Disclaimer: This is just a Burn Notice FANfiction. I don't own Burn Notice or any of its characters.

A/N: This is dedicated to 27jaredjensen! The idea was theirs, to write one where Michael was sick while they were busy with a job ^0^

No Problem

Michael held up his finger in the '1 minute' sign and held his breath. His opponent, slightly frazzled but nonetheless careless, tackled the ex-spy to the ground. "I've got you now!" the burly man exclaimed, pulling his right arm back in preparation for the knock-out punch. Unfortunately, the sneeze Michael let loose right then and there was enough to have the inner-girl of his opponent make an appearance, "Oh my-! That's disgusting!" the man shrieked, trying to get rid of the nasal entrails of the other.

Taking the chance by storm, Michael flipped the man off of him and got him into a headlock, "Sorry about that" he apologized sincerely once the man was finally unconscious. He reached over and grabbed his charge's flash-drive from the mook's pocket.

He unsteadily stood up and sniffed. It wasn't his intention to nasally attack his opponents, but felt justified in the fact that his spook training taught him to use "Any and all weapons on hand".

Walking to the car, even while it was only a block away, was not fun. The sun was too hot, making his head pound even more. The humidity was too high, making his nose run even more. There was too much dust in the air, irritating his already bloodshot eyes even more. He always felt better, even while sick, when he was by himself. He could vent all his complaints and irritability in a safe place. It always felt like a weakness to entrust things like this to others. What could they do to help anyway? It's not like they had made them sick.

It took him twice as long as normal to reach his car, unlock it and get into the driver's seat. He whined loudly as he rested his head against the steering wheel, "I hate being sick!" he yelled at himself, bouncing his head against the upholstered –and luckily cushioned- steering wheel.

"No kidding, Mikey," Sam's voice interjected the spy's depressing thoughts.

The fact that the older man had snuck into his car really scared him. 'Geez… how sick am I?' the thought raced through his mind. Michael quickly sat up, face successfully drawn into a 'Normal Michael Face' and smiled effervescently, "Sam? I thought you were out with Sarah?".

Quirking an eyebrow, Sam frowned, "We decided to break it off, Mike" he informed.

"Oh… Sam, I'm so-"

"I told you last week… " Sam said, a worried look etching onto his features, "Are you feeling okay?".

"I feel f-f-fine", Michael answered blockishly when a tingling sensation at the back of his nasal passage made their intentions known. 'Please not now!' he thought desperately as he started to breathe stealthily through his nose.

Drawing in a calming breath, Sam shook his head, "Wow… Sorry" he said sarcastically. But, just before the ex-spy could get relatively relaxed again, Sam grabbed hold of his head and turned the rear-view mirror to face him, "How 'fine' does that look to you?".

It was like a lightning bolt struck him when he saw his face. He had a black bruise right above his left eye from his little brawl with that Bouncer; his nose was blood red, his face as white as a sheet and dark circles underneath his eyes.

"…. I just have a little cold" he countered quickly, readjusting the rear-view with his left hand. When the thing didn't budge, he resorted to both hands and quickly adjusted it to it's desired position as fast as possible.

Without a word, Sam got out of the car and walked over to Michael's side, "Get out" he commanded darkly. It still surprised Michael when Sam's Navy SEAL training made an appearance.

Michael opened the door, but didn't make a move to obey, "What's wrong?" he asked, trying his best to not sound nasally.

"If you don't get out of that seat in two seconds-" Sam left his threat uncompleted.

"….Fine," Michael relented, grunting as he climbed out of the seat. Funny enough, when he did, it was like all the sound was put on mute. No crunching of the gravel. No cars driving by. Even Sam's lips were moving, but he couldn't hear anything.

'Are you alright?' he read Sam's lips as it formed the words.

"I'm fine" he repeated. But he knew, for a fact, Sam hadn't heard him. He could feel that his words were slurred, just as well as he could feel his legs becoming heavy and his eyelids drooping.

He was pretty sure he was still in the car, he was sitting upright, after all. He couldn't sniff anymore and his was sure his ears were about to pop from the pressure. He knew that he had to have been out for at least half an hour.

"-if he's sick? We have a job to finish!" Sam's voice floated over to him.

'Who's he talking to?'

"Relax, Fiona. He'll be fine," Sam assured in a hurry.


After hearing Sam ending the call, Mike felt the imminent pull of duty. He took in a deep breath before cracking his eyes open. The intense glare of the Miami sun had dulled some. 'Oh great… way more than half an hour' he thought solemnly. He had to use both his arms just to sit upright, instead of leaning against the car door, "What'd I miss?" he croaked out, his throat feeling dry and scratchy.

"Mikey! You're awake! Good… I'm just about to drop the package off," Sam said with a cheery grin.

Michael held his hands to his ears, "Hhmmm… yeah… that's good" he said, and used the 'just brushing hair behind my ears'-technique to cover up his new hatred for sound.

"I was going to drop you off at your place… but our client called and said that he needed the drive as soon as possible… I would've left it, but he threatened to not pay," Sam explained as he took a left into one of the more suburban cul-de-sacs.

During your training, uncomfortable situations are inevitable. Whether it is trying to escape from your interrogators with nothing but a towel on, or having your immune system crash-and-burn while on a job. Best thing to do is, just keep going until you're on home ground again, or at least, out of range.

"I understand," Michael replied automatically, unconsciously running his hand over his trouser pockets in search of the aforementioned item until he spotted it, "Let's get this over with".

Sam parked the car in front of a small cottage-style house, complete with white picket fence, and extended his palm towards Michael, "Let me".

It was rare for Michael to really experience gratitude like he felt right at that moment, but he still couldn't help the words that just mechanically escaped his lips, "No, it's okay. I've got it," the words said out of a habit that had formed even while he was a child. He would always be fine to take care of things himself and he knew that he usually ended up doing so, just because he never asked someone else to take the lead.

The older gunman smiled with amusement, "I think I've got this…" he assured. Not once had he let his hand lower from its position.

Michael reluctantly reached into his pocket, grabbed the drive and handed it to his friend, "Thanks…. Sam" he said, swallowing dryly.

"No prob," Sam chirped as he walked off after only pushing the door –instead of slamming it- shut.

Thanks for reading! Please drop me a message or a review if you liked it :D