Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:40 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:40 pm
Burn Notice | Between Past and Present Tense | R | Michael/Samantha (Part IV of VII)
Title: Between Past and Present Tense (IV/VII)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: R (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Samantha (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: Some sexual content.
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: 2,600 (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.
IV.
“I think you have something that belongs to me,” she said, the barest hint of a knowing smile at her mouth.
“I think the CEO of that company back there might disagree,” he said, sizing up the situation. He was bigger than her, and would probably be able to overpower her in a physical confrontation, should that happen. Then again, she might be armed, or she might have backup on the way.
People who underestimate when they shouldn’t, well, said the voice of a ghost in his head, they don’t last too long, now do they?
Michael kept up his guard, surreptitiously noting that there were two possible exits he could take. The woman merely smiled at him, this time more widely. “Anyone ever tell you it might do you some good to relax a little?”
“Once or twice,” he said, and she grinned, moving toward him, and he tensed.
“See, that’s exactly what I mean,” she said, holding out a gloved hand. “Nice to meet you, handsome stranger. My name’s Samantha.” She smirked. “I’m a thief.”
A bunch of possible responses flitted through his mind before he settled on the best approach. “Michael,” he answered, shaking her hand. “I’m a spy.”
She grinned again. “Cool.”
---
“That’s confidential,” Samantha told him, when he asked what she was working on. It made him grin, because the next words out of her mouth were, “What about you?” and his answer was always the same.
“That’s classified,” he said, and she grinned back.
They shared a look like they were the only two people in the world who understood.
---
Everything about Samantha was graceful and effortless, Michael noticed.
It was there in the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she planned her jobs right down to the last detail, the way she arched into his touch, the way she kissed him. He wasn’t sure how she did it, every time, at the drop of the hat, like it was easy.
Even, for instance, in situations like this, when they were literally running for their lives. “What happened with the alarm?” he asked as they ran down the broken sidewalk, dodging various obstacles—trash cans, parking meters, even the occasional pedestrian.
“They had a third backup, can you believe it?” she said, a little breathless, and still she grinned at him, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. “I’m kind of impressed, I have to admit.”
“We scouted them for a week,” he muttered, shaking his head, and they ducked behind a building. “How did we miss this?”
“It was seriously well hidden. No way to tell until you’d tripped it,” she said, and gave him a knowing look. “No one keeps a third security backup to protect some diamonds, Michael. What were we really after?”
He winced. “Sorry, Sam.”
She laughed. “I know, I know, it’s classified,” she said. “All right. Well, our pursuers are probably hot on our tails, so I think the plan right now needs to be: split up and meet in the usual spot. I hope you’re ready for a sprint, Michael, because you’re about to enjoy one either way.” She winked. “I’ll see you for dinner. You owe me a bottle of wine!” She ran left, and he watched her draw some of the men after her.
Shaking his head, he ran right, drawing his own share of pursuers.
It was times like these that she reminded him of Sam.
---
Michael watched as Samantha charmed their waiter, a guy in his late thirties—decent-looking, but in an awkward way, not to mention clearly insecure, and a little bit starved for attention—and he could see, point by point, where she won him over, where her persona shifted to accommodate him, to make him feel more at ease. It was kind of impressive, that persona, and he realized that even he would have some trouble figuring out exactly where it ended.
“You seem pensive,” Samantha commented, once the waiter left them to fetch another bottle of wine. She raised an eyebrow in question, picking up her glass to finish it off, and Michael merely shrugged. It made her smirk at him. “Don’t tell me you were jealous, Michael.”
He snorted. “Do you really think I am?” He shook his head. “I was just…watching you work, Sam. You’re good at it.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise,” she said dryly. “I thought you knew that by now.”
“Definitely not a surprise,” he said. “Interesting, but not surprising.”
“Interesting, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, what did you think you’d end up doing? When you were younger?” he asked, suddenly, and it obviously surprised her. Hell, he was kind of surprised at himself for even asking the question. “It wasn’t this, obviously. Though I guess that would’ve made for an interesting career day.”
“I—am not sure, actually,” she said, faltering slightly, and he thought that it was maybe the first time he’d ever seen her falter, seen her as anything other than practiced and smooth. She smiled quickly, adding, “I don’t really remember. Probably something ordinary. One of those run of the mill things all kids say they want to be. Doctor, lawyer, astronaut. The stuff you never take seriously.”
It was a deflection, and not even a particularly subtle one, but he let it pass. “Yeah, sure. After all, who really knows what they want to be when they’re eight?” At that age, the only thing he’d known for sure was 'not his father.'
“Exactly.” She smiled, giving him a curious look. “Any reason you asked?”
“No,” he said. “Just thinking out loud, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Do you ever think about it? How you ended up here?”
“How did I end up here? Let’s see.” She smirked. “A handsome stranger got himself mixed up in a job I was doing, totally ruined it, but it turned out I liked him better than my client anyway, so things worked out in the end.”
He snorted. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant, Michael, but where’s the fun in spilling all your secrets?” she asked, giving him a knowing look. “Don’t you have a tiny piece of information or two about yourself or your past that you’ve kept to yourself?”
He thought about his family, about Andre, Larry, and Sam—and he thought about what her reaction might be, if he told her about that. Would she care? Would it end their relationship? Would it make any difference at all? “My life’s an open book,” he deadpanned, because she wasn’t the only one who could deflect questions that were easier left unanswered.
She laughed. “Is it now?” Smirking mischievously, once again the essence of effortless grace, she leaned in. “Then tell me. Did you know you wanted to be a superspy when you were a little boy?”
“Don’t most little boys want to be secret agents when they grow up?” he asked, dryly.
“And some little girls,” she agreed, grinning.
That was when he realized: where it counted, Samantha and Sam couldn’t be more different.
---
“I’m going to have to cancel our date,” said Michael into his phone, quietly, rolling his eyes as he crouched behind the building. The guys passed right by him, unaware. “Something came up.”
“Couldn’t get away from work, honey?” she asked, and he could hear the teasing grin in her voice.
“Something like that.”
“Tsk. You know what your doctor said about overworking,” she continued, and he snorted. “Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me some other time, won’t you?”
“Count on it,” he said, and shaking his head, he hung up.
---
“We should get married,” she said, leaning back against the headboard, bottle of wine in her hand. Dawn peeked in through the curtains, after a night spent planning a basic retrieval operation—a heist, according to Samantha, a cheeky grin around the words every time she said them. It was a pretty simple job, well beneath his skills, but he’d volunteered for it, knowing she would also be in town, that they could do it together.
He stared at her. “How would that work?”
She grinned, warm and irresistible, and absently adjusted the way his shirt draped around her. “You should see your expression right now,” she said. “Relax, Michael, I’m not suggesting we get a house, a dog, and a white picket fence in the suburbs—” she stopped suddenly and bit her lip, obviously amused, “though, I have to admit, the mental image of Michael Westen, leader of the neighborhood watch, is definitely one I’m going to treasure.” She laughed when he made a face. “Seriously, though, I don’t think it’d change much. It’d work exactly like it does now, just with wedding rings. Of course, strictly speaking, those are optional.”
“You want to get married?”
She shrugged, drinking from the bottle. “I think it’s rare to meet someone who really gets it, you know?” she said. “That’s the kind of thing it’s important to hold onto, in my experience.”
“You have a point,” he admitted, and she did. He’d never actually seriously considered the idea that he might get married one day. With his job, it had seemed, at best, far-fetched, and, at worst, completely impossible. Could it work?
“You can think about it,” Samantha said. “I mean, I have been for a while, so it’s only fair. It’s just something I wanted to bring up.”
After a moment, he nodded. “I will.”
---
The problem with constant travel, Michael reflected, was that you didn’t regularly have contact with people you might be able to talk to about certain things.
Granted, in Michael’s case, that list was pretty short anyway—it pretty much entirely consisted of Sam—but the job definitely didn’t make it any easier.
Sam’s perspective would be helpful on this, he thought, because he wasn’t sure what to think.
Marriage seemed like a pipe dream, honestly. Could he really expect to make it work? Sure, he and Samantha did mesh well, and they’d never had any problems. She understood about his job, just like he understood about hers. Maybe, for him, that really was the best he could hope for. Maybe he should accept that and agree.
Or maybe, deep down, he wanted more. And maybe, deep down, he was utterly kidding himself.
There was something about those maybes that kept holding him back.
---
She grinned and pushed him hard up against the wall as soon as they were in the hotel room. “I never get used to that. Do you?” she said, and kissed him passionately.
“Never.” His hands went to her back, sliding down the zipper on her dress. She pulled back just long enough to shimmy out of it, then kissed him again, hands rapidly unbuttoning his shirt as she dragged him toward the bed.
“You were incredible,” she murmured in his ear, and he grinned.
“So were you,” he said, touching her, every inch of her, wherever he could reach. It seemed like he could never get enough of her, warm and smooth under his hands, could never get enough of making her gasp and press into his touch, wordlessly asking for more.
He’d never get tired of this feeling, the high of a job well done and celebrating with someone who got it, who understood.
She slid his shirt off and pulled his undershirt up over his head, and then she pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him. She ground against him, making him groan and arch against her, and then she leaned in, kissing him again. This kiss was long and sweet and slow, the essence of celebration, and when she pulled back, she had a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Sam,” he said, breathless, struck by the sight. “Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
Her eyebrows rose, apparently momentarily caught off guard, but then she smiled. “You’re sure?”
“It makes sense,” he said, and in that moment, he meant every word.
---
He’d been looking forward to the quick-and-dirty ceremony they had planned next time they both had an extended stay in the same country. He’d made up his mind that this was the best possible outcome for him. He was sure they could make it work.
Then he met Fiona, and there was simply no looking back.
iv.
Seeing Michael again, a decade later, was one hell of an experience.
She’d obviously shaken things up, what with Fiona’s reaction. Honestly, that wasn’t a surprise—Michael was very good at keeping things close to the vest, after all. Her shock and anger made sense, as did the mild jealousy. Samantha couldn’t begrudge her any of that.
Besides, she’d helped in getting Charlie back without any hesitation, and for that, she’d always be grateful.
His mom’s reaction hadn’t been much more unexpected. Michael had barely mentioned his family when they were together, so why would she expect him to mention her to them? Hell, it wasn’t like they’d been together all that long, and it certainly wasn’t like she’d known him all that well. She realized that now. At the time, she’d thought they’d had an understanding, a certain common ground, thanks to their mutually duplicitous careers. She’d thought they fit, that they made a perfect, if weird, sort of sense.
She was proud, sure, but she liked to think she could admit when she was wrong, at least to herself.
The only reaction she hadn’t been expecting was Sam’s, and there she couldn’t even place what exactly his reaction had been. She’d noticed their exchanged, communicative looks, occasionally, ones that she couldn’t quite decipher, and the way he danced at the edges around Michael and Fiona. It was interesting. He was simultaneously a part of their rhythm and not, and the easy, almost effortless way he seemed to get along with Michael reminded her of the year or so that they’d been together.
Except for those looks, that was. Those looks, she knew, indicated that Sam really did know Michael, far better than she ever had.
Those looks made her wonder. Friendship was one thing, even best friendship, but to her eye, those looks held something more.
The idea was interesting to consider. Michael hadn’t ever mentioned swinging that way, but she had caught his eye wandering once or twice. At the time, she’d dismissed it as sizing up a possible enemy, or maybe even competition, but now she wasn’t so sure. Michael and Sam could have had a thing at some point, probably before either she or Fiona had even met him.
If that were true, she wondered if Fiona knew. It was hard to admit, even in her head, but she suspected the answer was yes. And, if not, she was suddenly certain that Fiona knew more concretely whether or not it was a possibility.
Now here she was, surprising herself with how much that suddenly hurt.
She shook her head, because it was ridiculous. She and Michael were over, long over, and besides, it wasn’t like she had any particular right to know. They hadn’t demanded much of each other, her and Michael, so it wasn’t even like she could have expected to, either.
If it was true, though, she thought Fiona, at least, probably deserved to know—if only because of those looks. Something about them had suggested unfinished business, and if anyone knew a thing or two about unfinished business, it was Samantha Keyes.
Ah, well, she thought, and glanced over at Charlie, dozing peacefully in the passenger seat. C’est la vie.
Part III | Masterpost | Part V
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: R (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Samantha (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: Some sexual content.
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: 2,600 (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.
“I think you have something that belongs to me,” she said, the barest hint of a knowing smile at her mouth.
“I think the CEO of that company back there might disagree,” he said, sizing up the situation. He was bigger than her, and would probably be able to overpower her in a physical confrontation, should that happen. Then again, she might be armed, or she might have backup on the way.
People who underestimate when they shouldn’t, well, said the voice of a ghost in his head, they don’t last too long, now do they?
Michael kept up his guard, surreptitiously noting that there were two possible exits he could take. The woman merely smiled at him, this time more widely. “Anyone ever tell you it might do you some good to relax a little?”
“Once or twice,” he said, and she grinned, moving toward him, and he tensed.
“See, that’s exactly what I mean,” she said, holding out a gloved hand. “Nice to meet you, handsome stranger. My name’s Samantha.” She smirked. “I’m a thief.”
A bunch of possible responses flitted through his mind before he settled on the best approach. “Michael,” he answered, shaking her hand. “I’m a spy.”
She grinned again. “Cool.”
“That’s confidential,” Samantha told him, when he asked what she was working on. It made him grin, because the next words out of her mouth were, “What about you?” and his answer was always the same.
“That’s classified,” he said, and she grinned back.
They shared a look like they were the only two people in the world who understood.
Everything about Samantha was graceful and effortless, Michael noticed.
It was there in the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she planned her jobs right down to the last detail, the way she arched into his touch, the way she kissed him. He wasn’t sure how she did it, every time, at the drop of the hat, like it was easy.
Even, for instance, in situations like this, when they were literally running for their lives. “What happened with the alarm?” he asked as they ran down the broken sidewalk, dodging various obstacles—trash cans, parking meters, even the occasional pedestrian.
“They had a third backup, can you believe it?” she said, a little breathless, and still she grinned at him, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. “I’m kind of impressed, I have to admit.”
“We scouted them for a week,” he muttered, shaking his head, and they ducked behind a building. “How did we miss this?”
“It was seriously well hidden. No way to tell until you’d tripped it,” she said, and gave him a knowing look. “No one keeps a third security backup to protect some diamonds, Michael. What were we really after?”
He winced. “Sorry, Sam.”
She laughed. “I know, I know, it’s classified,” she said. “All right. Well, our pursuers are probably hot on our tails, so I think the plan right now needs to be: split up and meet in the usual spot. I hope you’re ready for a sprint, Michael, because you’re about to enjoy one either way.” She winked. “I’ll see you for dinner. You owe me a bottle of wine!” She ran left, and he watched her draw some of the men after her.
Shaking his head, he ran right, drawing his own share of pursuers.
It was times like these that she reminded him of Sam.
Michael watched as Samantha charmed their waiter, a guy in his late thirties—decent-looking, but in an awkward way, not to mention clearly insecure, and a little bit starved for attention—and he could see, point by point, where she won him over, where her persona shifted to accommodate him, to make him feel more at ease. It was kind of impressive, that persona, and he realized that even he would have some trouble figuring out exactly where it ended.
“You seem pensive,” Samantha commented, once the waiter left them to fetch another bottle of wine. She raised an eyebrow in question, picking up her glass to finish it off, and Michael merely shrugged. It made her smirk at him. “Don’t tell me you were jealous, Michael.”
He snorted. “Do you really think I am?” He shook his head. “I was just…watching you work, Sam. You’re good at it.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise,” she said dryly. “I thought you knew that by now.”
“Definitely not a surprise,” he said. “Interesting, but not surprising.”
“Interesting, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, what did you think you’d end up doing? When you were younger?” he asked, suddenly, and it obviously surprised her. Hell, he was kind of surprised at himself for even asking the question. “It wasn’t this, obviously. Though I guess that would’ve made for an interesting career day.”
“I—am not sure, actually,” she said, faltering slightly, and he thought that it was maybe the first time he’d ever seen her falter, seen her as anything other than practiced and smooth. She smiled quickly, adding, “I don’t really remember. Probably something ordinary. One of those run of the mill things all kids say they want to be. Doctor, lawyer, astronaut. The stuff you never take seriously.”
It was a deflection, and not even a particularly subtle one, but he let it pass. “Yeah, sure. After all, who really knows what they want to be when they’re eight?” At that age, the only thing he’d known for sure was 'not his father.'
“Exactly.” She smiled, giving him a curious look. “Any reason you asked?”
“No,” he said. “Just thinking out loud, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Do you ever think about it? How you ended up here?”
“How did I end up here? Let’s see.” She smirked. “A handsome stranger got himself mixed up in a job I was doing, totally ruined it, but it turned out I liked him better than my client anyway, so things worked out in the end.”
He snorted. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant, Michael, but where’s the fun in spilling all your secrets?” she asked, giving him a knowing look. “Don’t you have a tiny piece of information or two about yourself or your past that you’ve kept to yourself?”
He thought about his family, about Andre, Larry, and Sam—and he thought about what her reaction might be, if he told her about that. Would she care? Would it end their relationship? Would it make any difference at all? “My life’s an open book,” he deadpanned, because she wasn’t the only one who could deflect questions that were easier left unanswered.
She laughed. “Is it now?” Smirking mischievously, once again the essence of effortless grace, she leaned in. “Then tell me. Did you know you wanted to be a superspy when you were a little boy?”
“Don’t most little boys want to be secret agents when they grow up?” he asked, dryly.
“And some little girls,” she agreed, grinning.
That was when he realized: where it counted, Samantha and Sam couldn’t be more different.
“I’m going to have to cancel our date,” said Michael into his phone, quietly, rolling his eyes as he crouched behind the building. The guys passed right by him, unaware. “Something came up.”
“Couldn’t get away from work, honey?” she asked, and he could hear the teasing grin in her voice.
“Something like that.”
“Tsk. You know what your doctor said about overworking,” she continued, and he snorted. “Well, you’ll just have to make it up to me some other time, won’t you?”
“Count on it,” he said, and shaking his head, he hung up.
“We should get married,” she said, leaning back against the headboard, bottle of wine in her hand. Dawn peeked in through the curtains, after a night spent planning a basic retrieval operation—a heist, according to Samantha, a cheeky grin around the words every time she said them. It was a pretty simple job, well beneath his skills, but he’d volunteered for it, knowing she would also be in town, that they could do it together.
He stared at her. “How would that work?”
She grinned, warm and irresistible, and absently adjusted the way his shirt draped around her. “You should see your expression right now,” she said. “Relax, Michael, I’m not suggesting we get a house, a dog, and a white picket fence in the suburbs—” she stopped suddenly and bit her lip, obviously amused, “though, I have to admit, the mental image of Michael Westen, leader of the neighborhood watch, is definitely one I’m going to treasure.” She laughed when he made a face. “Seriously, though, I don’t think it’d change much. It’d work exactly like it does now, just with wedding rings. Of course, strictly speaking, those are optional.”
“You want to get married?”
She shrugged, drinking from the bottle. “I think it’s rare to meet someone who really gets it, you know?” she said. “That’s the kind of thing it’s important to hold onto, in my experience.”
“You have a point,” he admitted, and she did. He’d never actually seriously considered the idea that he might get married one day. With his job, it had seemed, at best, far-fetched, and, at worst, completely impossible. Could it work?
“You can think about it,” Samantha said. “I mean, I have been for a while, so it’s only fair. It’s just something I wanted to bring up.”
After a moment, he nodded. “I will.”
The problem with constant travel, Michael reflected, was that you didn’t regularly have contact with people you might be able to talk to about certain things.
Granted, in Michael’s case, that list was pretty short anyway—it pretty much entirely consisted of Sam—but the job definitely didn’t make it any easier.
Sam’s perspective would be helpful on this, he thought, because he wasn’t sure what to think.
Marriage seemed like a pipe dream, honestly. Could he really expect to make it work? Sure, he and Samantha did mesh well, and they’d never had any problems. She understood about his job, just like he understood about hers. Maybe, for him, that really was the best he could hope for. Maybe he should accept that and agree.
Or maybe, deep down, he wanted more. And maybe, deep down, he was utterly kidding himself.
There was something about those maybes that kept holding him back.
She grinned and pushed him hard up against the wall as soon as they were in the hotel room. “I never get used to that. Do you?” she said, and kissed him passionately.
“Never.” His hands went to her back, sliding down the zipper on her dress. She pulled back just long enough to shimmy out of it, then kissed him again, hands rapidly unbuttoning his shirt as she dragged him toward the bed.
“You were incredible,” she murmured in his ear, and he grinned.
“So were you,” he said, touching her, every inch of her, wherever he could reach. It seemed like he could never get enough of her, warm and smooth under his hands, could never get enough of making her gasp and press into his touch, wordlessly asking for more.
He’d never get tired of this feeling, the high of a job well done and celebrating with someone who got it, who understood.
She slid his shirt off and pulled his undershirt up over his head, and then she pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him. She ground against him, making him groan and arch against her, and then she leaned in, kissing him again. This kiss was long and sweet and slow, the essence of celebration, and when she pulled back, she had a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Sam,” he said, breathless, struck by the sight. “Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
Her eyebrows rose, apparently momentarily caught off guard, but then she smiled. “You’re sure?”
“It makes sense,” he said, and in that moment, he meant every word.
He’d been looking forward to the quick-and-dirty ceremony they had planned next time they both had an extended stay in the same country. He’d made up his mind that this was the best possible outcome for him. He was sure they could make it work.
Then he met Fiona, and there was simply no looking back.
Seeing Michael again, a decade later, was one hell of an experience.
She’d obviously shaken things up, what with Fiona’s reaction. Honestly, that wasn’t a surprise—Michael was very good at keeping things close to the vest, after all. Her shock and anger made sense, as did the mild jealousy. Samantha couldn’t begrudge her any of that.
Besides, she’d helped in getting Charlie back without any hesitation, and for that, she’d always be grateful.
His mom’s reaction hadn’t been much more unexpected. Michael had barely mentioned his family when they were together, so why would she expect him to mention her to them? Hell, it wasn’t like they’d been together all that long, and it certainly wasn’t like she’d known him all that well. She realized that now. At the time, she’d thought they’d had an understanding, a certain common ground, thanks to their mutually duplicitous careers. She’d thought they fit, that they made a perfect, if weird, sort of sense.
She was proud, sure, but she liked to think she could admit when she was wrong, at least to herself.
The only reaction she hadn’t been expecting was Sam’s, and there she couldn’t even place what exactly his reaction had been. She’d noticed their exchanged, communicative looks, occasionally, ones that she couldn’t quite decipher, and the way he danced at the edges around Michael and Fiona. It was interesting. He was simultaneously a part of their rhythm and not, and the easy, almost effortless way he seemed to get along with Michael reminded her of the year or so that they’d been together.
Except for those looks, that was. Those looks, she knew, indicated that Sam really did know Michael, far better than she ever had.
Those looks made her wonder. Friendship was one thing, even best friendship, but to her eye, those looks held something more.
The idea was interesting to consider. Michael hadn’t ever mentioned swinging that way, but she had caught his eye wandering once or twice. At the time, she’d dismissed it as sizing up a possible enemy, or maybe even competition, but now she wasn’t so sure. Michael and Sam could have had a thing at some point, probably before either she or Fiona had even met him.
If that were true, she wondered if Fiona knew. It was hard to admit, even in her head, but she suspected the answer was yes. And, if not, she was suddenly certain that Fiona knew more concretely whether or not it was a possibility.
Now here she was, surprising herself with how much that suddenly hurt.
She shook her head, because it was ridiculous. She and Michael were over, long over, and besides, it wasn’t like she had any particular right to know. They hadn’t demanded much of each other, her and Michael, so it wasn’t even like she could have expected to, either.
If it was true, though, she thought Fiona, at least, probably deserved to know—if only because of those looks. Something about them had suggested unfinished business, and if anyone knew a thing or two about unfinished business, it was Samantha Keyes.
Ah, well, she thought, and glanced over at Charlie, dozing peacefully in the passenger seat. C’est la vie.