FIC: Extreme Heat

[ficwize]

Title: Extreme Heat
Author: wizefics
Fandom: Burn Notice
Pairing: Sam & Michael
Prompt: hc_bingo heat stroke; 10_fics 007. water
Rating: Past canon child abuse obliquely referenced; medical procedures (non-graphic)
Warnings: None really. Some general spoilers for the current season, but I'm behind, so not too many. :)
Summary: The thing about deserts is that they're hot. Really hot.
Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice and don't make money doing this.
A/N: Thanks to rivestra for first reading for me over at ficfinishing and second_batgirl for the beta. Any and all mistakes are mine.


The thing about deserts is that they're hot. Really hot. Unbearably fucking hot, actually. It doesn't help if the pick up man fails to pick you up, either. I spent two miserable days walking down something called a road, but more closely resembling a camel path, and ducking away from the convoys tearing around corners at unsafe speeds and kicking dust up for miles.

That was my fault, by the way. Mysteriously self-destructing weaponry bunkers have that affect on bad guys.

"Good job, Michael," I muttered. "Next time you blow up something in the desert, make sure you take a full canteen of water with you when you run away."

Great. Now I was talking to myself. Blowing out a breath, I squinted up into the sky. Only a few hours after dawn and the sun already beat down on me like an enemy soldier with a grudge and a bar of soap in a sock. The brightness of it cut into my eye and started the pounding in my head. I would have swallowed but my mouth was so dry that I couldn't.

Resigned, I dropped my gaze back to the ground and carried on walking. When I was in training, a dark haired woman with eyes that promised the impossible had lectured to a group of us about the dangers of being lost in the desert. "You can die if you're not careful. Drink water before you ever go into the desert and take water with you. I don't care if you're a hotshot or not, if you take a flask of whiskey, you will die."

She'd uncrossed her legs then and stood up. I remember wishing that her skirt had been a bit shorter. "Take food, the least weight and the most nutrition. You're carrying it, so dream of McDonalds when you're back in civilization. And speaking of supplies, you want clothes that will wick the moisture away from your skin, keep you warm at night when it does actually get cold, and protect you from the wind. Goggles are a good idea. You ever seen a man blinded in a sand storm? I have."

She turned slightly and met my eyes. "Travel at night if you can." Her lips curved upwards; her eyes never left mine. "And watch out for animals."

I had fond memories of the rest of that night, but even recalling how flexible Renee had been didn't distract me from the very real peril I currently faced. I had no water, no food, no supplies at all. My shirt was soaked with sweat and the bare skin on my arms and face glowed pink with the signs of sunburn. I couldn’t go to ground and wait for nightfall to run. I had neither the time nor the water to allow for that option.

The sounds of helicopter blades in the distance reiterated the precariousness of my position and I scrambled over a hill and down into a small valley. It wouldn't hide me from a chopper, but at least anyone on the ground would have a harder time seeing me.

I knew where our camp was hidden – or at least where it had been hidden before I'd simplified international relations by removing two hidden bunkers filled with weapons using several bricks of C4, two timed triggers and a lot of bravado.

I grinned. I couldn't help it. I'd walked into that bunker and out of it without attracting any notice at all until Armageddon had broken lose. Then everything went to shit, of course. I'd only made it out because I'm a quick runner. If I'm being shot at, I can sprint a six minute mile. Coach Mellard should have thought of that when he was looking for motivation back in high school.

I shook my canteen regretfully. A small sloshing noise let me know that I was in serious trouble. Resignedly, I struck out towards the camp again. Even if they were gone, they had to know I was coming.

Unless they thought I was dead.

I decided not to think about that.

************

The water was gone from my canteen by midmorning. Overhead, the sun glared down at me and my shirt was soaked through with sweat. I could feel the skin on my face and neck tingling where the sun scorched it and I mentally added sunscreen to the list of things I wish I had with me.

My mental list was simple: water, decent toilet paper, sunscreen and a stack of pancakes with blueberry yoghurt.

I was hungry, a fact which delighted me because it meant that I wasn't so busy hiding from the people who probably wanted me dead to notice. In fact, it had been quiet for a few hours now. I assumed most of what had been left of the base had evacuated. First rule of thumb, run away and train more people to shoot at your enemies.

If the cavalry was going to arrive, now would be a good time.

************

I stopped sweating around noon. I'm not a doctor or anything, but I knew that was a bad sign. Gritting my teeth through the pain of the muscle cramps in my calves, I kept walking. If I gave into the urge to sit and rest now, I might never get back on my feet again.

I distracted myself by recalling the names of everyone in my first grade class. Idly, I wondered whatever had happened to Lucinda, with the pretty black hair. She sat in front of me and I could still remember the way her hair fell down her back in ringlets. Sometime in the second month of school, I'd announced at the supper table that I was going to marry Lucinda.

My father's less than gracious response meant that I'd thrown a roll at him. He'd backhanded me out of the chair and I'd run upstairs. The next day, I repeated the words he'd said to Lucinda's face and she started crying and ran away from me on the playground. I wasn't surprised at all to be summoned to Principal Puckett's office at the end of recess.

That night my father hadn't been satisfied to hit me only once, but I'd learned an important lessons. Assholes don't like to have their flaws pointed out to them, even obliquely.

Lucinda moved towards the end of the year.

She really did have the prettiest hair.

************

There are 27 bones in the hand, three in each finger except the thumb, and a spider web of them racing through the palm. I'd broken each finger at least once by the time I graduated from high school.

"Right index finger when I fell off my bicycle in third grade," I intoned softly, trying to keep my mind focused. My voice croaked and I cleared my throat, refusing to think about water at all. Or beer. I definitely wasn't thinking about beer. "Right middle and ring when I slugged Mark Reyes in the face in fifth grade. Pinkie finger when it got caught in the car door in sixth grade."

The fingers in my left hand had been my dad's fault, but I didn't say that out loud. It wasn't a memory I needed to relive, though I could still feel the way he'd slammed a book down on them when I told him he was a cocksucker. Turns out, he didn't appreciate my viewpoint. If I'd been smarter, I wouldn't have said it to him while I was sitting at my desk with my back turned.

If I'd been really smart, I wouldn't have said it at all.

My stomach clenched and I slowed and took several deep breaths in through my nose and breathed out through my mouth. Gradually, the nausea receded and I reminded myself why it wasn't a good idea to relive the past.

I pointedly did not think about the symptoms of dehydration.

************

My head pounded in a drum beat that would have made ACDC jealous as I pissed into the sand. My throat ached, too, but that had faded in comparison to the pain squeezing my brains at the moment.

I hadn't needed to pee since morning which wasn't surprising considering. Still, I half hoped that it might relieve the pressure in my gut. It didn't.

I didn't need a mirror to know that my face resembled a tomato. I could feel the heat pulsing off it and I swiped at it in irritation. Totally dry.

I took it back. If ever the cavalry should arrive, now was the time.

Scanning the horizon, I judged that the sun would set in a few hours. Already it burned lower, blinding my progress now, where it had burned my back in the morning. At least I was still headed in the right direction.

I ignored the voice in my head that whispered the consuming truth that if our camp had moved, I was going to die. I couldn't make it another day out here. I wasn't even sure I would make it through the night.

My hands and legs shook as I adjusted my clothes.

************

"Pathetic." My father spoke to me from where he paced along at my side. "You always were a disappointment."

I ignored him, vaguely aware that there was a reason he shouldn't be following me like he had been for the last hour, but unable to pinpoint exactly why.

"More trouble than you were fucking worth," he continued ignoring the fact that I was ignoring him. "You were a pain in my ass even as a baby. You had colic and you used to scream for hours at night. What a little shit. I knew then that you were nothing but trouble."

The sun had vanished below the horizon already, but the last rays of light still scattered across the sky. It was unexpectedly beautiful and I stopped to stare at it. My father stopped beside me, also looking at the sky.

"Did you ever want me?" I hadn't meant to acknowledge him at all. He didn't answer and when I turned to force the issue, he was gone.

************

Dry heaves are worse than actually vomiting. These wracked my body so hard that I fell to my hands and knees.

The moon seemed surprisingly bright and I collapsed on my side, facing away from the bile that even now soaked into the sand. A lizard stared at me from a rock and I stared back. After a moment, I stretched out my hand towards it. It didn't move, except to turn its head slightly to watch my fingers more closely.

"Brave little bastard," I croaked.

Neither of us moved after that, just staring at each other and wondering what went on in each other's minds. Overhead, the moon travelled through the sky and while I vaguely knew that I should have been walking, never should have lain down, I couldn't bring myself to care.

The lizard didn't seem to care about anything either until the ground started to rumble. A second later, the lizard ran away and I managed to roll enough to see what had frightened it. Several moonbeams, brighter than the others, stood out in the dark. I stared at them in fascination as they swayed back and forth over the sand like they were dancing.

"Michael, for fuck's sake." My dad appeared again, crouched over me and looking down furiously. "Can you get up?"

I thought about it for a minute, then shook my head. "No."

"Try." He ordered peevishly and I frowned at him.

"You're in Florida." The thought penetrated my brain suddenly and I knew what had felt wrong about him earlier. "You're not even here. And you're an asshole."

He reached for me and I winced, the shame of my fear choking in my throat. Instead of a sharp slap, I felt rough fingers caress my forehead. "He's burning up."

"Heat stroke." Another man stood behind my father and I blinked at him in confusion. My father didn't have much use for friends who came over without cases of beer. The man turned away, talking into a radio and I vaguely realized he must be ordering beer for delivery. That explained why my dad tolerated him.

"Come on, Mikey." Strong fingers gripped my shoulder and I looked at my father again as he pulled me into a sitting position.

"Don't think I'll forgive you, just because you're being nice to me now." The words slipped from my lips in a hiss and my father slid one arm behind my back.

"I won't." He sounded troubled. My father never sounded troubled. My father had once watched Nate throw up so many times that he couldn't stand and only thought to leave the house for more whiskey. I squinted my eyes and stared at him in distrust and his face changed.

"Sam?"

"I've got you, Mikey." Sam pulled me to my feet and I swayed, held up only by his strength.

"Where?" I choked, the grit in my mouth making it impossible to talk.

"Here." Sam hoisted me into the back of a jeep, his hand on my shoulder the only thing that kept me from falling out the other side again. A second later, he pressed a canteen to my lips and water flooded my mouth and spilled over and down my chin. I swallowed instinctively, then greedily, until the other man called out a sharp warning.

"Not too fast!"

Sam turned to talk to him, but when he looked back at me, his face had morphed back into my father. "Sorry, Mikey. You can have more in a minute."

I shook my head. "You were always a liar. I don't believe you."

"He's in bad shape." Bad. Bad, bad, bad. That's why my father had called me my whole life. If I didn't know for sure that pulling away and fighting with him now would make it so much worse when we got home – or that he might decide to beat on Nate or my mom to make me more cooperative – I'd have shoved him on his ass.

The car rumbled to life and I saw the other man driving. "Not riding with a drunk," I said and tried to climb out, but my dad held me in place.

"No one's drunk, Mikey."

"More lies. You're nothing but a lying bastard and a drunk."

"Who's he talking about?" The driver peered back over his shoulder at me.

"None of your concern!" My father's voice cracked back over the driver, who turned away.

"Sorry, sir." Huh. That was weird. My dad's friends weren't exactly the polite type.

"Just hang on, Mikey," my dad ordered and I did the only thing I could to disobey him. I passed out.

************

"His heart rate is elevated. Body temp of 105. He's in bad shape."

"Then do something, damn it!"

"This isn't a hospital! I don't have a lot of options here."

"Aren't you trained for this? Figure something out!"

"A bath is the best I can do." Whoever stood screaming near where I lay was going to die. I was going to kill him, just as soon as I figured out how to make my arms work again. And open my eyes. He was still shouting orders that made no sense and my head hurt. His voice ripped through my brain like barbed wire.

I tried to open my eyes to order him to shut up, but I couldn't. They were too heavy. Then hands pulled at my clothes. I batted them away, forcing my eyes open, and saw my dad leaning over me to restrain my wrists. "Take it easy, Mikey. No one is going to hurt you."

He held my wrists and other hands pulled my clothes free. I heard cloth ripping and looked down to see my shirt being cut off. Another man fought with my belt until he got it free and then pulled down my pants and underwear in one rough motion.

My socks and shoes were already gone and I lay passively until my dad relaxed his grip, then I wrenched away and fell off the table where he'd put me. I hit the ground hard enough that it stunned me and in the split second it took for me to get my breath back, the three other men in the room swooped down to restrain me.

"You bastard," I yelled at my father who stared at me like he had never seen me before. "Don't do this!"

"We're going to help you, Michael. You're sick." The man holding my wrists did his best to speak soothingly, not easy once I'd gotten one hand free and landed a decent blow to his gut.

"I'm not the sick one here," I panted. My heart felt like it was going to explode in my chest, but I'd die before I'd let them do whatever it was they had planned for me. A sharp pain in my thigh made me yelp and I looked down to see one of the men holding a hypodermic needle.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" My dad asked weakly from where he stood near the flap of this tent.

"We can't treat him if he's going to fight us," the man with the shot said grimly. "He's too dangerous to let him keep struggling."

Whatever he'd given me made my legs and arms heavy. I couldn't lift them at all. Hands picked me up and I closed my eyes, resigned to the worst. A moment later, I sucked in a shocked breath when they dropped me in a vat of water. Eyes flying open, I watched as two of the men backed off, leaving the one that I'd punched to keep my head out of the water.

"Kirby, start an IV. He needs fluids and he needs them fast."

Kirby obeyed, but by the time he was ready to stick me, he couldn't. My whole body shook violently and I could hear my teeth chattering. They were trying to freeze me to death and I started to climb out of the water.

"Michael, stay where you are!" My father snapped at me from the door and I stilled, looking at him uncertainly. He only used that tone of voice when he was on the edge of losing his temper completely.

"C…c…c…co…cold…" I complained.

"It's a natural reaction, Michael." The man running the show came at me with another needle. I watched numbly as he jabbed it into my shoulder. "This is diazepam. It'll help you stop shivering. You have heat stroke. Sit as deep in the water as you can."

I opened my mouth to tell him to go and fuck himself, but then the whole world went brilliantly white.

************

I woke up in a bed. It was an army cot and not very comfortable, but it was a bed. I felt like I'd been run over with a truck and my breath hitched as I turned my head. How the hell had I gotten here? The last thing I could remember put me in the desert and wishing I had pancakes.

Sam slept in the chair next to the bed. That explained that, then.

"Sam." My throat hurt and my voice croaked, but Sam shot awake instantly.

"Michael, don't…" He stopped talking. "Did you call me Sam?"

I frowned at him in confusion. "That's your name. Unless we're under cover."

Relief, pure and simple, rolled over his face. "Thank Christ, Mikey."

I managed a skeptical smile. "Didn't know you were the religious type."

"It's new. I picked it up yesterday when I found out you hadn't made it back to camp."

"What happened?" I asked, starting to sit up, but it hurt too badly so I gave up and lay still.

"Someone really wanted to spend the rest of their career shoveling dog shit at the K9 training center." Sam's expression turned to stone and I decided not to ask anymore questions about that.

"You found me?"

"You don't remember?" He searched my eyes carefully and I cast my brain back over my memories.

"I remember a lizard," I finally answered. "What happened?"

"Heat stroke." Sam shrugged. "You were really out of it when I found you."

I cringed. "I've seen people suffering from heat stroke before. How bad was it?"

Sam's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You were fine, Mikey."

"I can't remember."

"Not surprising. You had a seizure. The doc said you'd probably have some short term memory loss."

"Sam, I told you not to be in here when he woke up again!" A man who could only be a doctor from the amount of pompousness in his tone entered the room like a sandstorm, stopping abruptly when I frowned at him.

"Who are you?"

"Dr. Morgan. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," I admitted, noting the way the doctor looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged again. "He seems normal to me."

Dr. Morgan examined me carefully, but I could sense the anxiety leaving him. He left me with strict instructions not to move and not to take out the IV until I was hydrated. I nodded soberly, but my eyes were fixed on Sam. As soon as the doctor left, I cleared my throat.

"You called me Michael."

"What?"

"When I woke up. You called me Michael."

"That's your name." He repeated my own words back to me, but he dropped his gaze to the left.

"What happened?" I demanded, flatly.

Sam sighed and must have reached some mental decision, because he looked up at me. "You were dangerously dehydrated and had pretty bad heat stroke. When I found you, you were hallucinating. You thought I was your father."

I sucked in a breath, humiliation and fear warring in my chest even as my heart started beating in double time. Sam continued, determined to tell me everything. "You fought the doctors who were trying to help you until I ordered you not to and then you called me a lying bastard."

"I'm sorry." I couldn't look at him and I felt my body start trembling again.

"Don't be." Sam scooted his chair closer to the bed. "You didn't do anything wrong and you didn't say anything that we haven't all said to our fathers before. My old man was a racist prick who gambled all his money away. None of us got into this profession because we had a cushy home life."

I still couldn't look up until Sam's hand caught mine. "Listen to me, buddy," he ordered firmly. "You were out of your head and most of what you said didn't make sense. What I did get out of the whole mess is that you're a damn tough guy, Mikey, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have at my back."

His words had a surprising calming effect and I felt the shakes in my hands subside. I nodded gratefully. "Sam, just one thing. You're nothing like my father. And I'm lucky to know you."

For a heartbeat, Sam kept my gaze and returned it seriously. Then the moment passed and he let go of my hand and leaned back. "You're damn right you are. Now, I think that boys in recovery are entitled to a few beers."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I'm still not hydrated."

Sam scoffed, waving one hand at me dismissively. "I wasn't talking about you, Mikey. I'm practically a hero around here, you know. Headed a successful mission, saved one of my guys from the desert. I can't think of a single person who deserves a beer more than I do."

I leaned back against my pillow and smiled. "Neither can I."

Comments

[rise-your-dead.livejournal.com]

I just kept awwing my way through this one. Poor Michael, and SAM, who's just heartbreakingly wonderful and . The details about Michael's childhood are heartbreaking, too. Gorgeous, and the Michael POV is wonderfully IC!

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it and I'm really glad you thought it was in character.

[rise-your-dead.livejournal.com]

You're much welcome!! I'm a huge fan of your work, as always :)

[asphaltangel.livejournal.com]

That is really, really a good story. I love the way you worked the details about Michael's past in, and the conversation he and Sam have at the end is just perfect. Well done!

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much. I'm really glad you liked it!

[petunia846.livejournal.com]

Loved it. Fabulous description, perfect pacing, and great characterization.

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I did a lot of research on heat stroke, so I'm glad it felt real to you. :)

Also, I frigging love your icon!

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :)

[sid]

Hi! :-)

Oh, excellent! Really intense, and the descriptions of sunburn, thirst, cramping made me feel the pain.

We don't know much about Dad, except that he's a right bastard, and you definitely captured that.

Er. Pancakes with blueberry yoghurt? Hmm. Maybe. *g*

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

LOL. Pancakes with bluberries are awesome. And yoghurt couldn't be that different than a crepe or something... I'd eat it. :)

Glad you liked the fic! Thanks so much for saying so.

[(Anonymous)]

Good burn notice fic is like finding a needle in a haystack (sorry, cliche expression, I know). This was the first to inspire me to give feedback! I really enjoyed reading this. It was raw/hot/and awwww all at the same time. Thanks so much. - sc

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I really appreciate the compliment!

[rivana.livejournal.com]

Wonderful story. Poor Mikey, good thing he's got Sam.

[auberus.livejournal.com]

this was *fantastic*. i think my favourite part was the bit where Sam's presence was all it took to explain to Michael why he was no longer dying out in the desert. it was beautifully done.

[trystings.livejournal.com]

Great fic! And great Burn Notice fic is really hard to come by.

Especially loved the part in the end, when Sam just went with Michael's hallucination and channeled Michael's dad to calm him down.

[princessofgeeks (from livejournal.com)]

really enjoyed this. great first person!