Chapter Text
They stop for Sam to retrieve the Cadillac, and just as important, the clean clothes inside it, then Mike picks up pizza before they head back to the loft ‘cause it’s been one long ass day. Sam hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he doesn’t know if Mike ever made it further than a yoghurt.
He scrubs down in the shower before he changes, the dead guard’s blood sluicing off of his skin and away into the drain, and by the time Mike’s done the same, Sam’s munching on a pepperoni and going through the files Pearce left with them.
“Still no sign of Anson,” Sam says as Mike drops down next to him. “When the marine units made it out there, he was long gone. Jesse says they’ve given up the search for the night.”
“They won’t find the boat.” Mike grabs his own slice from the box. “He’ll sink it before he moves on, leave no evidence.”
“It’s what I’d do.” Sam flips over another page, speed-reading past the bureaucratic bullshit to get to the details.
“There’s nothing in those files, Sam. Anson knows exactly what we’ll be looking for. If it was ever there, he’ll have removed it.”
“Well, we’ve got these files and not a whole lot else, so I’m gonna check either way.” If there’s any kind of a pattern to it, how he picks people, how he gets to them, how he thinks, it might give them some hint of what he’s gonna do next. So far, Rebecca’s file looks perfect – great agent, all glowing reports and no question marks, no suggestion she’d ever turn traitor. The only thing he’s learned is that Anson corrupts the absolute best.
Mike reaches over and grabs the next one from the stack, another name who’d gotten swallowed up by Anson’s dirty tricks factory. He’s chewing mechanically while he leafs through it; take a bite, teeth, swallow, everything rote with no thought, and Sam knows he’s barely tasting it. He’s eating because that’s what soldiers do to keep going, because not doing it impairs operational effectiveness. Sometimes food’s nothing more than a business transaction with your body, and you don’t wanna get behind on the payments.
Neither of them go to the fridge for beer.
The pizza box empties before the pile of files does, and Mike closes the one in front of him with a slap of paper, fast and angry. Puts his elbows on the table and drops his head, fingers pushing up into his hair, and he’s not looking at him when he says it. “You know what I’m gonna ask, Sam.”
“I know,” Sam says, ‘cause Mike’s been lashing between desperation, fury, fear and loss the whole damn day, “and I’m here, brother. You just say.”
There’s a slight softening across Mike’s shoulders, that first tick down of tension as he breathes out, the anticipation of release, and then he’s up on his feet and moving. “I’ll get everything together.”
Sam puts his own file back with the stack while Mike’s going through storage, gathering up the equipment. It gives him a few minutes to drag his own head into the right place for this, ‘cause it’s not something he can go into half-assed, whatever kind of a day it’s been. He’s watching unobtrusively, running through the checklist piece by piece as Mike lays it all out, and he’s wondering idly just what Fi knows; there’s no way in hell she’s missed anything Mike keeps here. Ropes and blankets are easy enough to explain, but some things aren’t so multi-purpose.
He's already standing up as Mike walks back to the table, wraps his hands round the offered wrists. “You ready?”
Mike’s fingers twitch once as he inhales. “Like you’ll never know.”
And it’s go time. “Okay, Michael. Ropes first.”
*****
They do what Mike needs, and it works, kinda. To a point. Mike lets himself give, and then he lets it out, all the loss, the grief and the despair heaving through him. But when he’s wrapped in a blanket drinking tea after, he hasn’t reset.
He’s pressed up against Sam hunched and quiet, no path back to snark and good humour, nothing that Sam can tease out of him. His thoughts run so hot Sam can practically hear him, his brain still pinned right up against that redline, and the tension’s there through every muscle.
When Mike turns to him and says, “You’re staying, right?” it’s not much of a question, and there’s something inside of it that’s almost desperate.
“I’m staying, yeah,” Sam says, ‘cause there’s no way in hell he’s leaving him alone. He already called Elsa while Mike was in the shower, let her know he wouldn’t be back. If Mike hadn’t asked, he’d have found a reason to sleep on the damn couch.
He’s really glad he doesn’t have to, though, ‘cause Mike’s bed’s gotten a lot more comfortable since Fi moved in. Decent mattress, more pillows, it’s almost as good as the hotel. Even better, it’s Monday, so the club’s closed, and the loft’s actually quiet.
Though thinking on it, maybe the music wouldn’t be worse than the slow, dragging silence that hangs over them once he’s tucked up against Mike’s spine. The silence and Mike’s breath, too harsh, too deep, nothing like the pattern that eases into sleep. The silence and the tautly coiled misery that’s Mike, his ribs unnaturally stiff even as they rise and fall beneath Sam’s arm.
He weighs up whether it’s best to talk, or just let Mike exhaust himself. He’s been talking half the day, for whatever difference it’s made.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” Mike’s words are low and quiet in the half-dark. “It doesn’t fix anything, but I am.”
Nothing to fix, Mikey,” Sam tells him, and it’s easy enough to say ‘cause it’s true. “You and me, we’re always good, that’s how it is.”
“I pulled a gun on you, Sam.”
Yeah, and he hasn’t exactly forgotten. “Not one of your best moments, I’ll admit,” he says, “but I get it. Even Pearce gets it, she’s been there.” He’s never been scared of Mike or anywhere close, and today wasn’t gonna change that, but he’s had a few concerns here and there about Mike’s… potential. If somebody ever pushed him hard enough.
There’s no answer, Mike lying there hunched and tense, and if this is the kind of talk it’s gonna be, well, Mike’s not the only one who screwed up today. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about Fi.” Should’ve known it wouldn’t stick, not with Mike, only make it so much worse. “You get enough bullshit from everybody else, you deserve the truth from a friend.”
A breath, and there’s a little more give in Mike’s muscles, subtle but real. “I’m guessing it was her idea to give you a cover story.”
“I think she just wanted an excuse to whack me on the head. She’s been waiting years for that one.”
Still no reaction, no rise to meet the bait, and Sam sighs. “None of us had a good day, Mike.” His neck softens, his forehead dipping, pushing into Mike’s hair. “I promised I’d get Anson for you, and I couldn’t keep it.”
“Not your fault, Sam. He was too far ahead of us, the whole way.” Mike twists around beneath his arm, facing him now. “I’m the one who let him go.” Mike’s voice is stark and his hand settles on Sam’s shoulder, his eyes staring, pupils wide in the shadows. “And I can wish I didn’t have to, but I’ll never regret that I did.”
Sam’s glad about that too, not that he would’ve had time to know anything if Anson had released the detonator, and then he’s not thinking about Anson at all ‘cause Mike’s fingers clamp down on his skin and Mike’s lips are pressed up against his own, and just as clingy.
There’s a second, or maybe it’s more like three, when Sam kisses back, ‘cause it’s Mike, and this isn’t new even if it’s been years, but Sam’s got a whole lot more sense than Mike does right now, and he breaks it off. Not fast, not like rejection, and he’s still got a hold of him, but he eases away and pulls back far enough so he can see Mike’s eyes. “Look, Mike, Fi –“
“Fi will understand,” Mike says, and the utter certainty in him sends Sam’s brain spinning.
“Are we talking about the same Fi here? Tiny woman with a temper and an arsenal in her trunk?”
Mike’s look doesn’t change, not a flicker, and now Sam’s brain’s spinning a second time. Or more realistically a third, ‘cause the first time, that would’ve been when Mike kissed him. “Oh, she knows, doesn’t she?” Sam says, and there won’t be an answer when it’s not a question. “The you and me thing.” He’s fixed on Mike’s face, the briefest micro-expressions that keep on telling him he’s right. “And not the tonight thing. The we used to fuck thing.”
There’s a slight twitch at the corner of Mike’s mouth at the phrase, but that’s what it always was. There’d never been a whole lot of time for anything else, and not much inclination either. The company might’ve been willing to cut Mike a little slack just as long as the jobs got done – they’d ignored him sleeping with Fi, if not precisely been thrilled about it – but one slip and Sam would’ve gotten a dishonourable discharge, and no leverage to talk his way out of it.
“She knows,” Mike says, like either of them are still in any doubt. “I told her.”
Sam remembers exactly how Fi had reacted to the other Sam, the ex-fiancée Sam, and that was back when Mike and Fi weren’t even technically an item. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t think to mention it to me. I’d have been checking the underside of my car with a mirror for a month.”
“I didn’t tell her right away, Sam.” Mike’s words have the dry edge of a good martini now, and it’s the closest to himself he’s sounded in maybe forty-eight hours. “Not for a while. A long while. Three years, or something like that.”
“Great, so you waited till she stopped actively hating on me, then set her right back on the war path,” Sam grouches. But he hadn’t ever noticed a change in Fi, and he notices a lot; that’s telling him something, even if he’s not sure exactly what. He quirks his lips at Mike and lifts an interested eyebrow. “That must’ve been quite some conversation.”
“It was shorter than you’d think,” Mike says. “She wasn’t surprised.”
Well, Sam’s sure as fuck surprised. “What the hell, Mike? I’m damn sure I never did anything to give her –“
“It wasn’t you, Sam,” Mike interrupts. “It was Larry.”
“Larry?” Sam can feel the expression his face is twisting into just saying the name. “What the hell did Larry tell her?” What did Larry even know to tell? He was an evil bastard the whole way through, but he didn’t miss too much. And Jesus, he’s lying here in a bed with Mike, and two minutes ago Mike was all over him and now they’re talking about Larry. Sometimes having morals can be an absolute bitch.
“He didn’t tell her anything, really,” Mike says with a shrug. “He just acted like Larry.”
“Obsessive and creepy, right.” Pretty much everyone who saw Mike with Larry got that memo maybe three minutes in.
“So then she got to thinking about me and Larry.”
“And then she made a leap, and got to thinking about you and me,” Sam finishes and exhales a slow breath. “It’s easy to see why she was so dead set on blowing him up. I’m glad she finally took the bastard out.”
There’s a twitch through Mike’s muscles beneath his arm, and yeah, okay, that’s something of a touchy subject right now, under the circumstances. Not that anybody needed a specific reason to want to murder Larry; his breathing was more than enough. Sam was tempted himself – genuinely, whole-heartedly tempted, for maybe a second – when he was looking at him through a sniper scope. But then the cops would have gone hunting for another killer, and Mike had been in a Federal courthouse with Larry earlier in the day, with cameras and probably two dozen reliable witnesses, and it’s tough to make a case for self-defence from eight hundred feet and a whole different building. That’s a DA’s wet dream for murder one.
If Fi had shown the same kind of restraint, she’d be the one in Mike’s bed now instead of sleeping in a cell, but overall, Sam’s still inclined to cheer her on. “We’re gonna get her back, Mike, no question.” And he really means the ‘we’ part of that, ‘cause Fi’s definitely an acquired taste, but Sam’s acquired a lot of those over the years and never regretted any of them. For someone who doesn’t take up a whole lot of space, there’s a hell of a lot of her to admire, and he’s never admired her more than today. He could almost have kissed her himself, but then she’d have whacked him that much harder.
“I know we will,” Mike says, and he’s got that black note through his voice again, the one that makes Sam just a little bit itchy. “Whatever it takes.”
Sam’s fingers tighten on Mike’s skin, curling over the bone of his hip. “We’re gonna have to be patient a while, is all. We’ve got Pearce on side now, we can do this the right way.”
He really doesn’t wanna think about the wrong way, ‘cause yeah, they’ve done that before, but that was with Mike on the inside, and comms, and still the plan they ended up with was nothing like the one they laid out at the start. The Feds have Fi in high risk, and as decent as Pearce is, Sam can’t see her volunteering to take point on a jail break. And now he’s already thinking about the thing he doesn’t wanna think about, the thing that ends with Fi vanishing for life, and Mike gone right along with her.
Mike’s hand hasn’t ever left his shoulder, and he’s still staring at him from a few inches away. “You really think we can track Anson down again?”
He sure as hell hopes so, but he’s not gonna be feeding Mike any more lies today. “That’s gonna depend on him as much as us. If he disappears into a hole someplace, it’ll be tough to dig him out.”
“I don’t see it, Sam. So far, every time we make things harder for him, he pushes back more.”
“That’s my bet, yeah. He built from the ground up before, he’ll still be looking to start over.”
“So we watch the good ones. Find his next Rebecca as soon as he hooks them.”
“Pearce will have us covered there. The last thing her career needs right now is another mole in her teams, she’ll keep feeding us the files.”
“That’s our angle, then.” Mike’s cheeks bunch and tighten, a glimpse of his teeth as they drag over his lip. “I can wait for Anson to bite. For a while, anyway.” And that dark intensity’s soaking through him again, through his voice, and all the way down into his fingers. “But I can’t do it alone.”
And Sam sees it coming this time, but he’s still too slow to pull away. Or maybe it’s just easier to tell himself that when he’s got an armful of eager Mike and a mouthful of him too.
Sam’s never considered himself low on willpower, but there are definitely limits, and he knows exactly the combination of enticing-compelling Mike is once he gets past over-thinking everything and just runs with what he wants. He needs to put the brakes on before any more of his blood abandons his brain in favour of other places, and he disentangles himself a second time, wriggling back just enough, his hand on Mike’s chest to keep the space. And damn, it’s like a beanbag round to the gut to do it, ‘cause it’s Mike, and yeah, it’s been years, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it.
He lets his head sink down into the pillow and takes a breath, his eyes closing just for a second. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Fi would get it. You’d know better than me on that score.” He finds Mike’s eyes again, all the questions waiting there. “But Elsa won’t.”
Mike’s face softens, and the tension leeches out of his muscles along with his breath. “Sorry, Sam.” The faintest not-really-a-smile, hanging somewhere between sympathy and regret. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Technically, Sam supposes he didn’t ask – the markers on that have definitely shifted over the years – but it’s not the kind of detail that’s ever bothered them, and he grins. “You’ve really gotta quit with all this sorry bullshit, Mikey. I’m not the least bit sorry, always good to know I’ve still got it.”
Mike rolls his eyes, one quick, amused huff of air. “If I thought your ego needed to hear that, I’d be seriously worried about you.”
There it is, at last, and Jesus, it’s taken long enough, but Mike’s finally starting to pull it back together. And Sam can start convincing himself that he’s gonna be okay.
And Mike knows he’s not on his own with this, with anything, but that isn’t always enough. When everything’s shot to hell, when you’ve tried every damn thing and you’re still trapped in a shattered ditch seeing nothing but wreckage, knowing it isn’t the same as believing it.
Sam curls his index finger over Mike’s skin, stroking slow, just once. “You won’t be alone. Me, Jesse, your mom, we’re gonna be sticking around a while.” He scrunches his face up in mock distaste “And when we get Fi out, you’re not gonna be able to pry that woman off with a crowbar.”
“I spent long enough trying,” Mike says, only a little rueful.
“You never stood a chance. She’s like a terrier with a rat.”
Mike’s eyes narrow into a glare. “Not much liking being the rat in this scenario of yours.”
“You’ll like it just fine the next time she gets her teeth in you,” Sam smirks, and then he wriggles himself around, finding a more comfortable position for his spine. “So are we gonna catch some sleep? ‘Cause if I’m going blind staring at files for ten hours tomorrow, my eyes need to rest up first.” And he’ll sleep a hell of a lot better now he’s not worrying about anybody committing goddamn treason in their immediate future.
Mike’s mouth twists down. “Your plans aren’t any fun, Sam.” But he settles into a looser sprawl, his legs sliding to fit alongside Sam’s.
“It’s good to take a day when nobody’s blowing anything up every once in a while.” He shifts his arm to the new arrangement, his hand resting easily over Mike’s hip.
The quiet drifts back in around them, and yeah, it’s definitely better without the booming thump of the club. Hearing Mike breathe steady and natural, one long sigh as he fully relaxes, his muscles soft everywhere they’re touching. Watching his lashes fall to meet his cheeks, the slight parting of his lips as the last of the tension drops out of his jaw.
Mike's not exactly known for being lacking in willpower either and he damn well deserves to suffer some of his own tease. “Hey, Mike.”
“Uhh-hmmm?”
Sam’s smiling as he tips his head and leans just a fraction closer, his breath ghosting warm over Mike’s ear with every word. “We ever find ourselves in a place where we’re both unattached, feel free to ask me again.”
Mike’s eyes flash open, a quirk at the corner of his lips. “Sounds good, Sam.” And beneath the smile and the humour, there’s a spark that in Mike means real interest, one fleeting second where the desire escapes the mask.
Oh yeah, Sam thinks, and mentally he’s grinning wider than an aircraft carrier. Still got it.
He closes his eyes with the feel of Mike’s skin on his own and waits for sleep.