A/N: First, for Crazy Computer's Vendetta: Sorry!!!!! I have two words for my excuse: Birthday. Boys. Yeah... I was a bit distracted this weekend. And the boys part wasn't even worth it. Haha.

For everyone else: What. The. Heck. I mean, honestly. AllOverTheWorld, you're forgiven, because that was my bad with the wrong chapter deal. Everyone else? How many days did I not update? And how many reviews did I get? I'll keep updating if only for Crazy Computer's Vendetta because I'm in love with her reviews. But I'm rather pissed off right now. I post to get feedback. Feedback= reviews. Anywho...

Samantha's smile was genuine when her eyes caught Michael's. Michael could only stare in confusion as Frank let himself out. Once the door clicked behind him, Sam walked up to the table Michael's foot was still resting on and set down the manilla folders in her hands. She looked up to Michael, still smiling.

"Hey. How've you been?"

Michael blinked, pulling himself back to reality. "Does he have Charlie?" he hissed, leaning forward. Sam's smile disappeared, falling into a frown.

"What? Who? Your dad?" She shook her head, seeming amused. "No, Charlie's still in Chicago. Your dad hasn't gone anywhere near him."

Micheal leaned back in his chair, not convinced. Sam, apparently, could tell, for she sighed heavily and sat on the table.

"He's a good guy, Michael," she said. "He's just... a bit messed up."

Michael laughed harshly. "He shot my foot, Sam!"

Sam winced, glancing at Michael's foot. "Yeah... sorry about that. If I'd known, I would've tried to stop him."

Michael glared at her, trying to figure out why she was here. How the hell was she connected with Frank? And why?

Sam was settling herself more comfortably on the table, giving the impression she was about to explain and it might take a while. Michael's eyebrows furrowed deeper as he waited.

"He's actually looking out for you," she started, gaining a loud guffaw from Michael. She glared at him briefly before continuing. "He's been following your career closely."

"What career? I don't have a job."

Sam sighed exasperately. "Yeah, I realize that, Michael. I mean he's been following your work. Ever since you joined the military, he's been pulling favors to keep tabs on you."

"Oh, so, my father has been stalking me?" Michael asked. "Sam, most of my work was classified!"

She shrugged. "I don't know how he did it, but he's been following you. He's been looking out for you. Trust me, I thought it was a bit creepy, too. But it's actually a good thing he's doing this. He keeps a close eye on anyone you associate with. For example, did you know Larry Sizemore's not dead and--"

"Yes. We've made contact a couple times," Michael growled, eyes fixed firmly on Samantha, willing her to give him something more to go on. She raised an eyebrow at the expression on his face but continued.

"Okay, well. You should probably do something about that."

Michael didn't reply. Sam met his gaze for a moment before nodding to herself. "Anyway. Did you know that Sam Axe is informing on you?"

"He already did that," Michael threw back without hesitation. "FBI. Or did Dad miss the bit where Sam stopped and I knew that he was doing it the entire time?"

Sam smiled, a small, amused but pained smile. "He knew. But that's not what I'm talking about. You realize that the Cubans have been interested in you quite a bit lately? They're just waiting for the right moment at this point."

"And you're trying to tell me that Sam's been informing on me to them?" Michael asked incredulously. "Why should I believe you?"

Samantha shook her head. "That's not all, Michael. Fiona Glenanne--"

Michael sat up, letting his foot fall painfully to the floor, anger surging through him. "Don't you dare--"

"She's been betraying you since the moment you met, Michael."

Michael could feel his nostrils flaring with rage and he fought to stay sitting, knowing he'd only hurt his foot even more. Samantha bit her bottom lip, seeming apologetic. After a moment, she slid off the table and reached to help Michael elevate his foot again. Michael yanked his leg out of her reach, feeling stupid at the childish act, but too angry to really care. Sam froze for a moment before standing up again and retreating back to her position on the edge of the table.

"I have nothing against her, Michael," she said quietly. "I know you may think I could be saying this just because I'm jealous but I'm not immature like that. When your father showed me the evidence, I wanted to help him. I don't want you to get hurt."

The rage radiating from Michael was smoldering. He continued to sit there, eyes boring holes through Samantha as she firmly, but sadly stayed strong under the glare. Finally Michael spoke.

"And who, can I ask, is she betraying me to?"

Samantha squirmed slightly before answering. "I know this may sound a bit random, but the Italian mafia."

Michael was silent for another few seconds. "What is he doing to you, Sam?"

Sam blinked, confused. "Who? Your father? Nothing, Michael! I have all the evidence right here!" she exclaimed, gesturing to the manilla folders. She stood up, picking the folders up and handing them to Michael, who took them cautiously, eyes never leaving her face. "Look over them for yourself," she said. Michael glanced briefly at the folders.

"I'm sorry," Samantha whispered, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on Michael's cheek. Michael recoiled from her, cheek burning at her touch. Sam backed away somberly and left the room without another word. Michael continued to sit frozen for another couple of minutes.

Slowly, unwillingly, he opened the top folder and began to read.

A/N: Yeah, I wouldn't believe Samantha, either, Michael.

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