Work Text:
When you’re a spy, you learn that the only person you can rely on, the only person you can trust, is you. The only friends you have are the ones you make while undercover, the only family you have is that created for your cover id. You learn that everyone in your life is disposable. Thinking otherwise can get you killed.
As I watched Sam walk out of the loft, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I’d allowed myself to fall into old habits.
It had always been hard for me to trust anyone. Having an abusive father and enabling mother didn’t help. I’d never known the security of having someone else looking out for me. It was one of the main reasons being a spy had appealed to me. Part of my job was making sure to never trust anyone.
Obviously I’d succeeded.
Only this time it seemed I’d succeeded too well. The look on Sam’s face as he’d walked away from me stirred something deep within me. Something I didn’t think even existed anymore.
Longing.
The desire for a real friend. The kind of person that had my back no matter what. The kind of person that risked his own neck to save mine. The kind of person who would rather walk away than tell me I was being a real asshole. The kind of person I’d just let walk out of my loft.
Sam has his faults, no one can deny that. But he’s been good to me so far, standing by my side as I try to investigate who the hell decided it was a good idea to burn me. He’s been running interference between me and the FBI, to his own detriment, when it would be easier to give them what they want.
In my line of work, that kind of devotion is unheard of.
Handing Nate his money, I run up stairs to grab a quick shower and change my clothes. Grabbing my cell from my pocket, I call Sam, praying that he’ll answer.
“Yeah, Mike.”
“Hey Sam. Uhm, how about a drink later? Kinda a peace offering.”
I hear Sam hesitate a bit, and I’m actually afraid that he’ll say no. There’s a heavy sigh, then “Sure Mike. Sounds good.”
Nodding, although he can’t see me, I smile, “Good. See ya then.” Hanging up the phone I realize that maybe it’s time I start being a better friend to Sam. After all, giving the FBI some information is not the same as giving them all of it. Feeding them a good lead every once in a while won’t necessarily be fun, but if it means they ease up on Sam, it’s worth it.
Walking into the bathroom, I sigh, feeling much better than I have in a while. This, of course, would mean more if I didn’t have a bullet hole in my shoulder. But still, learning to be a friend feels good.
Hopefully it’ll only get better.
END