A/N Part one: The song Zack is listening to on repeat is "Wish It Was True" By The White Buffalo.

Angie kissed me on the cheek as I combed the hair that was still growing out, wrapping her arms around me from behind and watching me work in the mirror.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She shook her head, "Just admiring the view."

I smiled and grabbed her hand, pressing my lips to her knuckles.

A year out from that day in the gym and things had only gotten better. Angie and I had gone for that drink, promptly ditched dinner, and wound up at her place, drinking wine and making love until neither of us could move. It was the best night of my life. We'd found each other under the worst possible circumstances and flourished. I'd moved into her place after a few months. Happy didn't begin to describe us, sure she got some odd looks for falling for a patient, but it couldn't put a dent in the love we felt for each other, love that, she'd breathlessly confessed to me after the first time we'd had sex, she'd been feeling for a lot longer than she let on.

Tonight was special; it was a little after my year anniversary of being NED or no evidence of disease, cancer-free, done with that horse-shit… Top that with the news that I'd just been cleared to get back to the Fire Department?

It was a night worth celebrating.

I had a feeling Angie had a trick up her sleeve.

Mom, Dad, and Jen had cleared their schedules and were waiting downstairs for us as I put the finishing touches on the fitted suit Ange had insisted I wear.

Like I said, tricky shit was afoot.

I locked up as we walked out, marveling at the tight green dress she'd elected to wear, the deep emerald matching my dress shirt, and her eyes.

She was breathtaking as always.

The walk down the driveway path was filled with loving little touches, her hand ghosting over mine, my hand gently grazing a hip. It was like that, and it was so good.

The family was gathered around my dad's rig; the old pickup was more practical on the snowy Montana roads.

"Fuckin' Finally!" Jen shouted, grinning, "We thought you two had gotten a little extracurricular on us."

Angie blushed but shot right back, "For us, it's just curricular Jenny, all day every day, my man knows how to treat a lady."

Jen gagged; Mom stepped up and hugged us both, Dad following suit.

"Are we all ready?" Mom asked.

Ange nodded, "Yes, but…" She turned to me, "Baby, I have some things to… discuss with your parents. Would you mind following us in the Benz?"

She pulled the keys out and dangled 'em in front of me; she knew I loved driving her car, even more than my own Mustang. I felt my buttons being pushed…But I really liked driving her car.

"Sure thing, babe," I grabbed the keys and hooked an arm around her waist; she squeaked a little when I pulled her close, kissing her deeply.

I broke the kiss and whispered softly, getting a little lost in those deep green pools, "I know you're up to something, Doc…"

She shook her head, blushing to the tips of her ears, "Not remotely."

"My ass… but I'll play along…"

"Outstanding," she whispered, kissing my cheek, "just follow us and stay close okay?"

"On you, baby girl."

I glanced over at the family as Angie almost skipped away. Jen flipped me off as she climbed in; Dad gave me a small wave, getting behind the wheel. Angie hopped in without a look back, and I could already hear the excited tone she was using with everyone as I walked over to fire up the Benz. I adjusted the seats, checked the mirror, and settled into the plush leather, spinning the radio dial until some decent country music came on. Dad flashed the high-beams a moment later, and I wheeled in behind them as we pulled out onto the road, headed for God knew where.

But the diamond ring in my pocket told me that no matter where we ended up, it was gonna be a good night…

Everything was pain.

Hands held me down as consciousness came rocketing back, and I screamed long and loud.

Harsh light assaulted my eyes, my vision blurred out, I couldn't tell where I was, and my first instinct was to start breaking shit.

Someone's fingers went first with a wet crunch.

"Fuck! My fucking hand!"

"Sedate him!"

A stinging pain, and I was gone.

There was nothing for a long time.

Nothing but my memories in the blackness…

My eyes opened to the beeping of an EKG, the world slowly swam into focus, and it all came rushing back. Kanda and her Mom, The Cartel assholes, taking a fucking bullet to the chest…

I was in a bed hooked up to all manner of shit, from EKG leads to an O2 monitor, and more worryingly, to two separate bags of Hypertonic saline.

Treatment for Hemorrhagic Shock…

I stuck that line of questioning in the shoebox; I didn't need to think about how much blood I'd lost. I scanned around the room; the dim light and whatever they'd doped me up with all made it really hard to focus. I was underground, I could tell by the smell of it, all musty and dark. I definitely wasn't in a hospital, like I should've been. A silhouette moved in the darkness, just the barest edges of someone.

"Hello?" I rasped, sounding like someone had rubbed my vocal cords with sandpaper.

"I'd say we're even, wouldn't you?" Came a smooth voice from the blackness, a lighter snapped and illuminated my benefactor, clad in a slate grey business suit.

I could've sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees.

"Hello Balalaika," I coughed, and pain ripped through me, "Ow, fuck…Yeah…we're even."

She rolled the cigar against the flame, smiling around it before clicking the Zippo shut.

"My, but it's so gloomy in here," Cloaked in shadow again, she moved to the wall, and with a snap, the same harsh light diffused the room. I brought a pale hand up to shield my eyes.

It saves my life, then tries to fucking blind me…

Balalaika stood with her back to me for a moment, turning for the slow reveal like a fucking Bond villain, but her face…She looked tired, beyond tired, dark circles hung under her eyes, which seemed dull and lifeless. But with none of the blatant malice they'd held in the past.

"I have to apologize to you, something which I'm loathe to do under the best of circumstances…My men received a tip about your patient; she's fine by the way, her mother as well, and safely in our care. The information told us that she had witnessed some things, one of the more ambitious Mexican Cartels operating inside our sphere. They tracked her down and…corrected the issue, leaving her for dead. The wild card here was you saving her life. I'm sure you can piece together the rest."

Caught in some gang fight bullshit…

"They rolled on me before the word spread wide."

She nodded, "Except we already knew. I sent the Sergeant to protect the clinic, but the notice came too late, and you paid a high price for it. Please accept my apologies; this was a grievous oversight on my part and a breach of our agreement."

What the fuck is happening right now.

Shaking off my shock at the show of humanity from the icy paratrooper, I dug for the words…"Thank you for saving my life, and there's no need to apologize. I-

She cut me off, "After all, you can't very well return my investment if you're dead."

There it is.

I let my head drop back to the pillow, staring at the ceiling, "Balalaika… that was the most backhanded shit I've ever heard in my life."

"Take it or leave it, Mr. Briggs." I could hear a smile in her voice; she knew I wasn't in a position to do shit about anything.

I smirked at the ceiling, "I'll take it… How long have I been here?"

"You've been resting for a few days, six to be exact. The damage was…considerable."

"How considerable?"

"I'm told a matter of millimeters in one direction or another, and we wouldn't be having this conversation. You're lucky my men had the foresight to enlist the services of a doctor from a nearby hospital."

I deadpanned, "You guys kidnapped him, didn't you?"

"Kidnap is such an ugly word, but yes."

I snorted, and another wave of pain rippled through me, "Did he say anything about recovery?"

"I think it would be best if you and the good Doctor had that conversation. Sergeant?"

Footsteps thudded downstairs behind her; Boris led a pale looking Thai dude into the room, nudging him towards my bed; he kept casting terrified looks at Balalaika, flinching when she spoke.

"This is Doctor Saelim. Do you need me to translate?"

I shook my head.

"Hello, Doctor. Thanks for taking care of me." I smiled, trying to put him at ease; poor guy looked a mess.

"H-hello, sir…It was…I was just doing my job." His voice shook when he spoke.

"Is there anything I need to know? One medical professional to another?"

He shook his head, his voice gaining strength as he dropped into "Doctor Mode" as he set about disconnecting various wires, gently pulling my IV, "The bullet to the chest barely missed your heart, your spine likewise, you were fortunate, blood loss was substantial, and pneumothorax occurred on your way here, I managed to get the lung re-inflated and stem the bleeding. Thankfully the shoulder injury was a result of fragments from a ricochet and only caused minor wounds. Post-operatively? The standard course of antibiotics, stay off your feet for the rest of this week, light work for another three to ensure faster healing."

I grimaced, "Doc, I have a clinic to run, is there anything else we can do?"

He looked apologetic and terrified in equal measure, "I'm sorry, but no, it will simply take time and rest."

"Fuck…" I muttered, lapsing into English as I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

"Okay, Doc, thank you again."

He smiled weakly, handing me a large bottle of horse pills and a smaller bottle I recognized as painkillers, "Three a day until they're gone. Vicodin as needed. Good luck."

I nodded, giving him another smile.

Balalaika gave Boris the nod, and the Doc was whisked back up the stairs.

"Satisfied?" She asked once we were alone again.

I shook my head, "Not by a long shot, but I have to cop to it. The only request I have? Let me out of this fucking basement; I'd rather recover at my clinic."

She regarded me for a moment, "Have it your way; I can hardly fault you for wanting out of this tomb. I'll have the Sergeant get you home." She headed for the stairs, pausing at the first step, "One more thing. This attack will be answered in kind; the men responsible will be wiped from this city. You have my word."

"I know…" I searched for something more meaningful to say, knowing it would mean less than zero to the ice queen, I came up short.

"Thank you."

My answer was heels meeting wood as she headed up, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Called it.

Muted conversation reached down from the top of the stairs, and a few moments later, heavy boots thudded down the steps; Boris appeared, offering a small smile.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by two buses and a fucking truck tovarisch. Let's get the fuck out of here."

He nodded, offering a hand, "The Kapitan had your home cleaned; it was also requested that we make some…improvements; I believe you will be pleased."

I quirked an eyebrow as he hauled me out of bed onto my unsteady legs.

"Improvements?"

He wasn't kidding.

"You weren't kidding."

He passed me a smoke, smiling at my shocked look and holding out his lighter. I lit it, flying in the face of every doctor's order since forever. But I wasn't about to quit. My formerly spartan room had been overhauled; the threadbare bed was gone, replace by a canopy job with a sinfully soft-looking queen mattress, a nightstand sat within arm's reach, complete with an antique-looking table lighter and what looked like a Bluetooth stereo. What really caught my eye was a large leather bag sitting atop the mattress.

Hmm.

"When your boss apologizes for something, she really apologizes."

"The Kapitan has honor, we all do, no matter where we find ourselves in life, even if we find ourselves having to conduct dishonorable business… Our honor is the one thing they cannot take from us."

I glanced over at him to answer, but his eyes were vacant; the man was a million miles away, seeing something I never would. I let him have the moment, gently pulling on my cigarette. He finally shook his head. "At least you will be comfortable during your recovery; some of my men will personally guard you until this issue is resolved. Also, there was some…theft, after we extracted you, your weapon and most of your effects were stolen, the locks prevented them from getting into the medical supplies, but everything that could be stolen was."

I stubbed my smoke out in the ashtray, settling on the mattress; it was as soft as it looked, "Of course… is that what this is about?" I waved my hand at the bag.

He nodded, "Replacements."

I unzipped the expensive feeling leather, A Glock 19, in a Kydex holster, sat on top of a pile of folded clothes; I spied blue jeans, a few t-shirts, a pair of Bandera hiking boots, and other odds and ends, the cherry was a carton of my brand of smokes, a little bow adorned the outside. I held them up and raised an eyebrow.

Boris chuckled, "Alexei, he said it was a "get well" gift."

That drew a laugh out of me, "Well, tell him I said thanks, is there anything else I need to know?"

He shook his head, "For now, that is all. Rest, and we will keep an eye out for trouble." He held out my cell; I snagged it and dropped it on the mattress next to me, extending my hand.

"Thanks, Boris, be safe out there, huh?"

He nodded, shaking my hand, "I will, get better." He turned on a heel shutting the door behind him.

I gingerly set the bag on the floor, pulling out my new gun and digging for magazines, finding them full in a side pocket. I looked over my new toy, pulling a quick function check before loading a mag and chambering a round. I already missed my .45… but I'd carried the Glock for a few years; it was like seeing an old friend again. I rolled onto the mattress, setting the weapon and a spare magazine on the nightstand where I could get to them quickly.

That done, I relaxed into the plush pillows, lighting a smoke and downing one of the fat antibiotics and a Vicodin, washing it all down with a bottle of water.

Music.

I snatched up my cell, linking it to the stereo and scrolling my playlists, looking for something to stay whacked on painkillers to.

There we go.

It was a song full of memories, good and bad.

But as I laid there smoking, on a plush bed donated by a Russian mob boss, in the heart of one of the most violent cities to ever exist, and nursing the aftermath of a sucking chest wound?

It fit.

I put it on repeat and settled in, letting the drugs work their way through my system, whistling along softly as it played over and over, the painkiller haze overtaking me as the music became almost spiritual, more beautiful than it had any right to be…

I used the last of my strength to stub the smoke out before I faded. The strains of the melody lulling me to sleep.

And just like always… they waited for me in the dark…

Two long days passed, I was going out of my mind; you can only play Angry Birds for so long…Until the outside world came knocking.

"Mr. Briggs?" Came the Russian accented voice from outside my door.

I cleared my throat, "Yeah?"

"Visitors."

"Send 'em in."

The door swung in, and a mountain of a man walked inside.

"Hey, D."

"Hey bud," He rumbled, stepping aside to reveal Rock, who gave me a wave.

"Hello Zack, how are you feeling?"

I pushed myself up onto the pillows, "Better, thanks, Rock. What brings you guys here?"

"We were in the neighborhood. Wanted to see how you were healing up." Dutch answered.

"Well shit, thanks, grab a chair, guys."

They nodded in turn; Dutch took a seat by the window, Rock grabbed a flimsy-looking rocking chair that had been here when I'd moved in.

"So what's been going on in the world? The Russians are kinda tight-lipped."

Rock took the lead, "There have been some…shake-ups in the city."

"Shit's been exploding," Dutch offered.

I chuckled, "Yeah, seems to be par for the course."

"Not like this man, someone is wiping out this Mexican Cartel that showed up; word on the street is they're the same guys who took you out."

Dutch's wraparound anti-flash shades gave nothing away, but he was fishing all the same.

Rock was watching me too, waiting for something.

"They didn't know the rules, and now they're paying for it would be my guess."

Dutch nodded, "My thoughts exactly, listen, I wanted to give you a piece of advice, something that I wouldn't be passing on if we didn't have history…" he lowered his voice, "Balalaika is one of our clients, and I gotta tell you, man, you need to tread lightly here, she's annihilating these guys, wiping them out to the last man, because they dared to go against her. The only people in the world she cares about are her men, and even then? Who knows?"

I nodded, "Trackin', I got the impression when she tuned me up that I was just a means to an end more than an actual person in her eyes. She set this clinic up so she can say, "look how fucking benevolent I am!" I have no illusions there, brother. I didn't think for a second that her actions have a damn thing to do with my well-being."

Dutch gave me a small nod, seemingly satisfied, "Good, you're a good man, and I already had to save your ass once, don't want to have to do it again."

I chuckled, still watching Rock watching me. His eyes held an intelligence that he kept close to the vest, "You have anything to add, Rock?"

He smiled, "Other than vehemently seconding Dutch's sentiments? No. Just glad to see you're okay."

I returned his smile, he was a good guy, and I'd be lucky to call him a friend.

Dutch cut in, "Brings me to the other reason I'm here; word has it that you saved her life, real smooth with it too. Then you killed some of the Cartel guys when they came for the girl. Got me thinking. If you ever need some extra work, I know you're handy with a weapon, even handier with an aid bag, and… well, there it is. A part-time gig if you're looking for it."

I chewed on it for a bit, "You guys work with everyone, don't you? Colombians, Triads, and Balalaika?"

He nodded, "Anyone who can pay, don't have the luxury of being choosy."

Did I want to be a smuggler, a criminal? Was that me?

"Let me think on it D, I've got commitments here, but I appreciate you taking the chance; I'll say this. If you guys ever find yourselves in a real bind? I'm a phone call away."

Dutch smiled, "I'll keep it in mind. So, it looks like they've got you comfortable, at least?"

I nodded, and the conversation flowed from there; when the guys finally left, we'd promised to meet for drinks when I was healed up, and they were back from their next gig.

It was good to have friends.

Speaking of friends, I should probably go see Eda at some point, apologize for guilting her into staying here.

I leaned back against the headboard and lit a smoke.

One of these days, my luck was going to run out…

Now we play the waiting game.

I laid around for a few more days until I could move and then cleaned some more, feeling better every day as the time stretched on. I'd been fielding texts from Dave too. Africa was going critical, Boko Haram and Al-Shabaab were acting in concert, more refugees, and the world governments were starting to get involved.

My Russian guards, Pyotr and Mikhail, brought me food and hung out, generally keeping me from going insane. They'd warmed up to me over the last two weeks, and we swapped stories about the craziness of the world; they were good guys, sharp and on the stick.

"So I told her, darling, either that bird goes, or I do! And that's how I wound up here!" Mikhail finished with a laugh, detailing his fall from grace; we sat in my office while Pyotr watched the sidewalk.

I chuckled, "Jesus…that's…kinda sad, actually."

He shrugged, his dark eyes sparkling with humor, "She thinks I'm dead, no alimony! Ha!"

"Way to beat the system, Misha."

"Brilliant, right?"

I was about to answer when someone knocked; both of our hands drifted towards weapons before Pyotr spoke from the other side of the door.

"Misha! The Captain is here to see Mr. Briggs."

Fucking hell, what'd I do this time?

Misha scrambled to open the door, revealing Balalaika and Boris, the former spoke, all business.

"Hello, Zack. I'm glad to see you're healing up well.

"I am, thanks. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She crossed her arms, and I found a spot on the wall to stare at, "I don't have much time, a meeting to attend, but I wanted to inform you personally that the issue regarding your safety has been remedied."

I smiled, "I appreciate the personal touch, Balalaika."

"Of course, after that…unpleasantness, I believe I owed you the courtesy. Don't get used to it." She smirked haughtily. The gangster I knew asserting itself.

I gave Boris a nod, and he gave me a bare smile in return as Balalaika continued.

"I will be withdrawing my guards from this point forward. If you need any other supplies to keep the place up and running, contact the Sergeant. Gentlemen? Let's go." She turned and led the way out, Boris following close behind her.

Misha and Pyotr snapped to attention, giving me a nod in turn as they followed her out into the street, the front door closing with a click.

I lit a smoke and leaned back against my desk, glancing around the room; I'd done everything I could without getting into the heavy lifting. The place was as ready for new patients as it was gonna get.

A drink was in order. I'd almost died, and getting drunk was firmly on the docket. I slipped the Glock on and headed for the door, locking up and starting for the 'Flag. I spent the walk smoking, stopping briefly to grab some shumai from a street vendor, munching on the dumplings that were definitely pork and not some mystery meat.

I was two blocks away from the bar when I heard the gunfire; someone was partying big time.

Most street gunfights last maybe ten to thirty-seconds, max; either someone bugs out or someone dies.

This was not that; the gunfire increased in tempo, followed by the dull thump of a detonating grenade. I picked up my pace, and the more I walked, the more I realized it was coming from the 'Flag. I dropped my shumai and took off running, boots pounding on the pavement as I drew my Glock, rounding the last corner.

The bar was in ruins; bullets had blown out the front window and shredded one of the doors. I could see a fire burning inside, and someone was still shooting, deep booming reports that could only be a shotgun. Rounds flew out of the building, whining and skipping off streetlights and asphalt; I got low and moved behind the engine block of a parked shitbox, watching from around the bumper. My heart dropped when I recognized one of the rigs parked out front.

Dutch's GTO.

Well, shit, can't let that one hang.

I took a deep breath and looked around the car, sprinting through the fire and making for the busted out window; I was halfway across the street when the remaining door flew off the hinges. Dutch blew out, hauling a limp Revy, followed by a blonde guy that I didn't recognize.

"D!" I shouted across the expanse, "The fuck over!?"

His head snapped up at my voice, "Briggs! We're in it! Give me a hand!"

I hit the gas, getting most of the way; Rock came running out the door of the now openly burning bar, carrying a small body…and the 'Flag exploded behind him, deep rumbling explosions of shrapnel and fire that sent me diving to the asphalt.

"FUCK!" I shouted, my ears ringing, rolling to my feet.

"DUTCH, WHAT THE FUCK?"

He was shoving Revy into the back of the Goat, the blonde dude who must've been Benny, the fourth member of their outfit, sat behind the wheel, revving the engine anxiously. I reached the car and thumped on the roof.

"Anybody injured? Revy?"

"Concussion!" Dutch called back, "We gotta motor!"

Rock was still carrying the kid, a young boy.

"Get in!" Dutch roared at him, "Hurry!"

Rock slid into the back seat, climbing over Revy and setting the kid on the far side.

"D, what do you need?" I cut in.

He ran a hand over his bald head, "The kid is our PC; pursuit is trying to get him back; I need security."

"Get him back? Did you grab a fucking kid? The fuck D?!"

"I just take the money, Briggs; you ain't a saint either."

I stared him down through the lenses of his anti-flash glasses.

"Fuck, fine. I'll pull trail, let me snatch a rig, and I'll be on your ass. This conversation isn't fucking over!" I shouted over my shoulder as I ran for one of the less bullet-riddled cars on the far side of the street. I found one that looked like it would still run, throwing an elbow through the window, popping the locks, and sliding behind the wheel, tossing my Glock onto the seat.

Keys keys keys.

I dropped the visor and tried the glovebox.

The center console was next…nothing.

Fuck it.

I used my knife to pop off the ignition lock, jamming the blade into the column and twisting it hard. The car roared to life; I only hoped it could keep up with Detroit muscle. I flashed the high beams, revving the engine, and the Goat roared off the line; I dumped the clutch and roared after them, wondering just what the fuck I'd stumbled into this time.

The speedometer crept past sixty as we weaved our way through the streets towards the port, pulling out onto the highway. I lit a smoke and kept an eye on the rearview mirror; Dutch said we'd have company.

He wasn't wrong.

A sleek silver Benz came roaring up behind us; I pulled the Glock into my lap, keeping an eye on the approaching rig.

Did I even want to stop them?

Maybe not.

But I wanted Dutch alive so that he could explain this shit to me.

The Benz came flush with me, and I glanced over. A woman sat behind the wheel. Is she wearing a fucking French maid outfit? Silver glasses obscured her eyes, but I could feel her staring straight through me. We locked gazes and stayed like that for a second before she swerved into my shit-box; I jacked on the brakes, bleeding my speed and letting her crash into the guardrail; I grabbed a gear and shot around her, racing to catch up with Dutch. I grabbed fifth, pushing a hundred now. A quick glance in the rearview showed that the psycho maid had recovered and was after my soul. Dutch's taillights were still squarely in front of me, and the port was coming up quick.

CRACK-THUNK!

You never forget the sound of bullets hitting a car that you just happen to be driving at the time. That kinda shit sticks with you. I started weaving as another shot blew out my back window and punched holes in the passenger seat. That must've been the shotgun I heard earlier.

She was on my rear quarter panel now, holding up what looked like an umbrella, pointing it squarely at my head. Call me crazy, but I'd lay money that it wasn't really an umbrella.

I ducked as buckshot shredded the headrest.

Look at me winning.

I grabbed my Glock and popped up, firing a string of rounds into her windshield, just trying to keep her head down, the gunfire deafening me in the small space. She weaved around me, getting on-line and dumping more buckshot into my hood, trying to blow the engine.

Oh, fuck you, lady.

I downshifted and yanked the wheel; the small loss in speed put me right where I needed to be, and my right front wheel kissed her back left. The effect was immediate and dramatic.

She began to fishtail wildly, cutting in front of me as I floored it, pushing her car perpendicular to mine and rolling it in one motion. I hit the brakes as the Benz flipped end over end down a hundred yards of highway before finally landing on its tires, unmoving.

I blasted around it, picking up all the speed I could to catch up to the others.

Fuck tonight and the horse it rode in on.

A/N Part Deux: He does have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, doesn't he? Poor guy just wanted a beer. Roberta is nothing to fuck with. Less suffering and more plot from here on out.

I'll probably go AU a little so that I can play with timelines and events, nothing too crazy. Above all, this is a story of my MC; and I want to tell it while not eclipsing the amazing story that is Black Lagoon, so he may hang out on the periphery of events, but he won't be the guns blazing Mary Sue that saves the day by himself and nails every female character in Roanapur.

That's cheap as hell and, quoting the late great Chadwick Boseman, "We don't do that here."