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Fate is Fickle

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A Mag7/Burn Notice Xover

Note: I haven't seen anything past the first season of Burn Notice although I do know that Weston is now back in the fold. However I have no idea where he's living now that he's been reinstated, therefore I'm using the warehouse apartment he had in season one for this. If he's got a new place now just pretend that he kept the old one for an emergency fallback.

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The lights are on.

If Sam and Fi weren't right here with me I might pass it off, after all they come and go like they own the place, but they are with me and they're both looking at the lights with the same suspicious expression that I am.

Whoever it is, is either a rank amateur or they don't care that I know they are there. It could be they don't mean me any harm. It could be they do. I've made a lot more enemies along the way than I have friends and you don't stay alive in this business without a healthy dose of paranoia.

I wave Sam to go for the back and Fi to grab her rifle out of the trunk and find a nest somewhere high with a good view through the windows of the apartment.

I give them time to get in position then go in hot, gun out and up, panning to cover the room.

The last person that I thought I'd ever see again is sitting in my recliner with his feet up as relaxed as if he's not supposed to be five years dead and buried. His arms are on the armrests, hands turned palm up and open clearly indicating that he's unarmed and not reaching for a weapon.

I don't relax my stance.

His codename is Coyote's Child. He's faster than a striking rattler and a master at slight of hand. Just because he doesn't appear to be armed doesn't mean he isn't. And he has reason to be unhappy with me. The last time we worked together, I left him to die. But he's not dead and he's here.

He cocks his head to one side and lifts one elegant eyebrow at me. Still holding his hands wide and open he lets the chair down and rises with the lithe grace that had been his trademark.

"Do put the gun away, Michael. I did not come here to kill you."

"You're dead." I had watched him go down myself. I'd seen the solid hit to the chest, the splatter of blood and the graceless crumple to the ground, so unlike his innate grace.

He shrugged and a small smile curved his lips, "The rumors of my demise were somewhat premature."

"What do you want?"

"To repay a debt. I would have come sooner, unfortunately I was indisposed then it took some time to gather the payment."

I wince thinking that he's talking about the bullet wound from back then.

"I did what I had to do. You would have done the same if I'd been the one shot."

"I know that Michael. I have already told you that I am not here to kill you."

I can't help my gaze flicking to the back entrance. Sam should have been here by now.

He cocks that eyebrow again, his gaze tracking mine. "Samuel won't be joining us. Don't worry, neither he nor Miss Fiona are in any danger. I simple preferred this to be between the two of us. You may of course tell them as much," he pauses and graces me with one of those enigmatic smiles of his, "or as little of what transpires here as you wish."

He gestures back towards the recliner, "May I?"

I frown but nod. I've still got the gun on him and he's shown no inclination to go for a weapon of his own.

He walks passed the recliner and picks up two suitcases. I hadn't seen them sitting there because they were blocked by the recliner. He moves to the rough bench that I use as a table and lays them on it on their sides. Without asking he pops the latches then standing between the two cases with his back to me lifts the lids, one in each hand.

One case is full of money. The other is full of weapons.

Releasing the lids he raises his hands and laces his fingers behind his head before backing away from the table to let me get a closer look.

I risk a glance at the cases. There has to be a couple of million dollars in the money case. The weapons case holds hard to find weapons. I can identify both a ceramic gun and a ceramic knife that can get through airport security. There is also a tranq pistol with several darts.

"I don't understand." I really don't understand. I left him for dead. He should be after my head.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Michael," he says in an exasperated tone. "Please put the gun down. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You've been under the gun since you set foot on this block and you are beginning to annoy my partner by continuing to wave that thing in my face."

I study him for a long moment then finally I nod. I turn to the cases and he comes to stand beside me, his hand dropping onto my shoulder. It feels warm and friendly. I don't sense any animosity at all.

"So tell me about this," I say.

He gestures to the case of money. "I started putting this together for you as soon as I heard that you had been burned. I know that you are back in the fold at the moment but once burned…." He let it trail off.

I understood what he wasn't saying. If I had been burned once I could be again. I nodded.

He went on, "In this case, three million dollars, one million in cash, one million in diamonds and a half million in various other gems and a half million in gold coins."

He gestured to the other case, "Hard to find weapons, ceramic guns and knives. A tranq pistol with fifty darts. Also," he reached out and folded down the gun tray in the lid revealing an according file with several folders, "four complete identities for you, two for Miss Fiona and one for Samuel."

"Good?" I ask, picking up one of the folders.

"The best. They will each withstand a Class One Security Check."

"A Class One?"

I'm shocked. A Class One Security Check is the most thorough Security Check there is. It's used to clear the agents assigned to protect the President.

"Why?"

He grins at me and I catch a glimpse of a gold tooth. "Let us just say that I have found Death to be both liberating and very, very rewarding."

"Why ID's for Fi and Sam?"

"Fate is fickle, my friend. Friends are hard to come by and love… is blind." He pauses then hands me a folded piece of paper. "This is a list of people and their specialties. The password is coyote. If you ever need to use them, be certain that you pronounce it Ki Oat not Ki o Tee. The wrong pronunciation will get you killed."

I nod and reach to take his hand. "If you ever need anything, you've got a friend here."

He takes my hand with a smile. "I already have friends, Michael, good friends and true, the kind that will die for you. I wouldn't have them if you hadn't left me to die. I wish you such friends."

He's gone then, silent steps tripping down the front stairs. I watch him stroll down the street to where a Cadillac with blacked out windows is waiting.

I can hear Sam pounding up the back stairs and see Fi running towards the apartment from across the street.

As Coyote reaches the Caddy, a dark figure steps out of the shrubbery, followed by another in a fringed buckskin jacket. Both look out of place in the Miami night.

I know them both, not by name of course. Two more dead men, legends in their time. The Gunslinger aka The Black Death and The Hunter aka The Marksman.

Coyote turns to the dark figure lifting up his face and Death bestows a kiss, soft and gentle before releasing him so that he can turn to the Hunter. Coyote and Hunter are almost the same height, they meet head on to kiss.

Death opens the Caddy's door. Hunter and Coyote break their kiss and slide into the car. Death follows.

"Was that who I think it was?" Sam demands, panting slightly from his run up the stairs just as Fi bursts into the room from the front.

"Yes." I say simply.

"I thought he was dead." Sam says.

"Apparently, death becomes him."

I grin.

Coyote always was the master trickster.

The End

For those of you that haven't figured it out: Coyote aka The Sorcerer is Ezra Standish. The Gunslinger aka The Black Death is Chris Larabee and The Hunter aka The Marksman is Vin Tanner. The rest of the boys are around just not in this story.