There were very few humans that set Sam's survival instincts just by being in the same room as them.

"Dead" Larry Sizemore was one of them.

Sam tightened his grip on the railing as though it was the only thing keeping him from stalking across the loft to make the dead part of the name a reality. But Mike was shooting him furtive glances to stay put.

Larry had always rubbed him wrong. Sam couldn't deny that he'd been successful at his job, but the man was a bloodsucker. Cold and calculated. Uncaring of the number of casualties as long as the mission was completed.

And he was fixated on Mike. Maybe he even loved him in his own twisted way.

Now, listening to Larry go on about how many people he believed they were going to murder to clean up his mess--a hit he'd wanted Mike to do that had gone off the rails because the instigator hired more than one person to carry it out--Sam was reminded of the last time he'd been forced to work with him.

Larry and Mike were frequently partnered together until Mike requested not to be paired with him on missions anymore.

Sam had gotten the short end of the stick after, apparently Larry had specially requested him. He might not have been a spy, but he'd had clearance levels and was generally considered expendable enough that his superiors never batted an eye at sending him off if a spy needed a Mer on hand.

Fifteen hours of being stuck in a small room with Larry. It was the closest Sam never got to hell that didn't involve gunfire. Fifteen hours of intermittent listening to Larry boast about Mike. Genuine pride shined in his voice as he claimed that Michael was just like him. The lies dripping from his lips like honeyed poison.

Claimed that Michael had finally seen the light. That the little pieces, those insignificant human lives that got in the way of carrying a mission, didn't matter in the big picture. They were collateral.

Claimed that Michael had blown up a factory full of innocent workers to get one man.

Sam had grit his teeth and focused on the surveillance. But it had been hard, so hard, not to strike out just to shut him up.

Mike wouldn't do that. Sure, sometimes Mike got a little caught up in the end goal and forgot to look at the means leading there as carefully as he should. But blowing up a building with people inside wasn't a small oversight. It wasn't something that could be easily pinned on an accident.

So Mike didn't do it, and Larry spent fifteen hours trying to work his way under Sam's skin for reasons that he still couldn't put his finger on. That bothered him. At best, he could think that Larry was trying to shake him up and tarnish his view of Mike. Maybe he thought if Sam wasn't there for Mike, he would agree to work with him again. It wasn't like Mikey had a lot of people he trusted in his life, especially before he was burned.

Larry finally agreed to Mike's plan of having the hit called off--the goal they'd been working towards since accepting the job--as long as it kept his name clear.

When he walked past Sam to leave, their eyes met. The smugness lurking there was almost enough to break Sam's resolve. They had all the information on the job, they didn't need Larry alive. If anything, letting him leave was opening them up to a double-cross. But he could still feel Mike looking at him, and all he did was growl a little.

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Sam woke up to harsh, muffled voices. It was enough to have his hand slipping under his pillow for his gun even before awareness fully kicked in.

The house was normally quiet this early in the morning, aside from the two weeks Virgil had stuck around after easing things over with Mike, and unless Maddie had the TV on.

Annoyingly, he couldn't slip right out of bed to check it out. He set the gun down in easy reach as he slid on his prosthetics, ears tuned to the argument, the words weren't carrying through but tone could speak volumes.

He got up, gun in hand, and moved for the door. He cracked it open.

"--there are children in this neighborhood!"

Sam frowned, recognizing the voice, Eleanor Travert. She came to some of Maddie's bridge games.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Madeline. I don't know how you can feel safe, letting that... that thing--"

Sam pushed the door closed, letting his forehead thud against it. No life or death situation, someone just put together what he was. If anything, he was surprised it had taken this long, he wasn't actively hiding it when Maddie's friends came over.

But, of course, it had to happen now. Wasn't bad enough he had to deal with Larry.

He waited for the voices to go quiet and stay that way before opening the door again and stepping into the kitchen.

Maddie was waiting. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Don't worry about it." He glanced at the coffee pot before bypassing it for the fridge. "I've been called worse." Once he had a beer comfortingly in hand, he continued, "Who else knows?"

"She didn't say."

They both knew it'd be all over the neighborhood by the end of the day, if it wasn't already.

"I don't wanna cause problems. I can be gone by the end of the day." Going back to imposing on Mike didn't sit right, but he'd gotten a lead on a motel that didn't care what or who you were as long as you could pay. It would work while he increased his search for something more permanent. He'd been slowly widening the range he was searching in, he didn't want to be so far from Mike, and now Maddie, that he couldn't get to them quickly if they needed him, but he might have to be.

When he'd chosen Miami for his retirement destination, he hadn't expected housing to be so difficult to find. Getting a storage unit set up here when he'd made that decision hadn't given him a tenth of the amount of trouble.

But he also hadn't thought retirement was going to come in the form of an honorable discharge or that'd it come so soon. He'd figured he had another eight years before they shoved that mandatory retirement clause on him.

"I'm not letting anyone chase you out of this house." The stubborn determination coming from every inch of her just served to remind him where Mike got it from. "There's no laws against Mers living in this neighborhood... I checked."

Sam smiled a little. Even if there weren't laws, there were plenty of things that could be done to cause problems. But, if Eleanor was that scared of him, she might not want to piss him off once she realized Maddie wouldn't kick him out herself. "Thanks, Maddie."

He still made a note to expand his housing search.

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His housing search was going to have to wait.

The target was alive. Larry had gotten away. The instigator was dead. And Sam had bad feeling settling in his gut that he should've taken Larry out when he had the chance, but he was crossing his fingers that he'd take this as a burning of bridges and not come back to Miami.

Mike was being used as Carla's personal tactical support shopper for a probably assassination attempt against an unknown target.

Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. Everything was coming to a head, he didn't know where that head was going to lead them, but staring down a rifle was looking for and more likely.

He just didn't know which side of it they was going to be on.