A/N: Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter and to those of you who are continuing to read my work and to newcomers who are just finding Burn Notice Fan Fiction. I do have a confession to make, in an earlier Author's Note I said that this story would be fourteen chapters plus a short epilogue, however as I am working though the chapters awaiting posting I am adding more and more content. So at the moment I am saying that there is two more chapters to this story.

With that cleared up, on with Chapter Fourteen...

TWO HOURS TOO LATE

Chapter Fourteen

While Michael was in his own personal hell, sharing a home cooked meal with his mother and her guests, his former comrade in arms was facing his own problems.

"Hey Mikey, I was just about to call you, brother," Sam Axe spoke with false joviality as he warily backed across his girlfriend's condo, clutching his phone in one hand while he held up the other palm out in an effort to ward off the furious she-demon stalking him. "You have really screwed the pooch on this one. Me and you are going to have words as soon as I've got the little lady calmed down."

"LITTLE LADY! Did you dare just call me a l – "

"Baby, please, sugar lips, I can explain." The decorated SEAL gulped as he lowered his cell, tucking the device into his pants pocket as he prepared to defend himself.

"GET OUT! OUT! NOW! If you aren't out of my sight in five seconds – so help me Samuel Axe, I'm – I'm going to call the police!" The former commander dodged a wooden backed hairbrush aimed at his head and then swiftly stepped in the opposite direction as his attacker continued her missile barrage with a crystal tumbler. "How could you? H-h-how DARE you do this to me?"

"Sweetie, c'mom baby, easy now…." he pleaded, deploying his brown puppy dog eyes in a hope to deflect the inflamed blonde. "You know I –"

"I want you GONE!. I should have never have – have – How could I have been so stupid?" She began to sniff, her narrow shoulders shaking as anger began to turn to sadness and under the spell of those beautiful blue tear filled eyes, the former dashing, now dissolute naval officer, took a tentative step in the damsel in distress' direction. After all, he was indeed guilty of some, if not all the offences, he was being charged with. He opened his arms wide intending to take her into a warm loving embrace and tell her Sammy would make everything alright.

Afterwards, he would privately admit he had made a rookie mistake when instead of finding himself basking in the loving gaze of his conquest he found himself under attack from a devil woman. It took all his skills in self-defence to ward off the long polished nails clawing at him, as well as teeth and feet as the no longer lady-like lawyer's wife set about rearranging his features.

"I heard all about those whores, Sam Axe..." She spat the words out while delivering an open handed slap which rocked his head to one side, leaving a red mark on his bristled cheek. "I know you've been bringing other women back here when I'm away." Sam was pretty sure he was going to discover a massive bruise on his shin after the kick that accompanied the accusation.

"How dare you? Who the hell do you think you are?" The Navy man thanked his lucky stars that he managed to close his legs together as a bony knee made contact with his thigh instead of its intended target.

"This is my condo!" A sandal clad foot landed on his deck shoe covered toes and viciously twisted, grinding the canvas into his crushed extremity.

"I pay all the bills and – " Sharp white teeth snapped dangerously close to the hand gripping her slender wrist. "And you have been making a fool of me!"

"I gave you everything! My condo, my Porsche, MY NEW LAMBO!" The last part came out as an ear bleeding screech.

Eventually, in an act of desperation, he managed to give the angry blonde a totally ungentlemanly shove out onto the balcony. Pulling the door closed behind him, Sam shut his former paramour outside.

Hurriedly crossing the room, he snatched his laptop up from the kitchenette countertop along the way to where he stored his go-bag containing all he needed for a rapid exit next to the front door. Making his strategic retreat, he shouted over his shoulder that he would be back for the rest of his belongings tomorrow if she wanted to leave them outside.

That was when the balcony door had been flung open and the bed side lamp had hit him on the back of his head... Man, who woulda thought such a delicate little thing would have the strength to pull that clear outta the wall.

"Oh, I'll leave your stuff outside. YOU see if I don't, you bastard!"

And that was how he had ended up gathering up his clothing and toiletries from the street below his former condo as his abandoned belongings were hurled from the balcony above. Watching his brand new Tommy Bahama silk shirt float down had been a painful experience all by itself.

Sam slumped down in his chair in the first bar he had come across after leaving the crime scene, and emptied the bottle of cheap domestic beer he had ordered down in one long swallow... "Dos cervezas por favor," he waved desolately to a passing waiter.

Married women had always been out of bounds…but there had occasionally been lapses, mostly because he had failed to be careful and it had always come back to bite him in the ass…However, taking his one night stands back to her place had been a special kind of stupid… But here in Miami, with so many lonely beautiful women craving attention, he had been letting his standards slip.

He gently touched the rising bump on the back of his head, a parting gift from the special lady... His lil sweetie pie always had been very passionate… He sighed heavily, reaching for the remains of the other bottle in front of him and downed it in one long gulp. Two more beers and he would start looking for somewhere to lay his head.

In all honesty, it was hard to blame Michelle for her reaction to the theft of the Porsche; it had been the last nail in his coffin so to speak. Sure, she had told him to treat it as his own, but she hadn't given him permission to loan it out to questionable friends.

"I've just been down to the garage. I left my make-up bag in the glove box of my car... Where did your friend say he was taking the Porsche, Sammy?"

He winced as he remembered how the love of his life had turned to face him with the knuckles on her fingers turning white as they gripped her cell phone. It had barely been ten minutes earlier that he'd had to reluctantly admit that he'd taken her brand new Lamborghini to take care of a bit of business because he had lent the Porsche to a trusted friend, who had been urgently in need of a car for a few hours.

"That was the police..." And that had been the moment all hell had broken loose.

And the news that the high end sports car had been used first in a drive by shooting followed by being totalled after a botched armed robbery and a high speed chase had been fuel to ignite the already simmering flames of anger…

"I told you I'd been down to the garage, do you know what else I found when I got there? You're damn lucky I didn't call the police. If it hadn't been for that nice Mr. Garber telling me he'd seen you in the Lamborghini – oh and he told me a few other things too... Anything else you want to tell me, Sammy? And I don't mean about your damn mysterious needy friends."

Because somehow during the time he had been away making sure Javier got out of dodge and goading a shady reality mogul into doing something rash, his little lady had discovered that he had on very rare occasions entertained other women in the condo while she had been away.

He touched the top of his skull again, wondering for a moment if he should get it checked out. What he'd really like is the chance to find out which loose lipped neighbor had chosen to spill the beans to Michelle about those very few times he'd invited a special friend for a sleepover.

Did he even know anyone called Garber?

"Gracias, Julio. You are a life saver." Sam beamed as the waiter returned with his two beers.

Ah, hell…who was he kidding… he'd probably deserved worse than what he'd gotten…

Taking hold of one of the ice cold bottles, he stared at the slice of lime sticking out from the top. He really should start thinking about where he was going to spend the night. He had no wish to dip his toe back into the dating pool right now, not with the headache he had building.

He took a sip from the bottle, the cool beer mingling with the taste of the lime making its way down his throat. He had several storage lockers around the city, one of which he had fixed up with a camping cot for in case of emergencies. But being stuck in a stuffy windowless room surrounded by memories of better days didn't seem such a great idea either.

What he wanted was somewhere close to the action… in case he changed his mind about some company. With a great view… nowhere was going to beat the view from that high rise condo but hell, a guy can dream. Somewhere airy, but it didn't need to be luxurious. He wasn't picky after all.

As he ran through his requirements, a memory of a crazy night out a week ago during Michelle's last visit flittered across his mind.

It had been the previous weekend when he and Michelle had set out to get really wasted. She had arrived at the condo in a crazy mood. After pushing him down on the bed for a little afternoon Sammy time, a bit rougher than he usually liked but hey, who was he to complain, she had demanded that they head out for a hot night out on the town.

"I'm sick of hanging out at the same dull boring clubs with the same dull boring people... Tonight we're going to do something different, something wild. One of my friend's back home told me about her nephew, he's a DJ at a club called The Warehouse. We'll go there."

As soon as they had stepped out of the Lambo, he had decided it was a mistake. None of the people they passed as they walked the red carpet laid out for VIPs looked to be over twenty five. But then once they were inside, things had looked up, at least as far as he was concerned. Sure, the music had been loud and not to his taste, but the women had been scantily dressed and the drinks far cheaper than the places Michelle usually liked to visit. He had even splurged out and bought a few rounds.

However, after an hour of being amongst all those young thrusting nearly naked bodies, Michelle had been ready to leave.

"Get me outta here, Sammy... I'll call the Forge once we're out of this dump, see if they have a table free. I think I've done my duty here. I can tell Louisa we saw her nephew perform and it was great."

She had barred her teeth in a smile then hurriedly slid along the slightly sticky leather seat before getting to her feet and straightening her slinky figure hugging designer dress.

They had just stepped out of the VIP area when a skinny white kid with short cropped bleached hair doing a bad impression of Eminem had blocked their path.

"Hey bro, you need a little somethin' somethin' to keep the party goin'? You know what I mean?" the younger man had smirked. "Yeah, you know, what I mean... I'll do you the best deal in – " The peroxided jerk had gotten no further, as the former SEAL had drawn back his fist and delivered a perfect, even though he said it himself, a perfect left cross right to the loser's jaw.

It was right about then the club's own bouncers had turned up along with the club owner, a skinny foreign guy who introduced himself as Oleg and, after making profuse apologies, he invited them to join him in his private booth.

By the time they were sitting down on a plush sofa, Michelle had been totally won over by the former Minister of Culture in old Soviet Georgia and the offer of a bottle of Crystal had sealed the deal. The meal at the Forge had been forgotten as they had spent the rest of the night and early morning learning all about their host's previous life and, at the end of it all, his more recent woes.

"That man you knocked out, he is local dealer. He lives next door. I try to keep him out but it is impossible, yes? He makes trouble for me, for club. It is all I have, well… all I have except for apartment upstairs and who would want to rent with drug dealer for neighbor and the club with all the boom boom boom every night?"

Recognizing that the former Minister of Culture was about to hit him with a job offer, one that he really didn't feel was worth his effort, Sam had got to his feet and encouraged Michelle to follow him with a reminder of a friend's party on his yacht.

"Hey, baby, I have just remembered, wasn't Jeff's party on his new yacht tonight? Damn, we almost missed it. You really should put in an appearance. You know how much Jeff loves you… It was nice meeting you, Oleg, but we have to leave. Say, give me your card. Maybe I can put the word out for you? I know a lot of people in the security game who might be able to help."

A grungy apartment above a club was not ideal. But he suspected it would have a great view and what the hell, once you've lived through a few carpet bombings, what was a little bass coming up through the floor? He would have to deal with the drug dealer at some point. But for now, until he was healed up, Blondie could wait. Besides, he would only need the place until he hooked up again.

As those thoughts were whirling through the former commander's head, his fingers were searching his pockets for the card with Oleg's number. He still had a little of the money Javier had given him, half of what he had been promised for the job. They should have the rest of the money from the former estate manager now as the job must be over. That should cover more than a few months rent at least... Damn Mike for leaving the Porsche somewhere it could get stolen.

Finally he came up with a small beige colored card with the name of the club and its owner's name printed on it and in smaller print the phone number. So, he'd make the call and arrange to meet Oleg. Then, once he was settled in his new place, he would be ready to have words with the ex-spy.

"Hey, Oleg…? Listen, buddy, it's Sam Axe. We talked last weekend, I was there with the blonde. Are you still having problems with that drug dealer? Cuz I'm in need of somewhere to stay."

oo BN oo

The Warehouse was on the waterfront in a semi industrial area, where the Miami River, flowing down from the Everglades towards the ocean, converged with Wagner Creek. Across the industrial area behind the club was a small mall with a pizza place, a mini mart, a body shop and most importantly a 24/7 liquor store.

The apartment itself was hidden behind tall rusted metal gates, which creaked and groaned when his new landlord pushed them open. The noise would mean he had an early warning system if anyone came calling. He still felt a little uncomfortable about how easily Michael Westen had let himself into his former home.

"So, you want to see place, it's up some stairs." The former Minister gestured to a set of steep metal steps, which led to what appeared to be a very sturdy door.

"It's two hundred a month, no questions asked." The Russian gave Sam a look, which was clearly showing that he was wondering why a man he had clearly marked as a high roller only seven days ago was now desperate to move into what could only be described as a dump. However, he pressed on. "And the drug dealer, you can handle that? If you handle him, I give you first two months for free. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good, and yes, I can handle that." Sam smiled confidently as they began to climb the stairs. If he was still living in this dive in two months, it would mean he had completely lost his touch with the ladies.

"You were Navy Seal, yes?"

"Yes. That's right." He must have been real drunk to let that bit of information slip.

"You were part of special operations team, yes?" Okay make that very drunk...

"Sure, but, er hey, we're not supposed to talk about it, yeah?" He winked and shrugged his shoulders with a manly chuckle.

"Sure, I know how it is. Same as in old country." Oleg laid a light hand on the larger man's shoulder and after opening the door to the apartment placed the keys into Sam's hand. "Bye, Sam Axe."

Stepping into the large open space, denuded of all except the barest basics, the former SEAL looked around. The room is a shit hole, but there is a bed and a small kitchen area. He'd stayed in worse places working for Uncle Sam. No use pining for that luxury condo he'd just been thrown out of. He wondered again how Michelle had found out about the other women. But then the former commander shook his head… that ship has sailed… Let it go, buddy…

Damn, who the hell was that Garber guy? He still couldn't place the name. Not that it would do any good now... Let it go. No way Michelle's going to take you back.

Dropping his bags down on to the dust covered bare wooden floor, Sam took a slow walk around the open space. Pulling a mattress standing against the wall down onto its base, which closer up he could see would need replacing, he sighed out loud. Maybe he'd have better luck in the kitchen…

However, the refrigerator was empty… too much to hope for a beer or two, but thankfully no moldy food to get rid of, so that was a bonus. Finally, the ex-SEAL went through a set of wooden doors next to the stove and found himself standing out on a small balcony and breathing in the fresh air blowing in off the river below.

Resting his hands on top of the balcony wall, he stared out at the boats on the gently moving water.

Just a few days, I've definitely lived in worse, maybe a couple of weeks at the most. Get myself cleaned up… Maybe think a little bit more on the way my life is going down the crapper...

Pulling that stunt on Michelle was a totally lowlife move.

And standing there staring at the vessels waiting to pass under the drawbridge, Sam Axe found himself thinking about his life and what it had become. His mind dragged up the unwelcome sight of Lucy Chen and Michael Westen, the closest colleagues he still had from the life he had left behind, except of course for Virgil, who was in worse shape than he was… Oh, sure had a lot of buddies everywhere. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make friends.

But he remembered how each of the former spies had looked at him.

Lucy, her brown eyes showing pity even if the rest of her features were schooled into a neutral expression… "I'm sorry, Sam, I don't have any vacancies at the moment. What I do have is a lady, she's being stalked by her ex. It doesn't pay much, but it would be something you'd be able to wrap up in one night."

He had gone to her other times when his funds had run low. His pension certainly didn't cover his living expenses and his bar tab, too. The Javier job had just been convenient. Though not needing the money while Michelle was paying all the bills, he had found himself getting bored when she wasn't around.

Then there was Mikey… Mike Westen had never let him down. Sure, his spy buddy had made a few mistakes in the past, but his pal had done the right thing in the end… Still, the ex-Ranger had screwed up his relationship with his sugar mama almost as badly as that Bolivia op had been blown.

Aw, who the hell was he to be pointing fingers at Westen right now anyway? If he hadn't been stupid about what he did when Michelle wasn't around, he probably could have talked his way outta the mess with the Porsche. With that thought in mind, Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

Multiple texts from his former girlfriend and his ex-operative associate flashed at him from the message log… and a few missed calls and voicemails too… Running a hand over his scruffy chin, the thirsty man tried to decide his next course of action. He needed to call Mike back, he needed to do something about the drug dealer next door and he needed a six pack.

Oleg was promising him two months rent or maybe he could ask for the four hundred in cash. That would be better, so the sooner the drug dealer was gone, the more money would go in his pocket.

On the other hand, Mikey owed him big time. He could get rid of the drug dealer and pick up something for them both from the liquor store on his way over...

Rubbing the tender spot on the back of his head, Sam smiled for the first time since the police had called about the Porsche. Mike could pick them up a pizza too, he decided as he dialled the ex-spy.

oo BN oo

While Mr Axe was pulling his life back together and tentatively making plans for his immediate future, not that far away Michael and Fiona were getting comfortable in Better Days, or more accurately one of them was enjoying the atmosphere.

"A bottle of your house red," Fiona ordered, settling onto the bar stool with a flourish.

"Wine at this time of day? I'll have an iced tea."

"Tis always wine o'clock somewhare, Michael, an' ya did say we would go fer a drink." She looked up at the young blonde wearing tight blue shorts and an even tighter white T shirt. "Change that bottle of red to a large jug of your best lager and two glasses. My friend isn't up to anything stronger. Maybe later when he unwinds little..."

He saw the challenge in her eyes and nodded his acquiescence. Relationships were definitely not his thing, but he had learned over the years that there were some battles you couldn't win.

"Thare, thot wasnae difficult wa' it?" Her smile lit up her whole face. Most men or even most women would be totally disarmed when the slender redhead with the eyes the color of the Irish Sea looked at you that way.

Unfortunately for the petite past paramilitary, Michael Westen was not most men.

On one level, he hated the Irishwoman when she was in this sort of mood. He'd seen it often enough over the years to have his guard up. But another part of him loved it. That smile promised you immense pleasure – and pain depending on how she felt at that moment.

The most dangerous time in any operation is just as everything is coming together. You never know whether you're about to get a pat on the back or a bullet to the back of the head. Of course, there's not much you can do but act like everything is fine...

Acting fine while facing an Afghani warlord, waiting for him to decide if the weapons you were supplying were a suitable reimbursement for him giving you safe passage through his domain was one thing. However, it did not compare with sitting across a table from Fiona Glenanne with a pitcher of premier beer in between them waiting to discover if the former urban guerrilla was going to use said glassware as a weapon or not.

"Practicing your South Beach accent?" he inquired, hoping to divert her from her intended topic.

"When in Rome," she said with a shrug. "Here we go." Fiona spoke cheerfully as she poured a generous measure of the amber liquid into his glass before doing the same into her own. "Nar we can continue our conversation."

"How about starting a new one?" her one-time lover requested. "One that doesn't involve Sam or my mother. By the way, thank you for giving her the idea of a big family Christmas dinner."

"You're welcome, Michael." Her blue-green eyes seemed to twinkle as she took a sip of her beverage. "Do you remember our first Christmas together?"

Did he remember? Of course he did. It hadn't been the first time he had been invited into Fiona's mother's home out in the Irish countryside, but it had been the first time he had managed to enjoy a portion of that festive time of year.

Christmas' at home had been a time of walking on egg shells and trying to avoid a visit to the local emergency room. Later on when working with Larry, the holiday was usually spent in the field, as the holiday season brought on parties which were perfect places to make connections or set up an assassination.

The best part of that particular Christmas was when they had sneaked away from the celebrations and spent a few hours alone together in a nearby hay barn, snuggled down amongst the bales.

"Michael?"

"Yes, I remember our first Christmas." He hid his discomposure by taking a long sip of cold beer, silently hoping that the coolness making its way down his throat would travel further down and remind another part of his body that they had other plans.

Pyne was dead and Larry was off getting their money. In two days at the most, he would be in DC, raising hell until someone handed over the name of the man who burned him. All that was left for him to do was get the FBI off his back and he couldn't do that with if Fiona was going to be diverting him all the time... That Christmas had been eye opening though… a roomful of wild Irishmen, every single one of them had a MI-5 dossier several inches thick and not a single punch was thrown or curse word shouted throughout the whole day.

"You should give yar mam a chance. I donnae know whot went on befer, but ya should definitely forgive an' forget."

Michael didn't quite roll his eyes over her rather ironic declaration regarding grudges, but he made his point well enough to earn a punch in the shoulder.

"She's yar mother after all an' apart fram yar brudder, she's yar only close family," Fiona continued to press her point as though she hadn't just smacked him.

"Look, I'd rather not talk about it. It's complicated." He shrugged his shoulders and looked around, pointedly ignoring the beautiful woman sitting across from him. "I already promised to talk to Nate over dinner, so I'm pretty much doing what you want." If she knew he wasn't going to be keeping that promise, she would definitely kill him. So, it was best she didn't find out until he was long gone.

"So whot about this other job yer doin' wit' some mystery partner? Is thot finished taa? Javier told me ya war working fer someone thot wa' working fer a man who Pyne owed a lot of money ta."

"That's finished, I think. Although I can see I need to have another word with Javier about keeping quiet about what happened."

"Ya should let thot job go if it is nae done wit'... We could work together. Am already building contacts. Think o' all tha money we could make together, Michael." She leaned forward, her eyes alight at the thought of what they could do as a team. "We could have a lot o' fun. T'would be like tha old days." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips at the end of that last sentence.

It was an enticing offer, but not enticing enough.

"Fiona, you make it sound so easy. But it isn't and I can't think of doing anything else, not until I know who's done this to me and why. Until I know that, me and everyone around me is in danger."

"Mabbe yer in more danger than ya think?" She nodded over his shoulder and he turned as casually as he could, his heart dropping when he recognised two FBI agents moving through the crowds...

"D'ya want me ta get rid o' tham? I could cause a scene while ya sneak away."

"I've had enough of people creating scenes for me." He answered cryptically. "We should leave while they are looking the other way." He looked at his watch, surprised to find that they had been in the bar far longer than he expected. "I think it is getting late."

They left the bar, slipping into the crowd moving across SE 6th Street and weaving around the crush of bodies near the valet parking outside of Brickell World Plaza. Fiona kept close by his side, slipping into the open doorway of the garage while their FBI tails continued on past the parking structure. Once the agents were out of sight, the fiery redhead pushed him against the concrete wall.

"D'ya remember tha first time we hid fram tha Gard?" she breathed heavily, ravishing his throat and then his lips. Michael's body responded to hers before his mind had a chance to object. He deepened the kiss, telling himself that this was okay since he would be leaving her again soon.

When they drew apart, he stared hard into those eyes he knew so well.

"Why are you really in Miami, Fi?"

He could see the sadness in her eyes, masked by the amount of alcohol she had consumed. "I told ya befer, old enemies, sniffing around… Ya know how tis when things catch up ta ya." She paused and bit her lip before continuing. "His name wa' Kavan. He wa' a banker wit' no tactical awareness... He dinnae know how ta shoot... or how many exits thare war inna building…" Fiona trailed off before her mood shifted again, as she deliberately pushed away the sadness.

"Oh god, I cannae shag another man who works in a bank." She kissed him again hard, holding him tight. The Irishwoman could be flippant about Kavan, hiding her grief for the man who was cut down because of all the things she had just named. "I need a man who knows his way around a gun... I need ya, right n-"

Her fingers are making light work of his belt and about to reach into his pants when his phone began to ring. She tried to stop Michael answering, but gave up with a huff of annoyance.

"Hey Mike, me and you need to have that talk.. You free now?"

"Sure, Sam, tell me where."

Fiona was frustrated and beyond furious. She had been hoping to convince him to come back to the Courtyard Hotel with her. She'd been certain she could talk some sense into him if she could just get him out of his clothes and into her bed. Would he seriously rather spend time with Sam Axe than her? she fumed as she listened in on the address her arch nemesis was giving her ex-lover along with what sounded like a carry out order.

"Look, Fi, I've gotta meet Sam," he began apologetically. "Aaannndddd it's probably best if you're not there when I do." The burned spy got ready to duck out of the way of her deadly fists.

"And how do ya propose ta get thar, Michael?" Fiona demanded. "Walk with tha FBI hot on yar heels? Ya'll be lucky ta get ta tha truck wit' out being spotted. An' donnae even ask ta borrow me ride!" she finished, seeing the request on his face before the words could leave his lips.

Mr Westen wisely shut his mouth, glancing around the first floor of the parking garage for a suitable vehicle to borrow.

"Come on, then," his companion ordered. "I'll take ya round thar. I can behave if I want ta an' ya'll need tha back up with tha Feds hot on yar tail. But am nae doin' his shoppin'fer ham." she added, tugging on the unmoving spy's arm.

Fiona smiled when he nodded his cautious assent. Yes, she could behave when she wanted to, but what she wanted to do could also change at any minute and they both knew it.

As they walked arm in arm through the streets of his former home town, looking like a couple out for a casual stroll, all the Miami native could think of was how soon he would be leaving this place behind again… that was when he wasn't hoping that he could continue avoiding the FBI agents searching for him right now...

And trying not to miss Fiona too much once he was gone again.