To say things hadn't gone as planned would be a gross understatement.

When Michael saw Fiona hit the water panic set in. With the open ricochet wound in her chest he knew exposure to the filthy water in the everglades was even more dangerous than usual. Not to mention the fact that she was likely unconscious and bleeding heavily. Making her perfect prey for one of the infamous alligators of the south Florida swamps. Somewhere in the back of his mind he the knife wound in his leg. But his thoughts were dominated by the need to protect her. To fix it. The only way he knew how.

By going in after her.

The water was worse than he'd anticipated: dark, thick with algae, viscous against his skin. By some miracle he found her quickly. He'd been under for less than half a minute when he felt her skin against his hand and caught hold of her, using what little energy he had left to pull the both of them to the surface. Fiona was unconscious, dead weight in his arms. He dragged her to the shore, gave her mouth-to-mouth until she finally coughed up the water clogging her lungs, winced when he saw it was streaked with blood.

Michael knew they both needed medical attention – fast. He also knew they'd both be arrested the second they stepped into an ER. He had a feeling Sam could work out a way to patch them up. But he couldn't figure out how to contact the ex-SEAL fast enough.

With no cell phones and no hope of finding one in the swamps Michael knew their best bet was to pick a direction and start walking. They'd hit a road eventually. He just wasn't certain if either of them could last that long. But they'd no choice other than to try.

He and Fiona had never been the most affectionate of pairings. Their physical exchanges usually stayed in one extreme or the other – a chaste quick touch on the cheek or a night spent in the privacy of the loft together. Embracing wasn't part of their physical vocabulary. Except when both of them were too hurt and both needed the other for support to keep going. With his arm wound around Fiona's slim shoulders Michael felt oddly vulnerable. Precisely because he knew how tiny she was, how hurt they both were, and how hot the sun was getting. It was closing in on 100 degrees, both their own fevers had passed 100 hours ago. And he still couldn't see any sign of a road. He'd thrown a slapdash dressing on Fiona's bullet wound and she'd done the same for the cut on his leg. But the real pain was starting to set in now, the adrenaline wearing off. They wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer. Not without one of them passing out – and he didn't like to think what would happen then.

It was another half hour before they found the road. It wasn't a road per-se but a driveway. Whoever owned the house at the end might well call the police on them – but it was their only chance at surviving. So they had to take that risk. Michael's fever had hit 103 already and Fiona's was at 101 and climbing. The wound in her chest was making breathing difficult. Michael contemplated the threat of pneumothorax, then pushed it out of his mind, there was nothing he could do for her here. Just like there was nothing she could do about the fragments of blade in his leg. And nothing either of them could do to ease the infections that were rapidly depleting their strength.

At the end of the driveway was a gated house, 10,000 square feet of luxury hidden behind a wrought iron fence and stone pillars. It took all of forty-five seconds for security to arrive, guns out.

"We're unarmed," Michael said quickly as the guards approached, "we fell off our airboat. We're both hurt. A friend of ours can take us to the hospital. We just need a phone."

"Stay here," said one of the men, disappearing into a stucco security building and reemerging with a phone in hand.

"Thank you," Fiona managed to whisper, innately aware of the blood coming through her fingers and the growing pain in her ribs.

"Yes, thank you," Michael repeated.

"You have two minutes," the guard said, "I'll get you some water and you can wait in the shade over there."

With that all three of the men left.

"Sam," Michael said the instant the older man picked up, "Fi and I are hurt, come get us, estate in the everglades…"

And with that he read off the address and hung up – aware that now they only had to make it twenty more minutes. Aware that now they had a shot at making it out of this alive.

Then as they both settled beneath one of the spreading trees on the property, cracking open tepid bottles of water provided by the security team, Michael felt Fiona slump against him, her body going limp as pain and stress finally took over.