Sam ran a hand over his mouth as he followed Mike down the street. Kenny, the guy who'd run into traffic ahead of Mike, wasn't suicidal, he was just desperate. Understandably desperate. And, under more normal circumstances, he'd be gung ho to help the guy. He'd been targeted by con artists preying on desperate parents and sick kids.

But these weren't normal circumstances. "Mike, you sure about this?"

"It's done, Sam." Mike was still favoring one leg, holding his left arm close in a way that was worrying.

"It's irresponsible. You were almost killed. You got surveillance everywhere. Your brother's in jail." He held up four fingers waving them not in Mike's face but definitely in his line of sight, and bit back the urge to mention a hospital or at least him taking some time to rest. "You got plenty going on. You're just giving him hope you can't deliver."

"I'll deliver it."

"How?" He grabbed Mike's uninjured arm, gently, pulling him to a stop. "Did you miss my list of our problems right now?"

Mike's eyes were still glassy. Tired, worn. And Sam wanted to say fuck it and bundle him over to Fiona's, her place was an armory, whatever, whoever was after Mike would have to walk through lead to get to him.

"I'm running on fumes, this is all I got" It was probably the most honest he'd been about how he felt since Sam pulled him off the concrete. "I need this."

He pursed his lips.

"He needs help, Sam. His son's going to end up dead or an orphan if we don't help him."

He couldn't argue with that. He knew the kid needed treatment, good, real treatment, and it wasn't going to happen without money. Either by them getting what was stolen back or by Kenny going through with his life insurance payout plan.

His mind went back to his earlier thoughts about what if he'd have to deliver news of Mike's death to Maddie--pressing down the little voice he couldn't get out of his head saying he still might have to do that someday with the way things were heading. Losing a child, he wouldn't wish that pain on anybody. He couldn't even wish that on Larry, even if the thought of Larry procreating sent shivers down his spine, despite how extremely unlikely that was from what he knew about him.

"I'm not saying that, but--" A black car turned onto the otherwise empty street. "Oh, look, there's our surveillance car." They'd continue this later. "C'mon." He turned to walk back the other direction, maybe if they cut through a yard they could get far enough ahead of them to steal a ride.

He glanced back to see Mike hadn't moved. "Mike, let's go!"

"I'm not running." He picked up a loose paving stone before moving to meet the car.

Concussion. It had to be a concussion. "You're not gonna--" There was no way he was going to do what Sam thought he was going to do. Expect, he took in Mike's body language, and everything pointed towards one thing. "Oh, you are gonna."

As Sam watched Mike shatter the driver's window and 'help' the guy bring him in, he wondered why he bothered. There was no arguing with Mike when he got his mind set on something. Back on missions, he'd rarely seen that as a bad thing, but there what his mind was set on was generally getting the objective completed with as few fatalities as possible and making sure they, and anyone else on their side, went home at the end of it. He admired that, but it was a pain in his tail at times.

If Mike wanted to give himself up, fine. Sam had the folder of medical records, it'd give him something to do, something to keep his mind off what Carla was going to do to Mike. He didn't believe she'd kill him, if she wanted him dead, she would've made a move to show it by now, but that didn't mean the meeting would be anything good.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

The loft door was going to take some work to fix, the bomb had taken out a decent sized chunk of concrete with it. Nothing inside looked damaged, and it didn't look any anybody'd come sniffing around either.

Sam assumed Carla had held off the cops. It might not be a good part of the neighborhood, but an explosion wasn't that unlikely to go unnoticed, especially not with the way he'd sped out of the scene.

Maybe coming back to the loft so soon was a bad idea, but it seemed to be a day of bad ideas and Sam didn't feel like facing Maddie or Fi at the moment and explaining why he'd let Mike go off with Carla's man.

He spread out the files on the counter and got to work. This was something he was good at, finding patterns and connections in records.

Mers had a written language, but outside of scientific fields, it wasn't used for much beyond factual records and marking territory borders, since most things were still passed down by oral tradition. It was how they were taught. Enlisting was when he'd had his first real experience with human language, and not just seeing it on the side of boats or on human items that had sunk beneath the waves, and he'd been expected to sign agreements and disclosures about the training. Back then, it'd been about keeping animal rights groups from claiming exploitation. He'd been allowed to look at the forms and been frustrated that he couldn't read them himself, forcing him to trust they were being honest about what it said.

Spoken language was easy, Mers had been eavesdropping on humans since the first boats hit the ocean waves. The languages had changed over time but they kept up with the current ones. Few ocean living Mers were fluent, but they had a basic grasp of the nearest land spoken languages. He'd grown up learning bits and pieces, enough to get by. Taught more in training because they needed him to understand the orders.

But reading and writing, they hadn't cared about that. Dolphins and seals couldn't read or write and they did their jobs.

He'd gotten lucky to have a trainer that encouraged his interest in learning.

After all these years, he could forgive him that it wasn't from a genuine interest in helping him, but his trainer just wanted to prove that they could be even more useful an initially assumed. A Mer that could fight was good, but a Mer who could get ahold of confidential documents, read, memorize them, and bring the information back? That was even better. Difficult, since even if they were kept on a ship, unless it was sinking, it was near impossible to move on them with a tail.

But it still showed possibility.

That was all they had cared about.

Sam went to the upstairs platform to fetch the sticky notepads, colored tabs, and pen set he kept at Mike's just for when he was doing paperwork here and got to work.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Mike had come back to the loft no worse for wear--which wasn't saying much, and he was still refusing a hospital--and called Fi to meet them. By then, Sam had found the clinic the scammers seemed to be working off of.

Bagging one of them was as easy as baiting a trap there, letting them think another group was moving in on their territory. A couple phone calls and Sam had secured an empty, waiting to be remodeled, gallery for their use. It took Sam five minutes to get the first guy to talk and give up his buddy.

With both of them in a soundproof and newly secured room, with carefully planted bugs, Sam just had to wait for them to let something useful slip.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. He could barely feel the mark on the skin where he'd dug the blade of his knife into it during the initial questioning. A shallow cut could've sold the dangerous, unpredictable angle, but he'd gone deep. It had taken longer to heal but still only a few hours.

Mike was still limping and favoring one arm. Even if he tried to hide it. Even if he was blocking out whatever amount of pain it was causing him for all he was worth because he couldn't, wouldn't show weakness during a job.

It hurt to watch. It always did. Humans healed so slowly, and all he could do was try to keep Mike from making it worse in the meantime.

The two captive conmen suddenly got chatty, and Sam put down his beer and picked up a notepad. It started with the standard 'what did you tell them,' 'why did you tell them' questioning, and he waited for them to give him something useful.

"Could they be cops?"

"They're not cops. That I know."

"How do you know?"

"Cops don't hire fucking Mers, man."

Sam's eyes snapped up to stare at the door.

"They're Mers?"

"The big one is. Didn't get a good enough look at the other guy, and girl's not."

There was a quiet fuck. The mike barely picked up the sound of Philip pacing. "I didn't sign up to deal with Mers. Those things are killers," there was a hint of fear in his voice. More footsteps. "Did you tell them about...?"

"No, of course not."

"Keep it that way 'cause that bitch will kill us in a second."

Her. There was a boss. These two hadn't seemed like they were running the show, but the confirmation that it was a boss and not another partner was good to have.

"Yeah, but what's the thing out there going to do when we don't start talking?"

"Don't care. I've seen what she can do, and it's worse than anything that Mer and his friends can dish out."

Sam pulled off the headphone and called Mike. "Yeah, Mike, I think we finally got something we can use. There's a boss. She sounds like a hard case."

"Good. I'll be right over. It's time to play 'who talks first.'"

He winced. "Aw, Mike, you know I don't like doing that kind of stuff."

"You got a better idea, Sam?"

"No," he admitted, "but I might have an angle for it."

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Phillip wiggled in his bonds. They'd come in fast, guns ready, and forced Todd to tie him to the chair before the human guy tied Todd to the other one. He'd left. And now it was just them and the Mer.

He wanted to think Todd was wrong. He'd wanted to. But the gills above the collar of his black t-shirt were very convincing if they were fake.

The Mer was stalking around the room behind them. Todd was near hypoventilation. He never should've brought him in on this. He was too much of a coward.

"We're gonna have a little conversation. One of you is gonna tell me all about your boss and the other one..." the Mer leaned down between the chairs, giving them both a view of his sharp smile, "is gonna be my lunch."

Todd squeaked.

"Keep your mouth shut." It was a bluff. That was it. All those news stories were exaggerated.

...Weren't they?

"Yeah, but you--"

"Shut up." They wouldn't talk. Neither of them would talk. And they'd be fine.

The Mer walked behind him. Phillip refused to turn his head to follow him.

"So, who's feeling talkative, huh? You?" A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he flinched. It let go and the Mer moved towards Todd, repeating the action. "How about you?" The Mer sighed when they stayed silent. "Okay, guys. Last chance to volunteer." He moved back between them, looking back and forth. "Anybody? Anybody at all?"

Todd took a breath and Phillip glared at him until his mouth closed again.

"Okay." The Mer shrugged. "Eeny meany miney," he gestured between them with each word, his finger stopped on Todd, "mo."

The casual pace he'd been using was gone, he was on Todd fast, grabbing the chair and dragging it from the room before what was happening managed to sink in.

"No! No! Phillip!" Todd's wide, panicked eyes found his.

This wasn't right. This wasn't what Rachel had promised them. It was supposed to be easy money. No harm or foul. It wasn't even that bad, what they were doing, they were giving parents hope for a little while--for a lot of cash--that maybe their sick kid would live. Yeah, it was all fake, but the kids were going to die either way. What did it matter in the long run? But Todd, Todd wasn't supposed to die. Not like this.

The door closed but bounced, reopening slightly.

Todd was screaming.

Phillip could barely breath.

Then the screaming stopped. Abruptly. And it made Phllip's blood run cold. He finally found his voice, "Rachel! Her name is Rachel, ok? Rachel! The boss's name is Rachel!"

The door was pushed open.

"Oh God. Oh my God."

The Mer was there. There was blood around his mouth and his chin, his hand, shining on his shirt, oh God, that was Todd's blood.

"Todd..." He couldn't--he couldn't-- "Todd, you--"

"Todd is gone, Phillip." The tone was casual, like he was discussing the weather and not a murder. "Todd has..." he paused, approaching the chair and leaning down, putting those teeth too close to Phillip, he could smell the blood, "gone to lunch."

He was going to be sick. Phillip pushed himself back in the chair as far as he could. It was still too close.

"Tell me about Rachel."

Rachel? Rachel had lied, and now Todd--his friend--was dead. Fuck Rachel. He didn't want to die here too. "I was working a scam up in Fort Lauderdale..."

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Sam rubbed a hand at the dried blood on his face as he left the holding room. Phillip had been more than talkative after the little display, to the point he'd looked ready to start confessing every wrong deed he'd committed in his life if it meant getting out that room alive. He'd readily agreed to call Rachel and set up a meeting for her to meet the 'new talent.' The fear of what might happen if he blew the setup was enough to keep his voice from shaking and blowing it, but seeing it on full display in the scammer's face was almost enough to make Sam feel a little bad about the whole thing. Almost.

He grabbed the chair Todd was tied to and dragged it back into the room behind him.

Phillip recoiled, closing his eyes. "No, don't--!"

"He'll be out for at least another hour." It was a higher dosage than they'd ended up needing to give him, but they hadn't been sure how long it would take for Phillip to talk.

"What?" Confused eyes opened, finally looking at his unconscious partner. "But you--the blood?"

"I'm not Rachel." He closed the door behind him when he left this time, locking it. "So, Mike, want me to come with?"

"Fi and I can handle it, Sam." He looked away from the window's view when Sam joined him. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He knew they hadn't had to use the Mer angle, but it was arguably less work to prepare. Less chance of something going wrong. Not that he doubted his own skill in making sure the cable would hold but shoving somebody out a high window always held the possibility of injury. Even if Todd just banged his head on the wall going down before or when the cable went tight.

Tranquilizing him also ran risks but they were both trained on how to properly measure and inject it. Outside of minor, temporary side effects, he should be fine once it wore off.

And, maybe on some level, he enjoyed the idea of handling it in a more hands-on way.

It wasn't a secret that kids were a soft spot for him and Mike, for vastly different reasons.

Sam picked up the raw steak, blood dripping from it as he lifted it off the Styrofoam tray it came in--it was getting warm from sitting out so long--and ignored the side-eye Mike was giving him as he took another bite out of it.

"Really, Sam?"

"What? I skipped lunch."

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

It turned out, Fi apparently had a soft spot for kids too. He hadn't seen that one coming. But it led to her punching Rachel and the whole plan of setting up a sting operation going down the drain.

Sam leaned against the inside stairs of the loft. Having to admit that his fed buddies hadn't been able to track Rachel down through a trap-and-trace wasn't the news he'd waited to give Mike, but it couldn't conjure her location from thin air. He wasn't that good, neither were his buddies.

Mike slammed his hands against the counter before starting to walk past him. The way he was carrying himself... Sam didn't like it.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna get the money."

Sam moved to block his path. "Wait, what are you talking about? We don't know where Rachel is--"

"Not Rachel. From Carla. She's offered cash before."

Oh. Oh, that had bad idea all over it. "You and I both know this is a bad idea. You take Carla's money, and she's got her hooks into you." And those hooks were already inches away from him. Sam could see it. Mike might've been able to talk her into releasing Nate, but they both knew it came with conditions. Everything with Carla did, and Mike wasn't going to be able to delay and evade forever.

"What else can I do, Sam? I promised I'd get the money!"

"I want to save this kid, too, but I'm not gonna let you do this." He wasn't going to let him make this worse. "Now, look, I know it's been rough on you. So I understand that you're a little edgy, but we'll find another way."

"There's no other way!" He tried to step past him, and Sam mirrored his movement. "Move, Sam."

"No."

"Move."

In hindsight, he should've seen the shove coming, but he didn't think Mike would get physical, and it managed to knock him off balance and into the stairwell. He grabbed Mike's arm when he tried to get past. "You're not doing this, Mike. I'll get the--" He cut off, catching Mike's fist before it could connect. "Will you listen to me?!"

"I'm doing this, Sam." He yanked out of his grasp.

Sam reached for him again, dodging the next punch and responding with his own.

Mike backed up, away from the door at the impact. His lips thinned, and he took off his sunglasses.

Oh, great. Sam shook out his arms. He hadn't been in an actual, even matched fistfight in years. If this was evenly matched. He had natural strength going for him, but Mike hadn't been out of the game as long and hadn't let his physical training slip, even with his injuries... Dammit, he was going to have to watch where he hit him too. That'd be another advantage for Mike.

Mike moved first, taking another swing at his face that Sam blocked. It was followed up by a gut punch that Sam didn't manage to knock away completely. His hesitance to hurt Mike had him pulling his own strike when he realized where it would land.

And gave Mike the opening he needed to get in an uppercut.

Sam's back hit the door. His jaw throbbed. He could taste blood where his lip had split. He touched it. "Not bad, Mike." He was in a bad spot. He couldn't dodge here without giving Mike access to the door. "You can hit me all you want, but I'm gonna stand here till you get your head back in the game." For a second, he thought Mike was going to take him up on that, and he tensed, ready to fight to defend himself without giving up his position.

But after a moment, Mike's arms lowered.

In a perfect world, Sam might actually hear an apology come out his mouth. But the world wasn't perfect, and Mike sure as hell wasn't. Didn't mean he wouldn't follow him to the ends of it.

"Keystone Island." Mike seemed to be talking more to himself than Sam.

"What?"

"She said she had a house on Keystone Island."

Keystone Island was a big place, but it was a lead. He just wished Mike could've led with that instead of his fist.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

"Sam? That you?"

He froze two steps into Maddie's home. "Yeah, Mads."

"Thought you'd call." She came out of the living room, cigarette dangling between her fingers. "How'd the job go?" She'd gotten temporarily roped into watching Kenny's son, Jack, while they were working the job.

"Jack'll be fine." He started towards the kitchen for a beer. "We got the money back, and Kenny's taking him to the treatment center in Arizona. The scammers are looking at a long prison sentence." Well, Rachel was, since Mike and Fi had gotten her to call the police and confess a long list of scams once they found her. Phillip and Todd, he didn't know. If nothing else, her confession would get them a few years.

As nice as it would be to say it all worked out, he couldn't. Finding Rachel had meant asking Fi's boyfriend for a favor, it wasn't the first time they had, but it was the last. He'd broken up with her. Sam couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming. Campbell seemed a decent guy, nice enough that he was willing to help them out just with the knowledge that lives were on the line and his care for Fi, but she'd been lying to him every step of the way. Fi was taking it badly, but he didn't know what she expected.

Besides, anyone with eyes could see she was still in love with Mike, and him with her.

It was hard playing second fiddle to that.