Fandom: Burn Notice
Characters: Sam, Michael (Gen, Humor)
Summary: For a couple of guys who pull off major operations, a little downtime ought to be a piece of cake. Right?
Author's Notes: A late Fall Fandom Free-For-All offering for rise_your_dead.
Also for 5_prompts (Table 31, "Accidents Happen") and writers_choice ("Plan").
"You know, Mikey," Sam said as he entered Michael's loft, "we should really do something sometime."
Michael glanced up from working on a homemade signal scrambler. "Something involving actual verbs?"
"Well yeah, sure." Sam checked the fridge for a beer. "You know—sailing, spearfishing, that kind of thing."
"You mean, an adventure."
"No!" Sam said. He settled for an apple, one of the lonely few in Michael's fridge. "Just the opposite. I think we should hang out and do something completely different from spy missions or talking about spy missions."
"Oh. Like regular people."
"Exactly like that," Sam agreed, punctuating the air with his apple. "It'd be awesome."
"Well okay, then. Let's do it."
Sam tended to think big (because he knew a guy—didn't he always?), while Michael usually started out small. So, the compromise between a 50-foot catamaran and a modest-sized sailboat wound up being a 30-foot yacht.
It was still barely fast enough for them to break away from the shark that took an interest in Michael's attempts at scuba-diving.
"Unbelievable," Sam said, as he steered the boat toward shore. "We ought to report that guy."
Michael shrugged. "It's his ocean."
"It's bad for tourism! And there's nothing I hate more than an arrogant fish…"
The next choice was more low-key. They went bass-fishing on a small lake two hours outside of town. Everything was great for the first half-hour, until they were joined by an alligator with boundary issues.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Michael said.
"At least it isn't sharks. Whack him with that oar, would you? I'll get us out of here…"
They tried hiking a week later, a nice spot in the Big Cypress National Preserve, but that didn't pan out either.
"Drug runners, Sam? Really?" Michael hissed.
"Hey, it's not like I invited them. And if we don't stop them, who will?"
It didn't take long for the two of them to subdue the local arm of a Colombian cartel, but giving statements and handling paperwork could've eaten several lifetimes. Michael called Fi for a lift, and left Sam and his more respectable public reputation to straighten out the mess.
Sam came by later that evening, looking dejected.
"I can't believe how all this has turned out," he said. "It's like I'm cursed."
Michael handed him a beer, and Sam drank half of it in a few gulps. "I'm really sorry, Mikey." he continued. "I honestly thought this would be easier.
"Well, you know," Michael said. "It was a nice idea."
"Sure was…" Sam sighed and shook his head. "Guess we'll have to focus on being business partners for awhile instead, just to cut down on the excitement." He scratched a mosquito bite, probably a remnant of Gatorgate. "You win some, you lose some…"
Michael nodded sympathetically.
"So," Sam finally asked, "got big plans for the weekend?"
"I was thinking about working on the car this Saturday," Michael said. "Maybe tightening the transmission, and boosting the engine a little..."
A hopeful looked bloomed on Sam's face. "Oh," he said. "Hey, you think you could use some company?"
Michael grinned and reached over to clink his beer bottle with Sam's.
"Yeah," he said."I think that'd actually be really great."
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