Nobody likes reverse interrogation. It's a fact of life.

There's a lot of risk.

There's risk your mark will find you out.

There's also risk to your own operative. Risk that in order for everyone's cover to stay in tact they'll have to get too hurt.

That's why nobody likes it.

But if it works – the rewards are high.

Which is why we use it – though only when we can't avoid it.

Fiona trusted Sam. She'd never tell him that. But right now everything depended on that trust. He stood in front of her with, coat off, sleeves rolled up, standing beside their mark, scowling at her. She was tied to a metal chair, stifling in the Miami heat, trying to keep her head in the game even though it throbbed from previous rounds she'd endured.

"But where is the account?" Sam growled, hitting her hard in the gut.

"I told you already," Fiona barked, "I just bought the guns. They wanted to intercept your fence and sell off the painting overseas – I don't know where they're putting the money."

"I think you do," Sam replied, hitting her across the face this time.

And on it went.

But nothing went exactly as planned.

Yeah they'd brought in their mark. The desperate art dealer with a stolen painting was happy. The cops had stayed out of everyone's way.

But when Michael showed up at their base to get Fiona and Sam he knew something wasn't right. There was too much blood – that was the first thing he noticed. There was no way a handful of carefully placed punches – even a few dozen – could draw that much blood.

Sam already had Fi untied, and she was slumped forward, forehead pressed to the big man's shoulder. Then Michael put it together, she was holding her right hip, and the blood was coming from between her fingers.

"What happened?" he demanded, breaking into a run and kneeling in front of Fi before either of them had a chance to respond.

"Our mark got impatient, pulled a knife and before I could stop him, promptly stuck her with it," Sam said, remarkably calm given the circumstances.

Fiona just nodded a pained assent.

"No, no, no, no, that can't be," Michael said, pulling Fiona's hand away, trying to look at the wound himself, trying to reverse what his senses so clearly told him was true.

But there it was – the knife hilt sticking out from just beside her hip bone – coated in slick blood.

"Okay," Michael said, "we can handle this…and then I will go skin that…"

"Focus brother," Sam snapped.

"Focus," Michael repeated, "Right. We can't take her to a hospital."

"Mike, brother, she needs a hospital!" Sam insisted.

"She's on every CIA watch list. We take her to a hospital she ends up in jail," Michael said quickly, repeating the information on instinct.

"Do you want her to die?" Sam retorted, forgetting for a moment that Fiona was still conscious, still right there.

Her voice was quiet, ragged, "Is it that bad Sam?"

It was that bad. The knife had gone straight through her appendix – so with proper treatment she'd be fine – but without it she'd die of infection in a matter of hours.

They had a promising resource – and they prayed that he could do something fast enough.

Barry was an ex-Navy surgeon. He knew enough to fix Fi's ruptured appendix. They just had to get her to him.

And he was in Fort Lauderdale. Which meant she had to make it an hour without treatment. And none of them were sure if she could.

Michael got the bleeding under control while Sam grabbed the car. Fi was going into hypovolemic shock – fast. The pain from the stab wound, the nausea from her appendix and the panic starting to set in from the shock weren't making for a good combination.

"Michael do something," she whimpered as he finally took the pressure of the wound, satisfied she wasn't going to bleed to death in the next five minutes.

"We're working on it Fi," he said gently, stroking her sweaty forehead and kissing her gently, "Sam's here with the car. We're taking you to a surgeon who can get this all fixed up without getting the police involved. I just need you to stay with me Fi."

"I'm trying Michael," she said, her eyes starting to slip close, "I'm trying. It's just…"
And with that she fell unconscious and for Michael panic started to set in.

"Sam I don't know if she's gonna make it," Michael said as he settled Fiona in his lap in the back of her Saab.

"She'll be fine, brother," Sam replied, speaking more on instinct than on any true conviction.

"Sam she has a ruptured appendix, and she's bleeding out…" Michael's voice was gaining a desperate edge.

"Mikey, she's gonna be okay," Sam repeated.