FIC: The Past Is Rarely Behind Us (2/?)

[circephan]

Title: The Past Is Rarely Behind Us (2/?)
Author: circephan 
Fandom: Burn Notice
Characters: Sam, Michael, Fiona, Nate, Madeline, Agent Harris, Agent Lane
Pairing(s): Eventual Michael/Sam, slight Michael/Fiona, and of course slight Sam/Random women.
Rating: Teen (for now)
Warnings: None as of yet.
Summary: Sam's past comes back to bite him and he's forced to go on the run, but Michael refuses to let him go alone.

---


Michael Westen didn’t have many days off. Between making enough money to pay for both his rent and god-knows what for his mother, and trying to find the bastards that burned him, free time just wasn’t exactly bountiful. Or desired, for that matter. Michael was never good at sitting still. Unfortunately, there were no jobs readily available and he was still waiting to her from a contact, leaving him with one dull day.

After much pushing from Fiona, and one very long inner-debate, he’d finally decided to go to his mother’s house to help her with the things she’s oh so subtly been hinting she needed done but couldn’t do. By this he meant, of course, that whenever Michael brought ‘clients’ over, she would give long, sorrowful sighs, but tell anyone who asked that nothing was wrong… unless that someone was Michael, and on occasion, Sam. She was still mad at him for blowing up her house, after all, and had no qualms about putting him to work.

Michael gritted his teeth, wondering how after a lifetime of emotions carefully concealed to keep from blowing his cover, his mom managed to bring out every frustration in him. Still, he said nothing, carefully adjusting the bookcase into the position he’d been instructed to. “There, Mom?”

Madeline studied its new location with a careful eye. “Maybe a little to the right?”

Michael sent her a look. “Mom, if I move it any more to the right, it’ll be on top of the entertainment center.”

She took a drag of her cigarette, considering. “You’re right… Maybe if you move the entertainment center…”

Michael considered going up to the roof he had to fix and jumping off of it. He was beginning to figure out if that would end his life or just break a bunch of bones when his phone went off.

…And said I’m sorry that you have to push me home.

And I said hey, that’s what brothers are for.

Michael could’ve blushed at the smirk his mother sent him as she heard his ring tone.

“That’s cute Michael.”

Grumbling, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to answer it. “What is it, Nate?” he asked silently hoping that he wouldn’t have to bail him out of trouble.

“Michael... I just… I got this call. Kind of important.”

A call? Michael furrowed his brows in confusion. What important call would Nate get that involved him? “What is it, Nate?” he asked, already grabbing the keys to the charger.

“Is Nate in trouble?” Madeline asked, immediately worried about her youngest son.

“Look, I don’t know what it means, but I guess you probably do. He said…” Nate cursed quietly on the other line, trying to remember the exact words. “He said that your buddy still owes you a drink, so you need to call. Okay?”

Michael almost stopped dead in his tracks. “I have to go Nate.”

“Alright, Michael… Good luck, okay?”

“Thank you, Nate.” Michael hung up the phone.

“Michael!” Madeline repeated urgently. “Is your brother in trouble?”

“No,” Michael rubbed his eyes. “Sam is. I have to go, Mom.” He didn’t wait for a response, hurrying out of the house before she could ask any questions. It was such a simple code, one among Fiona, Sam and himself. They developed it after the two of them started getting dragged into his Burn Notice mess. It meant one thing: something’s wrong.

He slid into the charger, pulling out almost immediately to find the nearest stand that would sell him a cell phone. Getting into town, it wasn’t difficult. He climbed out, smirking wryly as he saw a young woman at the stand sending him a strange look. She recognized him.

“Let me guess, you’d like a ‘Hello Sweetheart’?”

Michael held out the money and she rolled her eyes, handing him the cheap pink phone. He wasted no time getting back to the car and dialing the secure number he’d memorized long ago.

-

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin as his phone went off. His senses were still on high alert, waiting for any kind of danger. He silently thanked Nate for making the call so quickly, though.

He grabbed the phone, holding it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Sam?” Sam smiled as he heard the relief in his friend’s voice. He was probably just glad to hear that he was still alright for now.

“'Yeah Mikey, it’s me.” He felt his own wave of relief, resting his forehead against the steering wheel once more.

Sam, what’s wrong?”

The retired Seal closed his eyes, feeling a bit of shame wash over him. “Mikey, I…” he shook his head. “Look, I just… Remember our FBI buddies?”

“… Yes.”

“Well… they’ve got a new favorite.” Sam told him, chuckling, though there was no humor behind it. “I’m in some trouble, Mike… I need your help.”

“Sam… what did you do?”

Sam winced at the completely calm tone that Michael used. “It was a long time ago, Mikey, okay? I… I told you a little bit, remember? I just… I did some bad things when I was younger, and… and it just got out.”

There was a deep sigh on the other line. “Alright, Sam. I expect a full explanation later though. Where are you?”

“I know. Wouldn’t drag you into this without an explanation.” Sam looked up at the concrete bridge. “I’m under the road bridge, heading North to the rougher part of the beach.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t bring the charger.”

“I know, Sam,” Michael answered patiently. He knew that already, but he understood Sam being nervous about the entire thing. “I’ll see you soon… Don’t worry, alright?”

“Alright.” Sam took a deep breath, sitting up straight. “Thanks Mikey.”

“Any time, Sam.”

Hanging up the phone, Sam considered his situation. He didn’t want to explain to Michael the kinds of things he’d been involved in. They were supposed to be in the past. He’d received a promise from a friend -- a friend they’d helped only a couple years ago! -- that nothing would be said.

“Damn it,” he hissed under his breath, banging a fist on the dashboard. This wasn’t how his retirement was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be running from the feds for something that happened 30 years ago. He was supposed to be sitting on the beach drinking mojitos and picking up scantily-clad women.

Karma just had a way of biting you in the ass, didn’t it?

Shaking his head, Sam climbed out of the caddy, peering down at his beloved vehicle. So much money and time had been put in, fixing her after all the crap she’d been through. It pained him to know that he would have to give her up. She was registered to his name, after all. It would be way to easy for them to find him in it.

Oh, how cruel the world is.

For now, Sam spent his time, well… pacing. There wasn’t a whole lot more he could do while waiting. It was a good half hour before a silver Volkswagen with tinted windows pulled up next to his Cadillac. Michael climbed out his eyes doing a once-over of his friend. He was still dressed for the pool and-

“You know, there could be broken glass here,” Michael pointed out, looking down at Sam’s bare feet.

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. “The sandals came off while I was running.”

“Ah.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “They caught me while I was at the pool. I didn’t exactly have time to change. My clothes are still over there.”

“At least button up your shirt,” Michael responded. “And get what you need out of the Cadillac.”

Sam cringed, knowing that meant that they’d be leaving the car behind. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He climbed back into the caddy, carefully cleaning it of stuff he would need. Mostly it was just his wallet, the cell phone, and the gun, although he also had an extra wallet that had a fake ID under the name of ‘Charles Finley‘. One never knew what they would need after all.

Michael watched silently, sympathizing with his friend. He didn’t know if the love of the car simply came with… well… the car, or if some of the emotional attachment came from the fact that Veronica had given it to him. Sure, they’d broken up a while ago, but he knew that it wasn’t often that Sam got that close to a girl.

“Alright, let’s go,” Sam sighed, giving the car one last affectionate pat before climbing in to the passenger’s side of the Volkswagen.

Michael nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat and beginning to pull out. “First we’re going to get you some clothes.”

“Except my pension’s probably blocked and you don’t exactly have money to spare yourself, Mikey,” Sam pointed out, frowning.

“I‘ll have enough.” Michael sighed heavily, glancing to the side. Sam looked nervous, peering out the windows. Every one of his senses was alive and alert. He was scared. “Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll handle this.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t very convincing. Michael shook his head. “Well… start explaining to me so I know what we’re dealing with here.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in the seat next to him. Michael knew Sam was ashamed of whatever he’d done. “It was around thirty years ago, I don‘t know, maybe more or less…” he responded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was a stupid kid. The war had ended a little while ago and I was stationed there in Vietnam for a bit. Long story short, Mikey, I got involved in some… drug trading between Vietnam and the states.”

Michael slammed on the breaks, pulling off to the side and nearly sending Sam into the dashboard. He turned to look at the older man, narrowing his eye. “Drug trafficking over borders, Sam? You realize what the penalty for that is in both countries don’t you?”

Sam gave a short nod, his eyes turned forward, unable to look at Michael right now. “You don’t have to help, Mikey. I shouldn’t have dragged you in.”

He tried to keep glaring at him, tried to be angry… but he couldn’t. Not when Sam looked so pathetic and scared, his hands fisted to keep from shaking. He sighed, turning his attention back to the road. “You know I won’t let you do this alone, Sam. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Sam closed his eyes, smiling ruefully. “Thanks Mikey.”

“Don’t mention it, Sam.”

Michael’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his knuckles white. Old regulations spun in his head, reminding him. For the federal crime of trafficking drugs across borders, if guilty, the accused received capital punishment. Death.