Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:35 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:35 pm
Burn Notice | Between Past and Present Tense | PG-13 | Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (Part III of VII)
Title: Between Past and Present Tense (III/VII)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: None.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,450 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
III.
“Great, everybody, this is Mike, he’ll be helping us out,” said the guy who’d introduced himself as Sam Axe not five minutes previously.
Michael didn’t raise an eyebrow at the nickname, but when Sam turned to him, he said, “It’s Michael, actually.”
“Sure thing,” Sam said, sounding all-business but looking a little amused. “Come on, Mike. You’re with me—this way.”
Michael shook his head and followed.
---
Sam had not called him ‘Michael’ once throughout their entire mission. By the end of it, however, he’d gotten pretty used to ‘Mike’—it felt almost natural. That was new.
They were decompressing afterward, talking about nothing in particular, the kind of socializing Michael usually hated but found himself enjoying with Sam. That was new too.
“You might know the man I usually work with. He’s been around awhile,” he said. “Larry Sizemore.”
“Larry Sizemore?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “You have to work with that psychopath?” He snorted, shaking his head. “My sympathies.”
Michael's brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
Sam snorted in disbelief. “You can’t tell me you don't know. You work with him, you have to see what he's like.”
“I know Larry can be a little—” he paused, searching for the right word, “risky sometimes, but he always gets the job done. He knows what he's doing.”
“Yeah, risky, that's the word I'd use.” He shook his head. “Never said he didn't know what he was doing. That's the problem, half the time. He knows a little too well. I don't trust people who try to climb inside my head.”
“That's spycraft,” Michael said with a shrug.
“No, I've met other spies who don't creep me the hell out—you, for instance. It’s him. I'm telling you, Mikey, the man is a psychopath. Next time you work together, just mention my name. See what happens.”
“I think you're reading too much into it,” he said after a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "Really, Sam? Mikey? Let me guess—I'm stuck with that now, aren't I?"
Sam only grinned, tipping his beer toward him. Rolling his eyes, and despite himself, Michael grinned too.
---
It wasn’t a surprise, really, that shorthand developed between two people who worked well together—it was an easier way to communicate, after all, not to mention a more secure one, and it was helpful. All in all, it was definitely a good thing.
But it was maybe a small surprise that he and Sam apparently already had shorthand by the time they were wrapping up the second job they worked together.
Michael couldn’t recall a time when he’d clicked so easily with anyone. Even he and Andre hadn’t been friends this quickly. Everything about it felt so natural, so easy, and honestly, that confused the hell out of him. His life had never been one for easy.
But Sam was incredibly laid-back, eminently approachable, friends with just about everybody, and it was hard not to like him. It didn’t hurt that he was damned attractive, too.
“I have a day before I’m off,” he told him, dropping onto a stool next to him. Once Sam had found the—rather nice—bar in the surprisingly upscale hotel where this last job had landed them, he had declared his intention to never leave. “I think I’m going to head back to my room, do some basic preparation,” which, for him, meant cleaning his weapon and brushing up on his Farsi, “and hit the sack.”
Sam turned to look at him, expression plainly disbelieving. “Are you seriously not going to enjoy this place the last night you’re here?” he asked him. “In thirty-six hours you’re probably going to be squatting in some shack in Afghanistan. Why not relax while you’ve still got access to running water?” He gestured at the hotel, including the pool area.
“Sunbathing isn’t exactly my idea of a good time,” said Michael, dryly.
“That’s what booze is for, Mikey,” he said, grinning. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink.” He turned back toward the bar, smiling at the bartender. “Mina, this is my buddy, Mike. He needs something to loosen him up. What do you recommend?”
Mina smiled, clearly considering this question, before nodding abruptly. “I’ve got just the thing,” she said, and went about making a drink that Michael had never seen before.
She placed it in front of him a few minutes later, and he stared at it, saying, “It’s blue.”
“Just try it, Mikey,” said Sam.
“Only for you, Sam,” Michael said, and Sam grinned as he picked up the glass and took a drink. It was good, he had to admit—this place obviously had decent alcohol—and the drink itself wasn’t too sweet. He took another sip.
“Attaboy, Mike!” Sam said, picking up his own glass and holding it out in a cheers gesture. “To having a day off,” he said.
“All right,” he said, and clinked his against it.
Michael watched Sam throw back the rest of his drink, and he caught himself staring at the hard lines of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Shaking his head, he took another long drink from his own glass, trying to clear those thoughts from his head. They were dangerous.
“Mina, that was great. I’ll have another,” he declared, flashing her a charming grin.
Mina looked amused. “I like you, Sam. You’re quite the drinker,” she said, picking up his glass and getting him a new drink.
Sam winked. “Keep ‘em coming,” he said. “For Mike too. Between you and me, we’ll convert him.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “This one is fine for now, thanks,” he said.
“Mike,” Sam said, heaving a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
Michael didn’t respond with what was on the tip of his tongue—‘I could be field-stripping a semi-automatic right now, you know’—because there were civilians who might overhear. Instead, he sent him a communicative look, and Sam laughed like he heard it anyway.
“This is more fun, trust me,” said Sam, nodding sagely. He clapped him on the back. “Also, don’t look now, but you have an admirer at your eight o’clock.”
Michael raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to turn around, reaching for one of the shiny metal napkin holders on the bar and using it to see behind him. Sure enough, there was a pretty redhead sitting at a table, looking appreciatively in their direction.
He shrugged. “She might be looking at you,” he said.
“I appreciate your confidence in me, Mikey, but she’s definitely been eyeing you,” Sam said, and smirked. “Wanna go talk to her?”
“No,” said Michael, shrugging again. “Not my type.”
“Okay, I have to hear this,” Sam said. “What’s your type?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.” That was a lie, because a description flitted into his mind as soon as he said it: someone strong, someone who could understand him, someone who pushed him, someone he could count on. It fit Andre and Larry, of course, but it just so happened that all those things also fit Sam. “I know it when I see it, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly disbelieving. “Well, looks like you’re too late anyway,” he added, and Michael glanced through the napkin holder again to see the redhead being approached by a frankly ridiculously good-looking guy—tall, blond, lean muscle, tanned. Damn.
He noticed Sam’s gaze linger in that direction for a moment, and while most of Michael figured he was just enjoying the woman, part of him couldn’t help but wonder.
“They’ll have fun,” he said, and Sam snorted.
“No kidding.” He shook his head, finishing his drink, and waved at Mina. She smiled and held up an index finger, indicating it’d be a moment—more customers had gathered. “It’s just a shame, Mike, a young, good-looking guy like you, not enjoying his life to the fullest.”
Michael sternly told himself not to read anything into that—it was just a general comment. “I enjoy my life,” he protested.
“Yeah, but you could really use some more me-time. You can’t be a badass superspy all the time. Even they have to eat.”
Michael snorted. “I eat plenty.”
“You also need to sleep.”
“I do that too.”
“And then there’s sex. Sex is important.”
There Michael hesitated, because there was no way he was about to tell Sam about Larry. Even though he didn’t think Sam would care too much about the fact that Larry was a guy, there was still the minor point where he completely hated him. At last, he said, “It’s hard to find the right person.”
“You’re too picky.”
Mina placed Sam’s fresh drink in front of him, and he smiled at her in thanks before taking a sip.
“Not all of us get along with everybody, Sam,” Michael said dryly.
“That’s easy.”
“It’s easy because it’s what you do,” he said. “If I’m getting along with somebody, it’s usually because I’m about to plant a bug on their boss.”
Sam shook his head. “Still,” he said, taking a long look at him. “It’s a shame, that’s all I’m saying.”
It was hard for Michael not to read anything into that. Had Sam just checked him out? “It’s not,” he insisted, a beat too late. “I do…all right, I think, considering.”
His eyebrows rose. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Think that means you’re not doing it right.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “What, you’d have pointers?”
“Maybe.” He smirked in a way Michael was trying not to interpret as you know you want me, but Sam made it harder once he leaned in slightly. “Stick with me, Mike. I could probably teach you a thing or two.”
It was practically involuntary, the way Michael’s eyes flicked over Sam’s body after he said that, and that was when his mouth started working faster than his brain. “The bar’s starting to get more crowded,” he said, hoping it sounded casual. “There’s alcohol in the rooms, right?”
“Of course there is.”
Michael briefly bit his lip. “Maybe we should head back there.”
Sam grinned. “Are you saying ‘mini-bar’, Mike? Because I didn’t think you had it in you.” He finished his drink. “Let’s go.”
It was when they were in the hallway that he said it. “I was actually thinking about more than just the mini-bar.” It came out sounding awkward to his own ears, but he wasn’t exactly adept at this. Flirting while undercover was one thing. Hitting on one of his co-workers (especially when he should know better) was another.
Sam laughed. “If you wanted some company, you should’ve said something to that woman who kept eyeing you at the bar.” They came to a stop in front of a hotel room door, and Sam pulled his key card out of his pocket, sliding it in and unlocking the door, pushing it open.
They stepped inside, just in the entrance area. “I don’t want her company,” said Michael meaningfully, feeling brazen. He wasn’t even drunk, which was almost a shame—at least that might have been an excuse for actually saying it.
“I wouldn’t have mind—oh, hold on a second,” Sam said, and Michael watched his meaning sink in. He chuckled, obviously surprised. “Okay, that I didn’t see coming.”
Michael tensed and steeled himself, trying not to feel like his world was falling apart. “Never mind.” Fuck. He’d just fucked up, misread the situation—but Sam was a good guy, maybe he wouldn’t report him. “I didn’t mean—just pretend I never said anything, please?”
“Hey, no, it’s cool, relax,” Sam said, and grinned reassuringly. Michael did relax fractionally. “How do you think I have so many buddies? I was just surprised—you’re pretty tightly coiled, Mikey. I didn’t take you for the fraternization type.”
“It’s not something I do a lot,” he admitted, which was true. So far, there was only Larry. “I just—well—”
“I pride myself on being irresistible,” Sam replied, pretty smugly, and pushed him further inside the hotel room, letting the door fall shut behind him. He leaned in, pressing him lightly against the wall, and said, “What’d you have in mind?”
Michael grinned and closed the distance between them, kissing him purposefully. Sam kissed back with enthusiasm, deepening it and pushing him more tightly against the wall. Sam’s chest against his was all hard muscle, pinning him in place, and he turned the kiss from merely passionate to fuck, no wonder he’s smug.
Michael groaned and shifted against him, and Sam pulled back, breathing heavily. It gave him the leverage he needed to push him back, toward the bed, and Sam grinned. “I underestimated you, Mike.”
He smirked. “Here’s your chance to make it up to me.”
---
Radio silence. It set Michael’s teeth on edge, because Sam had been due to check in twenty minutes ago, and still nothing. Everything should have gone like clockwork. Everyone was in place. There was no room for error.
When the receiver in his hand crackled to life, Michael tensed, just slightly, and then relaxed as Sam’s voice filtered through. “I’m all right,” he said, but then there was a heavy, almost unnatural pause, and Michael tensed again. “But we miscalculated. We’re going to need another day to prepare. Hold down the fort ‘til then, huh, Michael? Over.”
Michael tensed even further, pressing the button and replying, “Roger. Out.” He took a deep breath. “They’ve got him. We’ve got to get a rescue mission in place.”
“What the hell are you talking about? How do you know that?” asked one of the guys who had been listening, a member of Sam’s team.
“He called me Michael. Have any of you ever heard him call me Michael before now?” he demanded, raising an eyebrow. “He’s in trouble. Let’s get going.”
---
“I knew you’d get my message, Mikey,” Sam said, grinning ear to ear; he clapped him on the back as they rode away, shots ringing out over their heads.
Michael gave him an incredulous look. Only Sam could be so nonchalant amidst a hail of gunfire. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, jerking the wheel and sharply turning them left. “How did they get wind of this?”
Sam sighed. “One of our guys screwed up,” he said. “One of the kids who was part of the basic recon didn’t do as thorough a job as I would’ve liked. We walked into an ambush.”
And there it was, that hard spike of anger, burning through him. “You got caught and nearly killed because some idiot didn’t do his job?” Another hard jerk of the wheel, another sharp turn, and it felt good, almost like he was taking his anger out on the barely-there road in front of them. “Who was it?”
Sam gave him a sidelong look. “I already dealt with him, Mikey—it’s been taken care of. Believe me, the kid is way more pissed at himself than you could ever be.”
“I doubt that, Sam,” Michael said darkly, because this, to him, was inexcusable. You did not fuck up and put a member of your team’s life in danger, and if you did, you damn well faced the consequences.
“Hey, Mike, I’m fine,” Sam said. “You’re pissed, I can see that—hell, I think a few long-dead Soviet spies could see that—but it’s not the kind of thing to get this worked up over. Mistakes happen. They get fixed. We move on.”
“Not when they almost cost lives, Sam,” Michael bit out, slamming on the breaks to avoid a fallen tree. He quickly reversed, cutting down a road that looked more like a bike path. “Your life, I might point out.”
“You don’t have to point that out to me, Mike, I was there,” Sam said. “Listen. Almost is the operative word. We got out safely. That’s what’s important.”
“I just want to make sure it never happens again.” He leaned his head out of the way of some incoming brush, turning back onto the ‘main’ road. Not much of an improvement, but it helped.
“Of course it’s going to happen again,” Sam said bluntly. “That’s the job. There’s risk.”
“Not all risk is inevitable.”
“Human error is,” Sam said, firmly. “Let it go. I’m not telling you who it was, so how about we just concentrate on getting us back to camp in one piece, huh? There’s a beer or six calling my name. I can hear them now.”
Michael rolled his eyes, unable to hold in a snort. He could feel his anger ebbing away, like a pot of boiling water taken off the heat. “Fine,” he said at last. “We’re almost there. You better save one of those beers for me.”
Sam grinned at him. “That’s the spirit, Mikey.”
---
It was somewhat disconcerting, working with both Larry and Sam at the same time.
The tension was almost as stifling as the humidity, and while nothing obvious had been said, it was obvious that they didn’t get along—yet even with that hanging over their heads, everything was still running smoothly.
Michael knew most of that was because they were both professionals, and damn good at what they did, but he couldn’t help but think at least part of the precarious civility was because of him.
“I’m about ready,” he told them. “I should be back in about an hour.”
“Remember,” Larry said, grinning and casually draping an arm around his shoulder. “Right now, it’s look, don’t touch. Don’t get spotted.”
“I know.” Michael smirked slightly up at him. “This is going to be a piece of cake.”
“Damn right.”
“Just be careful,” said Sam, and Michael noticed that he was eyeing them shrewdly, clearly trying to figure something out.
“Mother hen,” said Larry, under his breath. Sam obviously heard it too, because his jaw clenched.
“I’ll be fine. See you in an hour.”
---
“You two are sleeping together, aren’t you?” Sam asked him, once Larry left to finish doing the perimeter check.
Michael looked up at him. He should have known, the three of them working together, that it wouldn’t stay a secret for long. “Yeah,” he said, for lack of anything better.
“For a while, right? Before we met?” he asked, and Michael nodded. He made a face. “You didn’t mention that.”
“Should I have?” Michael asked. “You and I aren’t exactly exclusive, Sam.”
“Not what I meant,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just…watch out, huh, Mikey?”
Michael rolled his eyes. Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that Larry wasn’t entirely off the mark with his mother hen comments. “I am. I’m fine, all right?”
“Mike…” Sam heaved a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, and I know you don’t really believe me, but Larry’s a bad guy. You might think he’s on your side, but you can’t trust him. He’s a psychopath, and above all, he cares about himself, no one else.”
“Larry has my back,” Michael said firmly. “And right now, he has yours too.”
“Mike. I’m being honest here. You’re smart, resourceful, and you’ve got one hell of a future in this business. He’s a bad influence, and he’ll drag you down to his level given half a chance. You’re above that. All I’m saying is watch out for it, huh?”
Part of him wanted to be angry, and he could feel that part start to burn, hot and steady, but something about the way Sam was looking at him made another part spring to life, a part telling him to shut it down. He waited a few moments before speaking. “I appreciate your concern,” he said at last, forcing his tone even, grounding himself. “I know Larry has his wilder moments. I know he’s manipulative. But he’s had my back more times than I can count, and he’s always come through when I needed him. I’m being careful. I’ll be fine.”
“All right. Fair enough,” Sam said, and they spent the next few minutes working in a somewhat heavy, if not quite awkward, silence. “At least tell me he’s bad in the sack, though, yeah?” he asked eventually, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
Michael suppressed a groan. “Sam...”
“C’mon, Mikey, give me that.”
Michael paused, then shrugged. “Sorry.”
Sam sighed, waving that away. “No, it’s okay. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—evil has that whole 'seductive' thing going for it—but still, my pride? I'll admit, it's a little wounded.”
“I never said it was a comparison,” Michael replied. “Believe me when I say that's...not possible.”
“Like comparing an apple and a hand grenade?” Sam smirked. “God, he’s got to be a kinky bastard.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Do you really want details?”
He made another face. “No. Jesus, way to kill my sex drive for life there, Mikey.”
“Somehow I expect you’ll bounce back,” Michael said dryly.
---
“We have to at least—”
“No.” One word, said like iron, Sam’s usually easygoing demeanor replaced by a hard stare and a firmly-set jaw. “We’re leaving them out of this. They’re kids.”
“They’re seventeen,” Michael said. “I joined the Army at seventeen. Everything they’ve seen, they’ve had to grow up fast. They can handle this.”
“Yeah, and we’re not helping them grow up any faster.”
“This guy is going down one way or another, Sam.”
“How about we find the way that lets me sleep at night?” Sam asked. “I know you want to get him, Mike—so do I. But there’s a better way, a safer way.”
“We’ll be right there,” Michael protested. “It’s not going to be any more dangerous than—”
“You can’t guarantee that and you know it! What happens if one or both of them get hurt? Or killed? Do you want to deliver that news to their mothers, because I sure as hell don’t.”
“One way or another,” Michael said, tone dark, “he’s going down.”
Sam met and held his gaze. He frowned deeply. “You’ve got to stop that,” he said. “That anger, some of it’s justified, but some of it’s just destructive. He’ll go down. But there are lines, Mike, lines you don’t ever cross, and you need to understand that.”
“The lines are blurred when it comes to guys like him,” Michael said, every muscle in his body feeling tense, like a rope pulled taut. “Sometimes you have to do bad things for good reasons.”
“But sometimes you don’t,” Sam countered. “It’s not always the only option, but it should always be the last option. I’m saying I think there’s a better way.”
Michael blew out a breath. If he were doing this job with Larry, they’d be halfway to finished by now. He could even hear Larry’s voice in his head, snorting and calling Sam a boy scout. Part of him agreed, his frustration running high, but this was Sam. Sam never wasted his time. “What’s the better way?” he asked, finally, and took a deep, calming breath. Some of the frustration and annoyance fell away.
“Give me a second to—oh!” He grinned suddenly. “Come on, Mikey, follow me.”
Michael raised an eyebrow at him. Sam didn’t say another word, simply turned around and started walking away.
Shaking his head, he followed anyway.
---
Throughout his years as a spy, Sam remained one of the few people he could consistently count on. It hadn’t been much of a surprise when that continued even long after he was burned.
He’d always defied classification.
iii.
When Sam heard the news, his first thought was of Mike.
Okay, no, that was a lie.
His first thought was, Halle-freakin’-lujah. Ding dong, the bastard’s dead.
His second thought was of Mike. He knew the news would be all over their little camp, and he figured it’d be best if it came from him, so he headed to find him. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite get to him in time to be the one to break the news.
“You hear who finally bought it?” one of the other guys on their team was saying, while Mikey obviously only half-listened, much more focused on the bug he was making than anything else. He allowed himself a small smile—that was Mike. “That creepy motherfucker. Larry—whatshisname—Sizemore? Walked right into an oil refinery just before it went boom, bunch of people saw. I guess evil doesn’t live forever, huh?”
Mike tensed, barely. It was so subtle even Sam almost didn’t notice. “Excuse me,” he said tightly, taking his work with him and walking away.
The guy looked up and saw him, frowning. “What’s wrong with him?”
Sam sighed, shaking his head.
---
He didn’t have to worry about Mike on the mission, he knew that much—and it went as smoothly as it ever did, trying to con a bunch of crazy people.
Afterward, though, Sam still wanted to talk to Mike, and he figured Mike probably needed him to, whether he knew it or not. Because Sam might think it was weird, and he might not understand it, but Mike and Larry had had that strange little bond going on. He was probably taking the news hard. It was tough to hear that a friend died, even if that friend was a raving psychopath.
He found him by himself, seemingly staring off into space, although Sam wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d actually snuck up on Mike.
“Need a drink?” he asked him.
“No.”
“You okay?”
Mike lifted his head to look at him; his smile was humorless. “What do you think?”
“I think you need a drink.” He pushed over a beer. Mike only looked at it.
“I know you hated him. You don’t have to do this.”
“Sure I do. You’re my buddy.”
Mike rolled his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long few minutes. Finally, he spoke. “I know Larry was fucked up, lately especially,” he said, meeting his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I don’t...I always knew where I stood with him. Who I was.”
There were a lot of things Sam could say to that: namely, that Larry was a manipulative psychopath who was great at getting people to believe whatever the hell he wanted them to believe, that Mike was worth ten of him, easy, and that he’d be way better off with the bastard dead—but he didn’t. Instead, he shrugged and said, “I think you’re one of the few people Larry actually liked, Mikey. That’s something.”
It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Mike snorted and actually picked up his beer, taking a drink.
It was a start, Sam thought.
Part II | Masterpost | Part IV
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG-13 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: None.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,450 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
“Great, everybody, this is Mike, he’ll be helping us out,” said the guy who’d introduced himself as Sam Axe not five minutes previously.
Michael didn’t raise an eyebrow at the nickname, but when Sam turned to him, he said, “It’s Michael, actually.”
“Sure thing,” Sam said, sounding all-business but looking a little amused. “Come on, Mike. You’re with me—this way.”
Michael shook his head and followed.
Sam had not called him ‘Michael’ once throughout their entire mission. By the end of it, however, he’d gotten pretty used to ‘Mike’—it felt almost natural. That was new.
They were decompressing afterward, talking about nothing in particular, the kind of socializing Michael usually hated but found himself enjoying with Sam. That was new too.
“You might know the man I usually work with. He’s been around awhile,” he said. “Larry Sizemore.”
“Larry Sizemore?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “You have to work with that psychopath?” He snorted, shaking his head. “My sympathies.”
Michael's brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
Sam snorted in disbelief. “You can’t tell me you don't know. You work with him, you have to see what he's like.”
“I know Larry can be a little—” he paused, searching for the right word, “risky sometimes, but he always gets the job done. He knows what he's doing.”
“Yeah, risky, that's the word I'd use.” He shook his head. “Never said he didn't know what he was doing. That's the problem, half the time. He knows a little too well. I don't trust people who try to climb inside my head.”
“That's spycraft,” Michael said with a shrug.
“No, I've met other spies who don't creep me the hell out—you, for instance. It’s him. I'm telling you, Mikey, the man is a psychopath. Next time you work together, just mention my name. See what happens.”
“I think you're reading too much into it,” he said after a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "Really, Sam? Mikey? Let me guess—I'm stuck with that now, aren't I?"
Sam only grinned, tipping his beer toward him. Rolling his eyes, and despite himself, Michael grinned too.
It wasn’t a surprise, really, that shorthand developed between two people who worked well together—it was an easier way to communicate, after all, not to mention a more secure one, and it was helpful. All in all, it was definitely a good thing.
But it was maybe a small surprise that he and Sam apparently already had shorthand by the time they were wrapping up the second job they worked together.
Michael couldn’t recall a time when he’d clicked so easily with anyone. Even he and Andre hadn’t been friends this quickly. Everything about it felt so natural, so easy, and honestly, that confused the hell out of him. His life had never been one for easy.
But Sam was incredibly laid-back, eminently approachable, friends with just about everybody, and it was hard not to like him. It didn’t hurt that he was damned attractive, too.
“I have a day before I’m off,” he told him, dropping onto a stool next to him. Once Sam had found the—rather nice—bar in the surprisingly upscale hotel where this last job had landed them, he had declared his intention to never leave. “I think I’m going to head back to my room, do some basic preparation,” which, for him, meant cleaning his weapon and brushing up on his Farsi, “and hit the sack.”
Sam turned to look at him, expression plainly disbelieving. “Are you seriously not going to enjoy this place the last night you’re here?” he asked him. “In thirty-six hours you’re probably going to be squatting in some shack in Afghanistan. Why not relax while you’ve still got access to running water?” He gestured at the hotel, including the pool area.
“Sunbathing isn’t exactly my idea of a good time,” said Michael, dryly.
“That’s what booze is for, Mikey,” he said, grinning. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink.” He turned back toward the bar, smiling at the bartender. “Mina, this is my buddy, Mike. He needs something to loosen him up. What do you recommend?”
Mina smiled, clearly considering this question, before nodding abruptly. “I’ve got just the thing,” she said, and went about making a drink that Michael had never seen before.
She placed it in front of him a few minutes later, and he stared at it, saying, “It’s blue.”
“Just try it, Mikey,” said Sam.
“Only for you, Sam,” Michael said, and Sam grinned as he picked up the glass and took a drink. It was good, he had to admit—this place obviously had decent alcohol—and the drink itself wasn’t too sweet. He took another sip.
“Attaboy, Mike!” Sam said, picking up his own glass and holding it out in a cheers gesture. “To having a day off,” he said.
“All right,” he said, and clinked his against it.
Michael watched Sam throw back the rest of his drink, and he caught himself staring at the hard lines of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Shaking his head, he took another long drink from his own glass, trying to clear those thoughts from his head. They were dangerous.
“Mina, that was great. I’ll have another,” he declared, flashing her a charming grin.
Mina looked amused. “I like you, Sam. You’re quite the drinker,” she said, picking up his glass and getting him a new drink.
Sam winked. “Keep ‘em coming,” he said. “For Mike too. Between you and me, we’ll convert him.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “This one is fine for now, thanks,” he said.
“Mike,” Sam said, heaving a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
Michael didn’t respond with what was on the tip of his tongue—‘I could be field-stripping a semi-automatic right now, you know’—because there were civilians who might overhear. Instead, he sent him a communicative look, and Sam laughed like he heard it anyway.
“This is more fun, trust me,” said Sam, nodding sagely. He clapped him on the back. “Also, don’t look now, but you have an admirer at your eight o’clock.”
Michael raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to turn around, reaching for one of the shiny metal napkin holders on the bar and using it to see behind him. Sure enough, there was a pretty redhead sitting at a table, looking appreciatively in their direction.
He shrugged. “She might be looking at you,” he said.
“I appreciate your confidence in me, Mikey, but she’s definitely been eyeing you,” Sam said, and smirked. “Wanna go talk to her?”
“No,” said Michael, shrugging again. “Not my type.”
“Okay, I have to hear this,” Sam said. “What’s your type?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.” That was a lie, because a description flitted into his mind as soon as he said it: someone strong, someone who could understand him, someone who pushed him, someone he could count on. It fit Andre and Larry, of course, but it just so happened that all those things also fit Sam. “I know it when I see it, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly disbelieving. “Well, looks like you’re too late anyway,” he added, and Michael glanced through the napkin holder again to see the redhead being approached by a frankly ridiculously good-looking guy—tall, blond, lean muscle, tanned. Damn.
He noticed Sam’s gaze linger in that direction for a moment, and while most of Michael figured he was just enjoying the woman, part of him couldn’t help but wonder.
“They’ll have fun,” he said, and Sam snorted.
“No kidding.” He shook his head, finishing his drink, and waved at Mina. She smiled and held up an index finger, indicating it’d be a moment—more customers had gathered. “It’s just a shame, Mike, a young, good-looking guy like you, not enjoying his life to the fullest.”
Michael sternly told himself not to read anything into that—it was just a general comment. “I enjoy my life,” he protested.
“Yeah, but you could really use some more me-time. You can’t be a badass superspy all the time. Even they have to eat.”
Michael snorted. “I eat plenty.”
“You also need to sleep.”
“I do that too.”
“And then there’s sex. Sex is important.”
There Michael hesitated, because there was no way he was about to tell Sam about Larry. Even though he didn’t think Sam would care too much about the fact that Larry was a guy, there was still the minor point where he completely hated him. At last, he said, “It’s hard to find the right person.”
“You’re too picky.”
Mina placed Sam’s fresh drink in front of him, and he smiled at her in thanks before taking a sip.
“Not all of us get along with everybody, Sam,” Michael said dryly.
“That’s easy.”
“It’s easy because it’s what you do,” he said. “If I’m getting along with somebody, it’s usually because I’m about to plant a bug on their boss.”
Sam shook his head. “Still,” he said, taking a long look at him. “It’s a shame, that’s all I’m saying.”
It was hard for Michael not to read anything into that. Had Sam just checked him out? “It’s not,” he insisted, a beat too late. “I do…all right, I think, considering.”
His eyebrows rose. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Think that means you’re not doing it right.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “What, you’d have pointers?”
“Maybe.” He smirked in a way Michael was trying not to interpret as you know you want me, but Sam made it harder once he leaned in slightly. “Stick with me, Mike. I could probably teach you a thing or two.”
It was practically involuntary, the way Michael’s eyes flicked over Sam’s body after he said that, and that was when his mouth started working faster than his brain. “The bar’s starting to get more crowded,” he said, hoping it sounded casual. “There’s alcohol in the rooms, right?”
“Of course there is.”
Michael briefly bit his lip. “Maybe we should head back there.”
Sam grinned. “Are you saying ‘mini-bar’, Mike? Because I didn’t think you had it in you.” He finished his drink. “Let’s go.”
It was when they were in the hallway that he said it. “I was actually thinking about more than just the mini-bar.” It came out sounding awkward to his own ears, but he wasn’t exactly adept at this. Flirting while undercover was one thing. Hitting on one of his co-workers (especially when he should know better) was another.
Sam laughed. “If you wanted some company, you should’ve said something to that woman who kept eyeing you at the bar.” They came to a stop in front of a hotel room door, and Sam pulled his key card out of his pocket, sliding it in and unlocking the door, pushing it open.
They stepped inside, just in the entrance area. “I don’t want her company,” said Michael meaningfully, feeling brazen. He wasn’t even drunk, which was almost a shame—at least that might have been an excuse for actually saying it.
“I wouldn’t have mind—oh, hold on a second,” Sam said, and Michael watched his meaning sink in. He chuckled, obviously surprised. “Okay, that I didn’t see coming.”
Michael tensed and steeled himself, trying not to feel like his world was falling apart. “Never mind.” Fuck. He’d just fucked up, misread the situation—but Sam was a good guy, maybe he wouldn’t report him. “I didn’t mean—just pretend I never said anything, please?”
“Hey, no, it’s cool, relax,” Sam said, and grinned reassuringly. Michael did relax fractionally. “How do you think I have so many buddies? I was just surprised—you’re pretty tightly coiled, Mikey. I didn’t take you for the fraternization type.”
“It’s not something I do a lot,” he admitted, which was true. So far, there was only Larry. “I just—well—”
“I pride myself on being irresistible,” Sam replied, pretty smugly, and pushed him further inside the hotel room, letting the door fall shut behind him. He leaned in, pressing him lightly against the wall, and said, “What’d you have in mind?”
Michael grinned and closed the distance between them, kissing him purposefully. Sam kissed back with enthusiasm, deepening it and pushing him more tightly against the wall. Sam’s chest against his was all hard muscle, pinning him in place, and he turned the kiss from merely passionate to fuck, no wonder he’s smug.
Michael groaned and shifted against him, and Sam pulled back, breathing heavily. It gave him the leverage he needed to push him back, toward the bed, and Sam grinned. “I underestimated you, Mike.”
He smirked. “Here’s your chance to make it up to me.”
Radio silence. It set Michael’s teeth on edge, because Sam had been due to check in twenty minutes ago, and still nothing. Everything should have gone like clockwork. Everyone was in place. There was no room for error.
When the receiver in his hand crackled to life, Michael tensed, just slightly, and then relaxed as Sam’s voice filtered through. “I’m all right,” he said, but then there was a heavy, almost unnatural pause, and Michael tensed again. “But we miscalculated. We’re going to need another day to prepare. Hold down the fort ‘til then, huh, Michael? Over.”
Michael tensed even further, pressing the button and replying, “Roger. Out.” He took a deep breath. “They’ve got him. We’ve got to get a rescue mission in place.”
“What the hell are you talking about? How do you know that?” asked one of the guys who had been listening, a member of Sam’s team.
“He called me Michael. Have any of you ever heard him call me Michael before now?” he demanded, raising an eyebrow. “He’s in trouble. Let’s get going.”
“I knew you’d get my message, Mikey,” Sam said, grinning ear to ear; he clapped him on the back as they rode away, shots ringing out over their heads.
Michael gave him an incredulous look. Only Sam could be so nonchalant amidst a hail of gunfire. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, jerking the wheel and sharply turning them left. “How did they get wind of this?”
Sam sighed. “One of our guys screwed up,” he said. “One of the kids who was part of the basic recon didn’t do as thorough a job as I would’ve liked. We walked into an ambush.”
And there it was, that hard spike of anger, burning through him. “You got caught and nearly killed because some idiot didn’t do his job?” Another hard jerk of the wheel, another sharp turn, and it felt good, almost like he was taking his anger out on the barely-there road in front of them. “Who was it?”
Sam gave him a sidelong look. “I already dealt with him, Mikey—it’s been taken care of. Believe me, the kid is way more pissed at himself than you could ever be.”
“I doubt that, Sam,” Michael said darkly, because this, to him, was inexcusable. You did not fuck up and put a member of your team’s life in danger, and if you did, you damn well faced the consequences.
“Hey, Mike, I’m fine,” Sam said. “You’re pissed, I can see that—hell, I think a few long-dead Soviet spies could see that—but it’s not the kind of thing to get this worked up over. Mistakes happen. They get fixed. We move on.”
“Not when they almost cost lives, Sam,” Michael bit out, slamming on the breaks to avoid a fallen tree. He quickly reversed, cutting down a road that looked more like a bike path. “Your life, I might point out.”
“You don’t have to point that out to me, Mike, I was there,” Sam said. “Listen. Almost is the operative word. We got out safely. That’s what’s important.”
“I just want to make sure it never happens again.” He leaned his head out of the way of some incoming brush, turning back onto the ‘main’ road. Not much of an improvement, but it helped.
“Of course it’s going to happen again,” Sam said bluntly. “That’s the job. There’s risk.”
“Not all risk is inevitable.”
“Human error is,” Sam said, firmly. “Let it go. I’m not telling you who it was, so how about we just concentrate on getting us back to camp in one piece, huh? There’s a beer or six calling my name. I can hear them now.”
Michael rolled his eyes, unable to hold in a snort. He could feel his anger ebbing away, like a pot of boiling water taken off the heat. “Fine,” he said at last. “We’re almost there. You better save one of those beers for me.”
Sam grinned at him. “That’s the spirit, Mikey.”
It was somewhat disconcerting, working with both Larry and Sam at the same time.
The tension was almost as stifling as the humidity, and while nothing obvious had been said, it was obvious that they didn’t get along—yet even with that hanging over their heads, everything was still running smoothly.
Michael knew most of that was because they were both professionals, and damn good at what they did, but he couldn’t help but think at least part of the precarious civility was because of him.
“I’m about ready,” he told them. “I should be back in about an hour.”
“Remember,” Larry said, grinning and casually draping an arm around his shoulder. “Right now, it’s look, don’t touch. Don’t get spotted.”
“I know.” Michael smirked slightly up at him. “This is going to be a piece of cake.”
“Damn right.”
“Just be careful,” said Sam, and Michael noticed that he was eyeing them shrewdly, clearly trying to figure something out.
“Mother hen,” said Larry, under his breath. Sam obviously heard it too, because his jaw clenched.
“I’ll be fine. See you in an hour.”
“You two are sleeping together, aren’t you?” Sam asked him, once Larry left to finish doing the perimeter check.
Michael looked up at him. He should have known, the three of them working together, that it wouldn’t stay a secret for long. “Yeah,” he said, for lack of anything better.
“For a while, right? Before we met?” he asked, and Michael nodded. He made a face. “You didn’t mention that.”
“Should I have?” Michael asked. “You and I aren’t exactly exclusive, Sam.”
“Not what I meant,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just…watch out, huh, Mikey?”
Michael rolled his eyes. Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that Larry wasn’t entirely off the mark with his mother hen comments. “I am. I’m fine, all right?”
“Mike…” Sam heaved a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, and I know you don’t really believe me, but Larry’s a bad guy. You might think he’s on your side, but you can’t trust him. He’s a psychopath, and above all, he cares about himself, no one else.”
“Larry has my back,” Michael said firmly. “And right now, he has yours too.”
“Mike. I’m being honest here. You’re smart, resourceful, and you’ve got one hell of a future in this business. He’s a bad influence, and he’ll drag you down to his level given half a chance. You’re above that. All I’m saying is watch out for it, huh?”
Part of him wanted to be angry, and he could feel that part start to burn, hot and steady, but something about the way Sam was looking at him made another part spring to life, a part telling him to shut it down. He waited a few moments before speaking. “I appreciate your concern,” he said at last, forcing his tone even, grounding himself. “I know Larry has his wilder moments. I know he’s manipulative. But he’s had my back more times than I can count, and he’s always come through when I needed him. I’m being careful. I’ll be fine.”
“All right. Fair enough,” Sam said, and they spent the next few minutes working in a somewhat heavy, if not quite awkward, silence. “At least tell me he’s bad in the sack, though, yeah?” he asked eventually, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
Michael suppressed a groan. “Sam...”
“C’mon, Mikey, give me that.”
Michael paused, then shrugged. “Sorry.”
Sam sighed, waving that away. “No, it’s okay. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—evil has that whole 'seductive' thing going for it—but still, my pride? I'll admit, it's a little wounded.”
“I never said it was a comparison,” Michael replied. “Believe me when I say that's...not possible.”
“Like comparing an apple and a hand grenade?” Sam smirked. “God, he’s got to be a kinky bastard.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Do you really want details?”
He made another face. “No. Jesus, way to kill my sex drive for life there, Mikey.”
“Somehow I expect you’ll bounce back,” Michael said dryly.
“We have to at least—”
“No.” One word, said like iron, Sam’s usually easygoing demeanor replaced by a hard stare and a firmly-set jaw. “We’re leaving them out of this. They’re kids.”
“They’re seventeen,” Michael said. “I joined the Army at seventeen. Everything they’ve seen, they’ve had to grow up fast. They can handle this.”
“Yeah, and we’re not helping them grow up any faster.”
“This guy is going down one way or another, Sam.”
“How about we find the way that lets me sleep at night?” Sam asked. “I know you want to get him, Mike—so do I. But there’s a better way, a safer way.”
“We’ll be right there,” Michael protested. “It’s not going to be any more dangerous than—”
“You can’t guarantee that and you know it! What happens if one or both of them get hurt? Or killed? Do you want to deliver that news to their mothers, because I sure as hell don’t.”
“One way or another,” Michael said, tone dark, “he’s going down.”
Sam met and held his gaze. He frowned deeply. “You’ve got to stop that,” he said. “That anger, some of it’s justified, but some of it’s just destructive. He’ll go down. But there are lines, Mike, lines you don’t ever cross, and you need to understand that.”
“The lines are blurred when it comes to guys like him,” Michael said, every muscle in his body feeling tense, like a rope pulled taut. “Sometimes you have to do bad things for good reasons.”
“But sometimes you don’t,” Sam countered. “It’s not always the only option, but it should always be the last option. I’m saying I think there’s a better way.”
Michael blew out a breath. If he were doing this job with Larry, they’d be halfway to finished by now. He could even hear Larry’s voice in his head, snorting and calling Sam a boy scout. Part of him agreed, his frustration running high, but this was Sam. Sam never wasted his time. “What’s the better way?” he asked, finally, and took a deep, calming breath. Some of the frustration and annoyance fell away.
“Give me a second to—oh!” He grinned suddenly. “Come on, Mikey, follow me.”
Michael raised an eyebrow at him. Sam didn’t say another word, simply turned around and started walking away.
Shaking his head, he followed anyway.
Throughout his years as a spy, Sam remained one of the few people he could consistently count on. It hadn’t been much of a surprise when that continued even long after he was burned.
He’d always defied classification.
When Sam heard the news, his first thought was of Mike.
Okay, no, that was a lie.
His first thought was, Halle-freakin’-lujah. Ding dong, the bastard’s dead.
His second thought was of Mike. He knew the news would be all over their little camp, and he figured it’d be best if it came from him, so he headed to find him. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite get to him in time to be the one to break the news.
“You hear who finally bought it?” one of the other guys on their team was saying, while Mikey obviously only half-listened, much more focused on the bug he was making than anything else. He allowed himself a small smile—that was Mike. “That creepy motherfucker. Larry—whatshisname—Sizemore? Walked right into an oil refinery just before it went boom, bunch of people saw. I guess evil doesn’t live forever, huh?”
Mike tensed, barely. It was so subtle even Sam almost didn’t notice. “Excuse me,” he said tightly, taking his work with him and walking away.
The guy looked up and saw him, frowning. “What’s wrong with him?”
Sam sighed, shaking his head.
He didn’t have to worry about Mike on the mission, he knew that much—and it went as smoothly as it ever did, trying to con a bunch of crazy people.
Afterward, though, Sam still wanted to talk to Mike, and he figured Mike probably needed him to, whether he knew it or not. Because Sam might think it was weird, and he might not understand it, but Mike and Larry had had that strange little bond going on. He was probably taking the news hard. It was tough to hear that a friend died, even if that friend was a raving psychopath.
He found him by himself, seemingly staring off into space, although Sam wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d actually snuck up on Mike.
“Need a drink?” he asked him.
“No.”
“You okay?”
Mike lifted his head to look at him; his smile was humorless. “What do you think?”
“I think you need a drink.” He pushed over a beer. Mike only looked at it.
“I know you hated him. You don’t have to do this.”
“Sure I do. You’re my buddy.”
Mike rolled his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long few minutes. Finally, he spoke. “I know Larry was fucked up, lately especially,” he said, meeting his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I don’t...I always knew where I stood with him. Who I was.”
There were a lot of things Sam could say to that: namely, that Larry was a manipulative psychopath who was great at getting people to believe whatever the hell he wanted them to believe, that Mike was worth ten of him, easy, and that he’d be way better off with the bastard dead—but he didn’t. Instead, he shrugged and said, “I think you’re one of the few people Larry actually liked, Mikey. That’s something.”
It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Mike snorted and actually picked up his beer, taking a drink.
It was a start, Sam thought.