A/N: Thank you for all your reviews and comments I appreciate them all, even though I rarely get a chance to reply personally.

DODGING RAINDROPS

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Chapter Twenty

"Why would Fiona Glenanne consider you a friend? Please explain it to me." Doctor Vincent paced around the bed. "She was your asset, yes? Your lover? Yet you willingly deceived her, your actions got her friends arrested or killed and then, when you had finished using her, you snuck away in the middle of the night. Why, when you nearly destroyed her life, would she want to help you?" The doctor stopped his pacing and stared down at him.

"You're wrong...It was my job."

"Yes, a job. That's all she was to you. Just think about it, Michael, and you will see what you believe happened is absurd." He patted the folder he held in his hand. "I showed you her Interpol file. She was captured by MI5. She stood trial for her crimes. I even let you read the transcripts and she is now rotting away in a high security hospital. There wasn't a woman's prison they thought could hold her."

Michael woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes going wide as he stared about the room. Something had awoken him, but the room was empty. He was alone. That's when it hit him and it made him feel sick to the stomach. He had fallen asleep and they had moved him again. The last thing he remembered was a cool light room with tiles on the walls. He had been laying on the floor.

Her fingers trailed softly down his cheek, her eyes shone bright and fierce. "I have to go now." She looked back one final time and he saw regret etched into the lines of her face and it broke his heart. "This is going to be over soon, Michael. All you have to do is hang on a little while longer."

Now he was lying on a large comfy bed, wrapped in soft linen sheets. A faint humming noise and a slight pitch and sway told him he had to be on a boat. Why was he on a boat?

Sweat broke out on his brow, as he tried to concentrate on what could have possibly happened. Closing his eyes, he attempted to calm his breathing and that's when it hit, a vivid flashback of Fiona and Sam Axe at his side, the smell of gun smoke and exploded C4 filling his nostrils.

"Mikey, you've gotta listen to me. You've been drugged and interrogated." It was Sam Axe, he recognized the voice and could feel Sam's fingers digging into his jaw forcing him to listen.

"Sam Axe is a washed up drunk spending his time on the beach cruising for rich women. You haven't seen each other for years. Why would Sam Axe want to help you? You weren't there for him when he needed you."

"Stay here, Michael, stay here with me." Fiona replaced Dr Vincent she loomed over him, her hair brushing against his face. He reveled in her touch, her scent and the warmth of her body against his. He could feel her essence surrounding him and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.

But he had to make her go as fear began to overwhelm him. If Vincent saw her, he would take her back to England. "You have to go. Vincent, Doctor Vin – " he urged her to leave.

"He's gone, Michael, killed by his own side. He can't hurt you anymore." She smiled at him that sweet smile she wore when she blew something up and a small part of him began to believe she was telling him the truth.

"It's ok, buddy. All you have to do is sit still and let me and Fi handle it. But we can't do it if you're gonna fight us."

"I won't." He promised them he would stay, that he believed them.

"You promise to stay? You don't move until one of us come and get you."

"Not move," he agreed, he promised, he lied.

With a gasp, he pulled himself back. It was all his fault. He had fallen asleep and Vincent had moved him. He had to find them, and quickly, because if Vincent found her first- He gulped and swallowed thickly. He wouldn't think about that. He had just got her back, he couldn't lose her again.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to help steady his shattered nerves, he closed his eyes. If he wanted to get free, he had to concentrate. With a sudden surge of strength, he rolled on to his side and managed to sit up on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. Ripping away the oxygen mask, he threw it onto the floor and then clutched at the bed sheets as he fought back a rising wave of nausea that left his head spinning and his stomach churning.

Taking one more deep ragged breath, Michael gritted his teeth and lurched upright. He stood swaying, the room tilting first one way and then the other. With a look of grim determination, he took one faltering step forward before his legs gave way and he hit the floor face down, his body locked in spasms as another seizure took hold. He lay helplessly as bloody saliva bubbled out from between his clenched teeth.

"Please, Michael, we have been through this so many times. Fiona is not here. Do you remember we asked your mother about Ms Glenanne, and Sam Axe? She said she didn't know either of these people you insist have been your closest friends of the last two years. You trust your mother, don't you?"

"That – that woman isn't my mom."

"Yes, she is, Michael, and I have to say you're being very hard on that poor dear woman. She has visited you every week since you joined us. Now, why not humor me and just take a look at things from our point of view. We believe you were the victim of a chemical attack in Algeria and it affected your mind. So let me help you get better and tell me - -"

It didn't matter what he said or how much he fought, Doctor Vincent kept talking to him in that same damn patronizing tone. If he argued back, he was fed more drugs. If he fought, they tied him down. It was always the same story: he had killed five men in a Nigerian hotel, an extraction team had grabbed him and brought him back home. He was sick, he needed help. They were all there to help him get better... but only if he talked.

He came around slowly, coughing and choking as his mouth filled up with the coppery taste of blood. A triumphant smile was etched onto his face. He had gotten away again. Every bone, every muscle, every nerve ending hurt, but he had won.

"Michael!"

They were coming for him!

As panic began to course through his body, strong fingers dug into his shoulder. Using what little strength he had left, he kicked out against his assailant. But his desperate attempt to escape failed as his attacker easily pulled him over onto his back.

"Michael! What are you doing? It's me."

It sounded like Fiona. A soft hand brushed against his cheek and then long slender fingers combed through his hair. He just wished he could see her clearly.

"Michael, it's alright, Sam's gone to get Billy. Just lay still."

Unable to stay awake any longer, he went limp in her arms. His last thought as everything went black was that he hoped she would still be there when he woke up.

()()

"Hey! Clemens get your ass outta bed an' open up. Michael's on the floor an' he's having another fit."

Billy Clemens groaned and sat up rubbing at his eyes. More thuds of a fist hammering against his door caused him to grimace. Too much Mexican beer and a day lounging in the sun had left him hung over.

"C'mon, Billy, or do I have to come in there an' drag your drunken - -" Sam Axe's voice was getting louder and more angry.

"I'm comin'! Jeez," Billy grumbled. Staggering out of bed, he crossed the room to open the door before the man on the other side broke it down.

"C'mon, doc," Sam growled, as soon as the door opened a crack. Before Billy had time to react, Sam had taken hold of his arm and dragged him across to the room on the opposite side of the hall. "Mikey needs ya."

"Hey! I can walk, dammit." He jerked free of Sam's grip and almost fell through the door into the large bedroom suite.

Coming to a stop, he blinked rapidly as he scanned the dark interior; Michael Westen was on the floor lying lifelessly in Fiona Glenanne's arms. Nearby was a pool of bloody vomit and when he raised his eyes to the bed, he noticed the scrunched up sheets and kicked off bed covers. Finally he turned his gaze first to Fiona Glenanne and then to Sam Axe, who had followed him into the room.

"So how did he get out of bed? I thought you were both watching him," Billy growled out the words as he rapidly crossed the room. He had caught the faint hiss of precious enriched oxygen escaping through the abandoned mask lying next to the bed. Checking the oxygen cylinder, he leaned down to twist the cap shut.

"This," he gestured to the cylinder. "In case you've forgotten is the last of the oxygen until we reach Isla Mujeres. I mean you do remember me tellin' you I'm running out of all my supplies? And that's why I said that he wasn't to be left alone."

"Sam was supposed to -" The tiny auburn haired gunrunner aimed a narrowed eyed stare across the room at the older man.

"I was just outside the door – I didn't want to risk waking him and you're the one with a small blad– –" The words dried up in his throat when he caught the look of bloody murder in Fiona's eyes.

"Two minutes, Sam," she hissed at him. "You couldn't wait for -"

"Hey, lady, I was literally just on the other side -" Sam snapped back, his temper rising to match that of the fiery Irishwoman.

"Quiet!" Billy glared first at Sam and then at Fiona before turning his attention back to his patient. "Just shut up while I see what damage has been done."

Silence reigned as the medic bent his head down to concentrate on Michael limp form. After what felt like ages for the two people watching him, Billy looked up. "Well, I think we've been lucky and his attempt to go for a walk hasn't done him any more harm, so let's get him back on the bed."

"No harm?" Fiona scowled menacingly at the medic.

"As far as I can tell, he's no worse than the last time I checked him, except for the bump on his head," Billy replied. Slowly getting to his feet, he looked over to the bed and then at Sam remembering the man's bruised ribs and injured leg. "You want to get one of the crew to help me move him?"

"I'll do it," Fiona answered softly. "I'll help you. He's so light now we can carry him between us."

Once they had Michael back in bed and covered up, Billy Clemens picked up the oxygen mask passing the clear molded plastic item from one hand to the other. He stood deep in thought, weighing up the risks of what he was thinking. Finally, he reached a decision.

"There's just a couple of hours supply left in this cylinder. I'd like to try to save it until we have to move him again. But it means one of you must be with him at all times. You can't leave him alone at all. If his levels drop too low, he'll need it back on."

"We won't leave him again," Fiona promised her eyes fixed firmly back on Michael's sleeping features.

"Good," Billy sighed. He was tired and wanted to get back to his bed. He really was in no state to deal with all the drama that seemed to follow the trio wherever they went. "Look, it's gonna be at least another seven maybe eight hours before we reach Jojo's. If you're serious about keeping your friend alive, no more guns, explosions or any excitement at all. Do you think you can manage that?"

Sam held up a hand. "Er, about that... Jojo sent word, there's a storm due to hit Isla Mujeres sometime in the early afternoon. He said he could either open up the engines and try to reach home before it hits or we could wait it out." He took a deep breath. "I told him to go for it."

"Great." The medic huffed with a look of resignation on his face.

Fiona's eyes were wide. "You should have - -"

"Don't -" Sam warned, "just don't – okay? I know what you're thinking, but this isn't some little fishing boat. It's got stabilizers that will help keep the ride steady." He turned to Billy. "An' you just said no more excitement and being stuck at sea during a storm would be pretty damn exciting."

Thankfully whatever Fiona had been about to say was going to remain a mystery because on hearing the boat wasn't going to start being thrown about, she had relaxed back, her fingers entwining with Michael's. So Sam turned his gaze to the medic.

Billy pulled his dreadlocks back off his face and arched his back as he stretched. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. If the ride stays smooth, it won't make any difference. But if we get hit by the bad weather..." He shrugged miserably. "So I'm going back to bed, call me when the excitement starts."

Fiona looked up from where she was sat on the bed watching over Michael. She gestured at the pool of vomit still on the floor. "What about the blood?"

"He bit his tongue, that's all; either from when he fell or when he seized. But here's something else for you to think about before you leave him alone again. Every time he has one of these seizures, it increases the risk of brain damage. So just keep him in bed and quiet."

Having made his point, Billy left Sam and Fiona to watch over their friend while he returned to his room and with a groan fell face down onto his bed. As he lay there slowly drifting back off to sleep, for maybe the hundredth time in the last five days, he wished he had pretended to be out when Fiona Glenanne had knocked on his front door.

()()

After cleaning up mess Michael had made on the floor, Fiona made herself comfortable on the bed. Sitting propped up against the headboard, she held one of Michael's hands in her own. Sam slumped down on a chair next the bed and after running his hands through his hair he leaned back and tried to explain why he had left the room.

"I only stepped outside, cuz Jojo sent one of the crew with that message, I wouldn't have gone anywhere until you finished powdering your - - whatever." He made a face.

Fiona sighed, "I suppose I better go talk to Jojo. See if he knows how bad it's going to get."

"No," Sam wearily got back to his feet. "I'll go. You keep Mikey company."

"Remind Jojo about our deal. If we all drown he'll never get hold of all those lovely guns I promised him."

Sam paused. "Fi, that deal you're talkin' about, most people would consider it piracy. Do have any idea what sort of time that would get you if - -"

"Piracy against an arms dealer?" she scoffed. "Please, Sam. John Beck came to Miami and took over one of the most profitable routes and he hurt a lot of people when he did it. This is just a bit of payback. He's going to lose one tiny little shipment. He probably won't even notice."

He shook his head knowing full well the only person who could talk her out of committing a dangerous criminal act at sea was lying unconscious. "Fine, I'll remind him about stealing some scary guy's guns."

"Do that and Sam," She gave him a wide eyed innocent smile. "Can you fetch me a cup of tea please – and maybe a slice of toast."

Sam didn't bother with a reply, at least not one she could hear. With Sam gone from the room, Fiona turned her full attention back to Michael her smile growing even wider when she saw his eyes were open.

"Hey," she whispered. "How long have you been awake?"

He stared up at her, his eyes skimming over her face and body, a small smile curving the corners of his lips. "You found me." His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper.

"Yes, we found you. You're safe now," she agreed.

"I'm sorry I left you." He swallowed. "I didn't want to go."

"I know, but we got you back."

He clutched at her hand. "They – made me leave."

She could see how important it was to him that she believed him. Squeezing his hand between hers, she leaned in closer. "It doesn't matter they're all gone, Michael. You're safe," she tried to reassure him.

"I fought them – I – knew – " He was tiring, each breath getting shorter and more forced, his eyes were losing focus as he struggled to stay awake.

"Shhh, you're safe. We won, Michael."

"Good." His eyes slid shut and then opened again. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Michael, I promise. Now get some rest."

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Fiona only realized she had fallen asleep when the door to the room opened and Sam stepped inside balancing a tray in one hand. "Wakey, wakey sleepy head." He grinned as Fiona stretched and yawned.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Six. The sun's coming up and Jojo says we're just a couple of hours out. Whoa!" The last part came as the yacht suddenly seemed to rapidly drop several feet and then rise up again. "Must be getting into that bad weather." He carefully lowered the tray onto the table. "You better come grab some of this before it ends up all over the floor."

When the yacht first dropped and then rose up again, Fiona had found herself stuck staring at Michael. With her heart pounding in her chest, she remained frozen when the yacht repeated the action a second time. All the while she waited with baited breath as Michael remained asleep.

"If that first drop didn't wake him, I think you're safe to move, Fi."

Sam's quiet observation broke the spell and she began to breathe again. The older man was right. Michael was fine, at least for now.

"C'mon Fi, it took Jojo's cook ages to find that teabag. There was just one right at the back of a cupboard. He washed off most of the - - Hey, lady, no throwing!" Sam ducked the pillow that sailed through the air.

Joining him at the table, Fiona eyed the steaming mug of milky tea suspiciously before picking it up. Cupping between her hands, she sniffed it and then took a tiny sip. With an appreciative sigh, she peered at him over the top of the mug.

"Well, even if it was made with an old half rotten teabag, it's better than the swill you usually make me." she told him, before taking a longer drink and sliding onto a chair.

Picking up a slice of buttered toast, she asked. "So what did Jojo have to say?"

"Not a lot. He was too busy steering the boat and watching the radar. It was pitch black out there. "One thing he did say was it'll get worse the closer we get to land."

A groan, followed by a rustling of the bed covers, halted conversation as they looked over to the bed where Michael was staring upwards at the swaying light shade over his head with wide eyes and a confused expression.

Fiona was up in a flash darting to the bedside, one hand gently taking hold of his while the other coaxed him to look at her rather than the swinging light shade. "Just try to relax, Michael, it'll be over soon."

He risked a quick glance at her before turning back to stare at the ceiling. "I'm gonna be sick," he announced in a strangled whisper.

"I'll get a bowl. Hang on, buddy." Sam rushed as fast as he could on an injured leg, returning just time as Michael began to be sick. Leaving Fiona to cope with Michael, Sam backed away. "I'll go let Billy know we're going to need him."

()()

An hour later, the yachts speed slowed as the waves got bigger and rain began to lash down on them. Michael, with nothing in his stomach to throw up, was lying on his side, his head resting in Fiona's lap as she tried her best to soothe and calm him. Even with what was left of Billy's oxygen supplies, Michael was fading.

"Can't you give him something?" Sam demanded of Billy Clemens who was trying his best to control his own seasickness.

"I've got nothing to give him, not safely, anyway. Once we're off this boat, I can treat him. I sent Jojo's old lady a list of what I needed. He can last the rest of the journey; he's got this far."

"There must be something you can do," Fiona added. Michael had finally stopped fighting her but somehow as he lay limp and unresponsive, it was worse.

"I'd rather not, at least not until we're off this damn boat." His complexion suddenly turned a nasty shade of green and he rushed for the en-suite.

"I'm gonna find out how long 'til we tie up," Sam spoke grimly as he got to his feet and then another thought hit. "That's if we can tie up."

Sam had been gone for just a few minutes when Fiona felt Michael's fingers begin to twitch. He looked up at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "Hey," she smiled down at him, her fingers combing through his tangled hair.

The smile faded as instead of returning her greeting, his eyes rolled back leaving only the whites showing and his body arched and began to shake uncontrollably.

"BILLY! Get back in here now!" Fiona cried out as she fought desperately to stop Michael's flailing body falling off the bed.