AN: Thank you so much for all your reviews! It really inspired me... thus, SECOND chappie! WHO KNEW I'D EVER DO THIS? xD

Anywho, I was so inspired by your reviews... so... I hope you enjoy this chappie!

Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice or any of its characters... this is purely FANfiction. That's all. Written by a huge Burn Notice fan!

Chapter 2:

Small Concessions

There are a few things in life that you honestly don't want to encounter first thing in the morning. Chirping birds. Smoke alarms going off. Teletubbies… or the bathroom door closing, followed by the sounds of retching.

That probably tops the chart.

With a sigh Sam got up and headed downstairs, already a plan forming as to how fix the current dilemma. "Goodmornin', Mikey" he greeted openly, hoping to sound as non-chalant as possible. Sam knew Michael would probably pull his gun on the older man for barging in on his… bathroom break… so, he did what any true friend would do.

"So, you want some of that Hawaiian pizza from last night?" Sam asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a cold one instead, "I'm sure Fi left you a few slices".

In the field you come into contact with some gory situations that no horror flick could ever manage. Your senses get assaulted by the full effect of the situation and you're left dealing with the after-effects on your own. The trick is, moving your attention to something completely different and breathing deeply.

There was silence for a moment, only to be followed by the sounds of coughing.

And sometimes that doesn't work.

It took a minute, but Sam's 'buddy' did answer. "No, thank you," Michael answered back. His voice sounded hoarse and strained, but it obvious he was trying to cover it up by hitching his voice up in an attempt to sound cheery.

Sam sighed again, stuck his hand in the fridge again and grabbed a blueberry yogurt and another water bottle. He grabbed a spoon as he walked by the drawers and sat on one of the bar stools.

Two minutes later Michael walked out. He didn't look particularly stable on his feet, his eyes drifted in and out of focus and he still looked a bit green. "Aren't you going to see Val this morning?" he said flatly. It was obvious that he had hoped to be left alone.

"Later, it's only eight anyway," Sam held up his half-drunk beer up against the light, "Yeah… too early to go".

Michael groaned, but smiled through his annoyance, and left it be. He walked past Sam and snatched the three items from Sam's grasp. He knew Sam knew that he was really feeling sick… but he still had his integrity to keep.

Sam walked over to the duct-taped chair –"accidentally tripping" over the cold medicine- before sitting down. The two foil sheets slid out of the packet and came to a rest outside the box. "Sorry… yeah, Carla's got some manicure that's supposed to keep her tiger claws busy up until eleven…" he eyed the amount of cold medicine left suspiciously, "Until then… it's better to stick with the lesser proof".

"Beer doesn't have lesser percentage than Mojito's," Michael said and tore open his yogurt, "… So, what's up?".

When faced with an enemy, especially one who could kill you only using their thumb… sometimes its better just to get to the point and stop playing possum.

"You never go wild on the rounds, Mikey…" Sam started, his face contorted into a frown.

"The guy was regular, Sam. He might be an idiot… but he was observant enough to notice my little alterations," Michael sniffed and blinked blearily, "He had me go round for round… each spill only cost another drink … apparently the bar also had a 'no ice' policy". Michael sent Sam the look of annoyance, one mixed with a hint of guilt. Even though it was their target's explicit order for no ice in their drinks… it still couldn't be helped that the burnt spy felt guilt building up on him. He wasn't tough enough.

The ex-spy brought his wrist up to his forehead and tried rubbing his headache away, only to cover it up by brushing through his hair a moment after. He took another bite of the yogurt before covering his mouth. He froze up for a minute before swallowing, looking even more pale than before.

"You alright?" Sam asked, thoroughly freaked out by now.

"I'm f-fi-" Michael paused, pulled his comforter up and sneezed rather harshly into it. "fine!"

Sam's eyebrow quirked, "So I see," he quirked and grinned cheekily as Michael glared at him.

Michael unsteadily stood up and waltzed over to the kitchen. He bent down and slowly opened the last drawer, "Sam," the note of annoyance hitched up a notch, "What exactly did you do to my place?".

"You had your medicine drawer wired, Mikey…" Sam said and reached over to Michael's cold medicine, "Or what? Blow up half your loft when looking for ibuprofen?". The older man popped out two tablets of the cold medicine. It was obvious that Michael hadn't taken his necessary second dose last night… the packet had been completely untouched.

"… I had a break-in only a week ago… you know why I-" Michael started, but his phone started ringing.

Sam stood up and grabbed the phone from its spot next to Michael's mattress, "Hello Fiona!" Sam answered the phone in an oh-so-cheery tone, "Yeah, Mikey is up and adhem".

Restraining himself from rolling his eyes, Michael crouched down and dug around in the drawer. He quickly looked back at Sam before turning his back completely to the man, making sure his back was covering his actions up. He sifted through the contents before he finally popped the lid of his new love. An Ibuprofen bottle. He took out two and dry swallowed them as quickly as possibly. He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and shoved it behind a few of the other contents of the drawer…

Key to not leaving a trail of evidence? Not allowing anything to show that you had been there in the first place.

"Alright, I'll tell him… " Sam said and nodded, "Yeah, yeah… no problem". Fiona probably hung up abruptly, since Sam's next comment was, "Well, goodbye to you to".

Michael had to use the counter-top's ledge as a lever to pull himself upright again. He sighed and shook his head as if what he had been searching for wasn't in the drawer. He cleared his throat, which turned into a cough, which turned into a coughing fit. He ended up bent over and red-faced when he was finally finished.

"Wow… you alright there, Mike?" Sam asked worriedly, walking up to him with the bottle of water.

Being an operative means many things. You might be asked to play a bodyguard for a spoilt teen going to a ComiCon. An undercover cashier at a law firm. A schoolteacher. All in order to keep an eye out for the guys who you don't want to have eyes everywhere. Drug-dealers. Money Launderers. Criminals… it also means you learn how to improvise at the drop of a hat when you're cover is questioned. And sometimes it's easier than others.

The young man took it gratefully and took a gulp of the cool liquid before answering, "Yeah…. Sorry, yogurt went down… the wrong way," he cleared his throat again, wincing as he swallowed, "Thanks".

Especially when your cover-story isn't as rock solid as you would've liked.

But, at least the ex-Navy SEAL didn't comment on the fact that the yogurt was in the other room… and had been left there for five minutes. "No problem… here… these might help for the hangover," Sam said and smiled.

Michael looked down at the cold caps and smiled, eternally grateful, "Thanks… I think I ... might need them," he conceded and downed them.