Michael had to steer him away from a pretty woman or some other distraction and keep him on the path to the hotel. Once inside, he made sure his friend was in his room before he left, and as he trotted down the steps to the sidewalk he kept a cautious eye on the shadows. He felt as if someone had been following them. It was probably his imagination, or a byproduct of knowing what this mission was about. He couldn't tell Sam the whole story, and even after he and his team was briefed, they still wouldn't know everything.

It killed Michael a little inside to be deceptive by not divulging all the information, but that knowledge could get them killed. In the Agency, sometimes it was better to leave the backup assistance slightly in the dark. His trainer, Tom Card, said it was for their own good, but that didn't make Michael feel any better about it. He returned to his hotel and hoped that he could bury the guilt enough to get a good night's rest.