Authors note: Thanks to all my reviewers and the people who read my story. I made a few hot scenes but I don't think it deserved a change in ratings, I mean there are more intense stories that are still rated T but if you think it deserves a change in rating or you would like a more explicit version please let me know.

….

I enter the loft at 8 a.m. in a really bad mood. When I packed all my new toys yesterday morning I had the feeling it would be a good day but 22 hours later Michael is alive by miracle, Jesse is not in his beast health and after canvassing all of Miami with Sam I have no clue of who is responsible for all this mess. The only information came from a few friends of mine, the men that took Evan called themselves "the Pack" (men and their silly nicknames) and they were a very effective crew. These assholes weren't cheap and were known for their confidentiality as well. Sam concluded that whoever paid them didn't need the money asked for ransom, to the point that when we came back to the swamp we found the bag and the 15 million dollars intact, which led to the obvious conclusion this had all been a trap.

The new question is: Who was the trap laid for? As any other powerful business woman Elsa could have many enemies. Evan himself might have pissed off the wrong people but if that were the case they would have killed him instead of staging a kidnap. Sam with his "endearing" ways might have gotten a few hi profile enemies as well and they might have tried to get to him through the woman he loved, but it wasn't Sam that made the hostage negotiations it was Michael, for what they knew Sam might even not be present at the time of the exchange. Leaving then the most plausible target as Michael, he has a way of pissing off powerful people and he did it so many times I'm beginning to think he was made for it.

This last option worries me, a lot. All this feuds with his invisible enemies took a toll on him and I can tell he is at the end of his rope, he literary died for crying out loud. I can't even wrap my mind around it, the thought that if Jesse hadn't try so hard on him…

-"You okay sister?"- Sam asks me as we are about to climb up the stairs, he noticed the mist in my eyes. I turn and tell him:

-"Sam you think they might be out to get Michael again?"- A few blinks and the moisture goes away, it doesn't even ruin my mascara.

-"I'm keeping Elsa out of Miami just in case but yeah I'm pretty sure they were after him"- He says looking worried and sad, his lifestyle is affecting the woman he loves, it must be hard on him.

-"I don't think he can fight this one out"- I feel so tired right now, these last few years took a toll on me as well but it wasn't my brother that bled out on the street, well at least not in front of me.

-"Neither do I but we both know he is not gonna run away or let someone else fight for him. You know how protective he's been lately, he does jobs on his own to spare you from danger and he doesn't ask me for back up either"- Sam's voice is raising due to his frustration so I tell him to lower it Michael might be listening.

-"Maybe we can play that game as well, it's going to take some time before he's ready to fight if we work hard enough we might get to the bottom of this before he recovers"-

-"Seems farfetched but worth the shot, we'll take turns watching over Mike while the other one goes for the hunt. As soon as Jesse feels better he could help us."- Sam says determined, he has more potential than he seems.

Once inside I'm greeted with the sight of Jesse laying on the couch shaking and screaming things that make no sense, we run to his side and I can feel the heat irradiating from his body. The poor man is boiling with fever; we shouldn't have let him alone with Michael he should be in a hospital.

I leave Jesse with Sam and run to my boyfriend's side when I realize whatever infection affected Jesse could take Michael as well. As I near the bed I can see how pale he is, he is so limp it looks like he could melt into the mattress; the only movements he makes are the even raise of his chest while breathing. I put my hand in his forehead and instead of heat I feel damp coldness, I hold his hand and try to wake him up but he doesn't move. When I'm about to shout to Sam to come here I see Jesse staring at us with an expression I can't describe yet I won't forget. There seems to be an acceptance in his eyes and I would ponder about it if there weren't more pressing issues such as Michael's condition.

Sam comes in just in time; I tell him I can't wake Michael up so he checks him out. He agrees with me that both men need to be in a hospital. I have to drag Jesse into my car, it's like fighting with a five year old he keeps whining and telling me he is alright. In the meantime Sam puts one hand behind Michael's back and the other one behind his knees. He lifts him up as if he were a small child, a daunting task considering how much weight Michael has in muscle mass and Sam carries in his abdomen.

Out of the blue Michael barely opens his eyes and talks to Sam

-"Daddy is that you?"- He sounds like a small child; prospects of brain damage fill me with panic

-"Its okay buddy, stay with me"- Sam answers with friendly kindness while rushing out of the loft and into my car

-"Yes I promise I'll stay. I will keep you company in hell you won't have to stay alone in that awful little room anymore. I forgive you dad, for everything"- My boyfriend babbles and falls asleep right after.

Even for someone who nearly died and is now very sick that statement still made no sense whatsoever. I only heard little pieces of his childhood through Madeline and they weren't nice stories, especially concerning his father. I never thought that Michael was the kind of man that held unnecessary grudges and neither do I; nonetheless I always thought that if someone was unworthy of forgiveness was the alcoholic asshole of Frank. I don't know where that comment came from but it scares me. Why on earth did he say he was going to hell?

There will be time for talking about it after both men are treated. I step into the driver's seat after dragging Jesse into the passenger's side while Sam goes at the back with Michael in his arms; I bury my foot on the pedals and rush off.

…..

In my nightmares I see you at the shore of that dark swamp, the sadness in your eyes compels me to go to your side but no matter how hard I try my feed sink on wet earth and I can't walk were you are. Out of the sudden 3 dark shadows come from the forest and attack you, at first you fight but you are weak and they win, you give up eventually and let them drag you into the dark waters were you will never rise again. All I can do is watch as darkness swallows you for eternity.

When I wake up you are sleeping next to me, no longer fighting nightmares but still as a corpse, you no longer have any kind of dreams.

You were released from the hospital the day after you were admitted, lots of antibiotics and rest, if treated well the infection wasn't so serious the doctors said. As if you were someone who could just lie still. At least you take your medications I'll give you that, in that aspect you are more mature than Jesse, he's been such a handful Sam had to crash on his place to take care of him.

It might be fair to say you are much better, form health at least but I'm worried about the rest of you. Your spirit is broken and all your fighting and planning seem more of a work of inertia than a real quest for answers or revenge. What happened to you in that swamp Michael? You were hurting because of your brother but if anything you were more determined to find his killer than ever, now you are not even interested in finding the motherfuckers that literary did kill you.

I must say that at first I was tired of all your ghost chasing, to me it seemed like a waste of time and energy. When your brother died I knew things would go bad and that we were too exhausted from previous battles to make a proper stand but I sucked it up because I know well what it's like to have your sibling killed and get no answers. So I you cried I'll stay by your side, if you played lone wolf I'll remind you we are a team and if you put your life into a stranger's hands in a wild search I would put my feet down and talk some sense into you, I will always back you up whether you like it or not.

For the first time since your burn notice debacle I can put myself in your shoes and understand the need for revenge, they hurt you Michael in a way I don't know I can heal back. Something in that dark water took your soul away, as if when you died your body got back to life but your spirit remained trapped in that filthy swamp. Your beautiful blue eyes are empty and there is hopelessness in your stare that fills me with despair.

It almost feels like it won't be long until you die. There is no need for you to suicide all you have to do is fight a little less, run a little slower, be a little sloppier in your plans and the bad guys will tear you apart. Right now Michael it looks like you are not fighting enough.

They deserve to suffer my love, you were right all along chasing the bad powerful guys is difficult but they just can't hurt the innocent and get away with it, we have to make them pay. I will make them pay even if it consumes all I have, even if I die trying.

I see you sleep without dreams and I can't tolerate the passiveness I sense in you anymore, you are mine have you forgotten? You don't get to give up on me; you will fight or suffer my wrath.

I reach out to touch your soft skin, your callous hands and the uneven territory of your scars. My hands are demanding impatiently what your illness has denied me in the last few days, they rub at your skin without mercy and they won't stop until the coldness of your flesh comes back to life. You wake up confused and with a polite smile you tell me it's not a good time, fuck the time Michael I'm not giving you a choice. The feeble attempts you make to dissuade me from my task are useless; my mouth traps your lips while my tongue penetrates the small space between your teeth inviting yours to play along.

-"Fiona please, not now."- I hear your faint whisper as you're still half asleep. Scream if you want sooner or later you will be mine.

I break the barrier of your privacy now and you squirm below me, you forcefully push me away but I climb back in swallowing all your complaints when my mouth thrusts over yours. I grab your flesh in an iron grip and fight all you want but I'm not letting go. Fight Michael I want you to, fight me from making love to you (even when you will lose of course but it will make things more fun) fight the bastards that killed your brother and the ones that tried to kill you. Fight them because I would rather to deal with your obsessions and justified paranoia than living in comfortable peace with the empty shell you have become.

Fight them because they can't hurt the man I love without paying a price, because I need you to help me catch them so I can feel the rush of their pain. Get up you idiot and make love to me, later on we'll stay the night up thinking of ways to achieve our revenge.

Refusal turns into anger and you fight me off, not the result I want but it's a start. Your flesh warms up and your muscles tense. I fight back and it thrills me to see the fire in your eyes ignite again, it takes time but the rage gives way to lust and I make sure my teeth draw blood into your shoulder so I can remember this moment when I see the bruise.

I win as always, your early refusal is eventually turned into a desire to fulfill my much neglected needs and I did a fine work with yours by the way. When you raise from the bed I can't help smiling when I see that muscular back stand up straight in a military fighting stance, yes my love we will take our revenge and paint the town red with fire and blood.

One last thing before we start this battle, something I think you have forgotten and if not dealt with could cause you to fall once more, because I heard you say something stupid about hell.

-"You are a good man Michael"- I say as I kiss your lips –"Don't you dare to forget that ever again"-