Chapter 4

Sam woke up and trudged to the kitchenette to get the coffee started. He wasn't sure the caffeine was good for Mike, but for himself, he certainly needed it. All night long his head was filled with dreams about the past, times when things went wrong. If someone was trying to tell him that he'd bitten off more than he could chew with Mike, all they did was give him a bad night's sleep. He was not swayed. Sam would do anything for his friend, even if it meant sacrificing himself. He was convinced that Michael was not leaving the hotel until he was back to normal, because his life depended upon it. Otherwise, everything Michael had fought for up to this point would have been for nothing, and he would be sitting in a nuthouse somewhere. Sam didn't like that picture one bit, his two favorite people locked up, both at the expense of one man's hatred.

Once the coffee was brewing, Sam turned toward the two rooms where Michael and Maddie slept. Michael's door was open a crack. He peered into the dimness and his stomach dropped. Michael wasn't in his bed. Okay, don't panic. Maybe he's in the bathroom. But Sam checked there, and it was also empty.

"Oh crap," he muttered, then hurried to the phone.

"Reception, Marie speaking."

"Hi, Marie. Sam Axe. Did you see a well built guy about six-one, with dark hair and blue eyes, get off the elevators from the penthouse this morning?"

"Funny you should ask. I did. Andrew said it was Mr. Westen."

"Andrew saw him too? Where'd he go?"

"Mr. Westen left the hotel and headed for the beach, I believe." She paused. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice him. He's handsome, but... troubled."

Sam frowned. Even strangers could see he wasn't himself. "Thanks, Marie. I'll be down in a minute, but if he comes back, you let me know."

"I'll keep an eye out for him, Mr. Axe."

"Thanks, Marie."

He let out a little groan and hurried to his room, and he quickly changed into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, slipped into a pair of well worn running shoes, and prepared to pursue Michael. Not that he'd ever really catch up, but maybe on the rebound he'd find him. As he moved toward the elevator, Maddie's door opened and her bleary eyes peered at him.

"Sam, where are you going? Michael..."

"Mike slipped out to go running. At least, I hope that's all he's going to do. I'll find him, Maddie. Don't worry!" He closed the door behind himself, stepped into the foyer, and called up the elevator. The doors opened and Andrew got out.

"Mr. Axe! Good morning, Sir!"

"Morning, Andrew. I'm looking for my friend Mike."

"He went south on the beach," Andrew replied. "After yesterday, I wasn't sure it was safe for him to go out alone, but he insisted that he was fine. He said he would be gone for an hour and would return."

"Thanks, Andrew." Sam got into the elevator and pressed the lobby button. "We'll both be back in about an hour or so. Take care of Maddie."

"I will, Sir." Andrew smiled warmly.

Sam had no doubts about Andrew. After the professional manner in which the butler handled everything he'd seen and heard yesterday, Sam knew he could count on the man to continue to keep things to himself, and he could trust him with Mike's mom. He rode to the lobby, got out, and purposefully strode to the beach. He looked south and saw a few joggers and beachcombers, but only one person sitting in the sand about a quarter mile away. Sam's shoes left impressions on the hard packed surface as he ran toward the figure.

Michael just wanted to be alone. Maybe he could wade through everything he was feeling, sort it out, and then everyone would stop feeling sorry for him and babying him. He tried running and burning off the emotions, but it didn't work anymore. There were too many things locked up inside him, and it all had to come out. Like a festering sore, it would be painful, but he had to buck up the courage to release it. These were ugly things, things he was afraid to show even his best friend. The time of reckoning was here, and he knew deep down that the only way he could move forward was to clean out the junk, no matter how unpleasant it was.

He heard the soft squish of feet pressing into the sand and the huff of hard breathing, and he looked up. He should have known he couldn't escape, that Sam would know and find him. A good chunk of him actually felt peace and took comfort in that thought.

"Morning, Sam."

"Morning, Mikey." Sam bent over, stretched a little, and plopped down onto the sand next to him. He was a little out of breath, but not too bad.

"You're getting in better shape," Michael remarked with a slight smirk.

"If I'm gonna go chasing you all over hell and back, I've gotta be." He brought up his knees and rested his arms on them, his eyes fixed on the ocean. "How long have you been here?"

Michael shrugged. "Not too long. Why?"

Sam turned his head. "I woke up and you weren't in the penthouse. I was worried." He saw Michael start to open his mouth, but he interrupted him. "No, don't even lie to me. You're not fine. Get real, Mike! You've been like the walking wounded for far too long now, and it's gonna kill you if you don't do something about it!"

"I don't know what to do, Sam! If I did, I wouldn't be in this mess! If I hadn't been so focused on getting my job and my life back, Anson wouldn't even have been in the picture. Fiona wouldn't have had to blow up Larry. It's all my fault. I should have let her take out Anson when she had him right in her sights, and we would never have been at that consulate!" Michael pressed his head to his knees and breathed as if he'd just run from his loft to the beach.

"I'm not gonna tip toe around this. Yes, you should have let her shoot Anson, but you didn't, and now we've got a whole new set of problems. We'll take care of those later." Sam laid a hand on Michael's shoulder and gently squeezed it. "Right now, you've gotta stop beating yourself up over what you did and didn't do. Acknowledging your mistake is part of forgiving yourself and letting it go. So take that leap, Mike. Forgive yourself."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Only if you make a practice of it. The hard part is continuing to forgive yourself every time these things come back up and part of you wants to punish yourself again. Forgiveness leads to healing, and healing will give you your life back. The only way that's going to happen is if you take stock of what you feel responsible for; from there, we'll work out fact from fiction, and maybe after that you can let yourself get over it."

Michael's eyes locked onto Sam's. "How do I do it?"

"You start by clearing up all this conflict." Sam pushed himself up and stood over him. "Come on, Mike. Let's take a walk."

The farther south they walked on the beach, the farther away they were from the hotels and civilization. The beach ran into a state park where Sam knew they would find peace and quiet, a place to strip away past guilt and start fresh.

"Let's stop here." Michael looked around at the white sand and blinked at the brightness that permeated his sunglasses.

"Sure." Sam found a stand of palms that provided some shade. He sat in the sand, and watched his friend sit as if he'd exhausted himself.

A heavy sigh escaped Michael as his rear end made contact with the sand. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands framing his face as he stared out at the ocean. Neither of them spoke. They just let the sounds of the waves crashing into the shore, the calls of gulls, and the swish of a soft breeze rustling through the palms serve as a stage for relaxation.

"I feel better just sitting here," Michael said eventually.

"Well, you can't stay here forever, Mikey. You can't run away from reality."

"I know. It just feels good to try, if only for a little while."

A short laugh came out of Sam. "Yeah, most people call that a vacation. Do you ever remember having one of those? I mean, in your entire adult life, have you ever taken a break?"

Michael shrugged. When he gave it a cursory thought, he realized that he hadn't. "I suppose not. Maybe a day or two here and there. Since I've been with Fi, I've probably had more down time in the past six years than I've had in the past couple of decades before that."

"Well, once this is all over, that'll have to change. You know, Fi and I have both been telling you for a long time that you need to relax." Sam paused. "But that's not important right now. We need to talk about everything that's gotten you bogged down."

Michael glanced up and around. "So, is this the confessional, Father Sam?"

Sam laughed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. If you want to go to a priest, that's your choice." He turned sober and he turned so his eyes locked on Michael's. "I just want to do whatever I can to get this off your back so you can function again. No, not just function. I want to see you be the guy I met so long ago, the one who was serious about his job but there was a spark in your eye, a spark that said you loved what you were doing in your life."

"I..."

"No, Mike. You haven't loved anything for awhile now. Other than Fi, maybe. You've let the burdens of the burn notice drag you down, and chasing all the people involved killed something inside you. By the time you got to Anson, you'd become a shell, hell-bent on only one mission." He paused. "You know I'm all for perseverance, but you've taken it to a new level. That level is hurting you and everyone you know who loves you."

Michael nodded as he blinked away the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. He rubbed his eyes to hide them, and his voice came out in a near whisper as he spoke. "I know. Whenever I think about Fiona sitting in that jail, I know. And when I remember staring down that barrel at you, seeing the look in your eyes, I realize just how much I've wronged everyone." He bowed his head and his forehead rested on his arms. "I didn't set out to hurt or shut people out of my life. I just wanted my job back."

"We know that."

"It was like untangling a ball of string. The second I thought I had it, I'd find another knot or snag, and I'd have to work harder, because the next one was worse than the one before. If I didn't focus on the tangle, I'd never reach my goal."

"And you forgot that your friends were there to support you, not create a road block. You were, and are, never alone, Mike."

Michael sniffled and looked up at Sam with a smile on his face. "You've proven that plenty of times, and I'm sorry that I didn't always appreciate it or accept it."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. I need... I need to know that you've forgiven me, Sam."

A lump formed in Sam's throat, but he never hesitated a moment when he replied, "I forgive you Mike. I've forgiven you every time."

"Even though I don't deserve it." Michael frowned.

"Nobody deserves forgiveness. And nobody's perfect either." A smile crossed his face.

"So why do you do it? You and Fi have put up with a lot. I don't know how you stayed."

Sam leaned forward, crossed his arms on his knees, and rested his chin on them. "Believe me, there were times that I was pretty pissed at you. And there were times that I just wanted to walk away." He paused. "But I guess that's what happens when your friends love you, Mike. We put up with a lot of crap and still stick around."

He nodded and spoke, the words coming out clearly, with a hint of emotion. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

"Exactly." Sam glanced at Michael, puzzled. "Where'd you get that from? It sounds familiar."

"First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, somewhere in there." Michael gave him a small smile. "I remember our unit's chaplain reading that one time, just out of the blue, and he said to me, 'Michael, never forget this. It may save your life some day.' Strange, I thought at the time. Now I'm not so sure."

"There's a lot of truth in that."

"Yes. All through these past few years, both you and Fi have been the live version of those words, yet I never saw it. I'm an idiot."

"No, you were blind. Something else to forgive yourself for. Now you've seen the truth, and the truth will set you free."

Michael grinned. "Paraphrasing a little there?"

"Yeah. The point is, you're aware of what you did. Now make amends and change."

A serious expression crossed Michael's face and he turned to Sam. His eyes bore an intensity that they hadn't had in awhile. They'd been cold, calculating, but now a warmth broke through as a sign of his contrition. "I'm sorry that I pushed you aside at times when what I really needed was an outlet. I know you've tried to be my sounding board, but I fought it. I'm sorry."

"That's all been forgiven."

"And I'm really sorry that I pulled that gun on you. I think that one's going to haunt me for a long time, because that's when I realized that I'd gone over the edge." He looked at Sam. "I was scared. Terrified. I haven't had that kind of fear in a long time."

"Everything is forgiven, Mike. I understand why you did the things you did. Not that I liked your motivations, but I supported you anyway. Now you've got your job back. Anson is still out there, but you need to let others handle him. Remember a few years ago when Fi and I had to confront you about your tendencies to go lone wolf on us?"

"Yes. And I'm sorry for that, too."

Sam nodded. "Well, maybe we just have to be more proactive and remind you now and then that we're in this together." He paused and stared at the sand, then turned back to him. "I'm sorry too, Mike. We didn't do enough to keep you from going over the edge. I should have been a better friend that way."

Michael let out a long, slow breath as he nodded. "It's okay. You shouldn't have to be responsible for my decisions. But I appreciate the times you have put the brakes on me. I never said it, but, thanks."

"Any time, Mikey!" Sam smiled. "You feeling better?"

"It's going to take some time. I can't just turn off these feelings." He turned his head and met Sam's gaze. "You may have to remind me now and then that I'm getting too focused, and remind me how I messed up everything the last time I did that."

"Sure. You'll just have to learn to be more receptive to the warnings."

"You've got a deal." Michael grinned and stood. As he swiped the sand off his back side, he said, "Thanks, Sam. I feel a lot better."

Sam stood and kept a wary eye on his friend. He had the feeling that this wasn't over. He knew Michael well enough that what he really needed was a good outlet for the self-anger he felt inside. Until he released that, they would be talking again. "You're welcome, buddy. Now I think you need to go talk to your mom. You've got a lot of stuff to clear up between you and her."

"Yeah. I know."

"I can stick around if you like, but I think it'll be better for the two of you to sit one-on-one."

Michael nodded. "Agreed."

They fell silent as they walked toward the city and the hotel. All the while, Sam stole glances at Michael, and he saw emotions come and go, signs that he was fighting what was going on inside. He had a lot of habit to undo. It wasn't going to be easy. His intense fixation when it came to a job, the very thing that made him a good agent, made him lousy with his personal life. Michael knew he couldn't keep going on this way, or even his work with the CIA would suffer. He would turn into another Larry if he continued to block all the fear, guilt, and other emotions that made him human.

"I wish there was a way to wipe the slate clean and start over with everything."

"Everybody wants that at one time or another, Mike. The only way to do that is to clear the air, forgive, and move on."

"I'm trying." Michael's voice came out tense.

Sam laid an arm across his shoulders. "I know, Mikey. Just keep trying."

After Fi went to jail and Michael was upset, Sam told him he'd have to fight harder now. This wasn't exactly what he meant, but if unloading the bogeymen from Michael's psyche cleared his slate, so to speak, Anson had little ammunition left to use against him. And then maybe, like Goliath, they could take him down with one stone.