Two years had passed, As Sam and Fi were getting Claire and Sammy ready to go shopping, the doorbell rang. Sam opened it with Claire in his arms, Fi in the background helping Sammy. Fi wasn't looking up when he opened the door.

"Michael," Sam said, the name heavy as it left his mouth.

At the sound of the name, Fi looked up from tying Sammy's shoe. Michael's gaze went from Sam to Fi and the kid in her arms, to the kid in Sam's.

"What's going on?" Michael asked.

Sam and Fi glanced at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.

Michael had been gone for nearly four years, mission after mission, leaving Fi to navigate a turbulent pregnancy alone. It had been rough on everybody. The weight of those years gone on Michael's part had changed things, but here they were, together again. Sam gently sat Claire down, stepping outside with Michael.

"What's going on Sam? Michael asked again.

He stepped out onto the porch, letting the door click shut behind him. He shifted Claire in his arms, her tiny hand gripping his shirt, before setting her down gently.

"This… this is complicated."

Michael's sharp gaze followed the little girl as she toddled to the door and peeked inside. His voice was tight, almost clipped.

"You going to tell me who they are, Sam? Or should I start guessing?"

Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

"Her name's Claire," he said, nodding towards the little girl now leaning against the door, peeking at him with wide, curious eyes.

"And the boy inside is Sammy."

Michael's brow furrowed, his expression darkening.

"Sammy." He repeated, the weight of the name hanging in the air.

"Sammy… as in Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, meeting Michael's accusing stare head-on.

"As in me."

Michael took a step back, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn't find the words. Finally, he blurted,

"You named him after yourself?"

"Fi did," Sam corrected, his voice calm but firm. "She wanted to."

Michael's eyes darted between Sam and the door, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together.

"And Claire…?"

"Legally she's mine…. Yours, biologically."

Michael's eyes widened. "What? Mine?"

"Yes, yours. Don't you remember her telling you, before you took off with Jesse with the CIA?"

Michael's gaze dropped to the ground, his jaw tightening. "I… I remember. She told me."

Sam stared at him, his expression darkening. "And you just ignored it? You left anyway?"

Michael sat down heavily on the porch steps, running a hand through his hair. "Yes. I heard her, Sam. I heard her say it. But I… I couldn't handle it. I was terrified."

Sam's fists clenched at his sides, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Terrified of what?"

Michael looked up at him, his voice trembling. "Of everything. Of being a father. Of not knowing what the hell I was doing. Of screwing up someone else's life the way my dad screwed up mine. I thought… if I stayed, I'd just make things worse for her. For Fi. For everyone."

Sam took a step back, pacing in front of him. "So, what? You just decided to leave? To pretend you didn't hear her? Fi was pregnant, Michael. She needed you, and you chose to disappear."

Michael's voice rose in frustration, his guilt spilling over. "You think I don't know that, Sam? You think I didn't spend the last four years hating myself for it? I didn't know how to be a father! I didn't know how to deal with the idea that there was a life depending on me—someone I could let down just by being me!"

Sam stopped pacing, turning to face him, his eyes blazing. "Do you think I knew how to be a dad when the nurse handed me Claire, barely breathing, because she was born too early? I didn't have a manual, Michael. Hell I was still trying to still figure out how to be a dad when Claire was eight months old and Fi told me she was pregnant with Sammy. I figured it out because I had to. Because two kids under the age of two and their mother needed me. And you know what? Fi needed you, too."

"I always let her down, Sam, ever since Ireland. Maybe it was better to do it sooner instead of later."

"And now you think you can just walk in and what? Be Claire's dad? Like nothing happened?"

"No!" Michael's voice cracked, and he took a step closer. "I don't expect that. I don't want to confuse her. I just… I want to know her. That's all I'm asking. Let me be a part of her life in some way. I'll be her uncle, not her father. I don't want to take your place, Sam. I just want a chance….and three favors."

Sam stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Michael. His eyes narrowed, studying him intently.

"What's the three favors?"

"Take care of those three in there, take care of yourself, and I need a sniper I can trust."

"A sniper you trust? What's going on, Mike?" Sam's voice was cautious, almost suspicious.

Michael hesitated, his jaw tightening.

"I can't explain everything right now. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Sam folded his arms across his chest, his gaze unwavering.

"And this has nothing to do with Fi? Or Claire?"

"No," Michael said firmly, though there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—that crossed his face.

"This is... separate."

Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

"You always have a reason, don't you? You're going to owe me for this one. Big time, not just a six pack."

Michael nodded, relief flickering across his face.

"I know."

"Stay here," Sam said walking back to the house.

Fi was in the living room, cradling Sammy while Claire played nearby with a set of blocks. The soft clatter of wood on wood filled the room. Then she heard the heavy sound of the front door opening and Sam's footsteps. Something about the way he moved caught her attention; she looked up, catching the look in his eye as he walked in.

"What's going on?"

Sam hesitated, coming over to them sitting beside her.

"Michael needs help with a job."

Fi's eyes narrowed.

"Michael always needs something. What is it this time, your help doing what?" Fi's tone sharpened, and Claire looked up briefly, sensing the change in her mother's voice.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze, then sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"He wants me to back him up on something. Something that involves a sniper."

Fi's expression hardened, her grip on Sammy tightening slightly.

"A sniper? Sam, you told me we were done with that kind of thing, when Claire was born. We have kids now. A family."

"I know," Sam said quickly, his voice low but steady. "And I'm not jumping into anything without thinking it through. But Mike wouldn't come to me if it wasn't serious."

Fi let out a frustrated breath, shaking her head.

"Serious or not, he has a habit of dragging you into messes he can't handle himself. And you—" She stopped, looking at him intently.

"You can't just think about Michael anymore. You have us to think about. Claire. Sammy."

"I am always thinking about you three," Sam said, stepping closer, sitting beside her. "I always do. But this isn't just about Mike. It's about... who I am. I can't just ignore him if he's in trouble. I'll always help my family and friends if they need it."

Fi stared at him, her eyes softening slightly but still clouded with worry. "If you go, you make sure he understands this is the last time. I'm not raising these kids without you, Sam."

Sam nodded solemnly, closing his eyes, leaning his head against hers. He smiled as she sighed and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes, gently kissing her. He broke the kiss, whispering, "I know, Fi. I won't let that happen."

"You'd better go."

Sam nodded, kissing Sammy's head. Sammy giggled saying, "Daddy!"

He got up, walking over to Claire, quickly picking her up and tickling her. He kissed her cheek, saying, "Be good for mommy."

"When you be back?"

"By the time you wake up."

Claire nodded. "Love you daddy."

Sam sat her down, looking at Fi once more.

"I love you three."

"We love you too," Fi smiled.

When Sam and Michael stepped into the house later that night, the evening was quiet, except for the hum of the television in the living room. Sam's eyes immediately fell on the scene, Fi fast asleep on the couch, Claire nestled against her, and Sammy sprawled across her lap. A small smile tugged at his lips, his heart warm at the sight. Michael, trailing behind, froze at the door, his gaze fixed on the scene also.

"Should we wake them?" Michael whispered, his jaw tight.

Sam shook his head.

"Let them sleep. They look comfortable. You can stay in the guest room, if you want."

Michael gave a curt nod and headed towards the bedroom without another word. Sam lingered in the living room for a moment, his eyes tracing the peaceful picture on the couch. He turned to leave, but stopped when he saw Michael standing in the doorway, his posture stiff and his expression stormy.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Michael replied sharply, going into the guest room.

Sam frowned and followed, leaning against the door frame as Michael rifled through his bag, his movements quick, almost aggressive, and the tension in the air was palpable

"Mikey."

Michael froze, his shoulders visibly tense. When he turned to face Sam, his eyes were dark with frustration- but not at Sam.

"What? You want to gloat? Tell me how great of a father you are, how all three of them worship the ground you walk on, while I'm just some stranger walking back into my kid's life."

The bitterness in Michael's tone made Sam flinch. He straightened, crossing his arms defensively. "That's not what I'm doing, Mike," Sam said quietly. "I'm just trying to—"

"To what?" Michael cut him off, his voice rising. "To make this easier? For who? Claire? For me? Or for you?"

"That's not fair, Michael. You left. Fi told you and you left, Claire doesn't even know who you really are, you just begged me hours ago to be uncle Michael. I'm not trying to take your place. You're her father, and no one is denying that. But you left. Claire didn't even know you existed until a few hours ago. She's just a toddler trying to…."

"I know!" Michael shouted, his voice cracking.

He looked away, his hands balling into fists.

"I know I left, okay? I know I screwed it all up. But this morning I watched the four of you through the glass, I heard both of them calling you 'Daddy,' and I feel like I'm just…nothing."

Sam's expression softened as realization dawned. Michael wasn't angry at him—he was angry at himself. He stepped closer, his voice gentler now.

"That's enough Mikey, it's not a competition. She's got room in her heart for both of us, but you've got to give her time. She's still figuring out who you are, just like you're going to figure out how or if you want to be in her life."

Michael's shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath, his anger draining as quickly as it had come. He sat down on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

"I just... I feel like I'm too late," he murmured, his voice muffled.

"You're not too late," Sam said softly. "But you've got to forgive yourself first. Otherwise, this is just going to keep eating you alive."

Michael didn't respond, but the tension in his frame began to ease. Sam lingered for a moment longer before stepping back toward the door, giving him the space he needed.

"I'm here if you want to talk," Sam said quietly before leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.

Sam returned to the living room and settled into the armchair near the couch, watching the sleeping forms of Fi and the kids. He felt the weight of Michael's frustration but didn't know how to really help. Fi stirred slowly, waking up, looking around, smiling at the kids. She looked up, seeing Sam smiling at them.

"What?" she whispered, her voice laced with sleepy confusion.

Sam chuckled softly, standing and moving to her side. He reached out a hand to help her sit up, his touch gentle.

"You just looked too perfect to wake up," he teased in a low voice.

"What time is it? How did the job go with Michael?"

"It's late, the job is over, Michael's in the guest room. He's… processing some things. Should we leave them?"

"You okay?" Fi whispered.

"Yeah," Sam hesitated, then nodded.

"I'll be fine. It's just… complicated."

"Complicated? Of course, it's complicated. He walked away, Sam. He left me—left us—when I needed him the most. And now he's what? Processing?"

Sam exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I know. I get it. But—"

"But what?" Fi cut in, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself, glancing toward the kids' room. She lowered her voice but not her intensity. "But he's sorry? But he didn't know how to deal with it? That doesn't change the fact that I went through my entire pregnancy alone, wondering every day if he'd even remember he had a kid on the way."

"I carried Claire, terrified something would go wrong because she came early. I sat in the NICU for weeks, watching her fight to breathe, praying she'd make it, and Michael? Michael was God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what, because his feelings mattered more than his child."

Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, her anger still simmering. "And now he shows up, looking for what? Redemption? Forgiveness? A pat on the back for finally remembering he has a daughter? He doesn't just get to walk in and pretend the last two years didn't happen, Sam."
Sam reached for her hand, his voice low and steady. "Fi, I understand… I know I was there, remember?"

"Of course I do….He left me. And you were the one who stayed. You were the one who stepped up, who held my hand when I was scared, who held her when she was too small to do anything but fight to survive. He's Claire's biological father, Sam, but you? You're her dad."

"And I'm damn proud of it, and I love her, her brother, and their mother with every fiber of my being," he whispered, pulling her close, letting her rest against him as her emotions finally quieted.

"I don't deserve you, Fi. You make all this easier, even when everything else feels like a mess."

"Yes you do, you deserve the kids and I, it's us that don't deserve you."

Sam held her close, his mind still tangled in the mess of everything, but for the moment, he let it all fade away. With her, he had everything he needed.