Please 1/
Title: Please
Author: Lymricks
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Nothing episode specific, but definitely a few overall for the whole series if you haven't been paying attention to who's dating/dated who.
Warnings: There's copious Billy!Whump, so--violence.
Word Count: 6500 this part.
Notes: This was going to be my big bang (right-bastards) fic, but I had a new idea for that. I also don't have a beta, cause I'm new here! So if anyone is at all interested, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise, I'll fly solo.
Summary: For the ODS, it was the perfect mission. That probably should have been the warning sign.
The phone rang at 3am, while Adele was sitting on her couch with a mug of hot chocolate. Wilbur’s, the can read. It was an expensive brand, one a girlfriend’s mother had recommended to her because of her “stressful job.” Adele hadn’t told anyone the full story of what she did for a living, but people continuously surprised her with their ability to infer.
Rick was supposed to call her. He called at midnight her time whenever he could. Rick was easy to talk to. He knew the ins and outs of her job in ways that her closest girlfriends didn’t. She looked forward to the phone calls, whatever their relationship status. For some reason, Adele was nervous about the lack of one tonight.
So she settled down on the couch in yoga pants and tried to get her zen on. The hot chocolate was definitely helping. Her palms, pressed against the warm ceramic, sent currents of relief up her arms. There was a girly movie on the television, and she privately thought about how cute the Scottish actor was. A thought she dismissed immediately. She wasn’t positive, but she was working on a theory that Billy could read minds and would know-even from his remote location-that she was crushing on his countryman. There was no doubt in Adele’s mind that this would lead to some pretty serious repercussions. The ODS had no qualms about tormenting their superiors. Higgins had learned that the hard way.
The phone rang at 3am. Her private line. The number on the screen was one she had memorized, but never added to her phone.
“About time,” she said to the empty air and her non-CIA mug. “What if I had been asleep?” she said instead, into the phone.
“Mission compromised,” said a voice on the other end. Not Rick, she knew that, but she wasn’t sure who else would use his phone. She thought maybe Billy, Casey, or Michael, but this didn’t sound like one of them either.
“Who is this?” Adele said, already getting up. She put the phone on speaker as she slipped into the suit she had pressed a few hours earlier, the one she was supposed to wear to work tomorrow.
“Mission compromised,” the voice-no one she knew-repeated. “We have them.”
The line went dead. No time to do her hair, then.
Adele was in the car on the way to the office in five minutes flat. She dialed in the important people while she clicked her seatbelt into place.
On her coffee table (the one she had let Billy pick out, because he boasted impeccable taste-and she didn’t disagree), the mug of hot chocolate sat cooling, leaving a brown, smudged ring on the glass.
~ ~ ~
Michael was losing his mind. He’d been in bad situations before. He’d been in danger before, but never before had he put his team in such blatant danger. Never before had he lost control of the situation enough to walk his team directly into a very big, very bad trap. Never before had he been so stupid. The only excuse was that he had lost his mind. Now his team had to deal with the consequences.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Billy said finally, pressing his shoulder against Michael’s, just for a second. Michael didn’t agree. He wasn’t prone to panic or hysteria. He was trying to be logical here, not too logical, not as logical as someone like Martinez would have been, but logical in that way that was just Michael. Logical like a chess match. Logical like the guy who was in control.
The problem was that Michael wasn’t the guy in control. None of them had been in control for approximately seventy-two hours, but it may have been seventy-five, or even seventy-six. There was a period of unconsciousness that he couldn’t account for. He was judging time by the lightness or darkness of the cell, but for all he knew, the last time he’d been awake could have been yesterday.
They had known about the danger for at least seventy-two hours. They had separated-for safety--seventy-two hours ago. They’d been caught either three hours ago, or twenty-seven hours ago, depending on how long Michael had been unconscious-and everything, every single thing had happened because Michael had missed something.
“I’m not,” Michael said, turning his head to the left. He was appraising Billy’s injuries. Nothing too bad, a black eye and a nasty looking cut on his jaw, but nothing Billy couldn’t handle. He had a split lip, too, but that was also something that Michael knew Billy could take. Nothing life threatening, that was good.
Michael himself was spotless. Even his clothing wasn’t ripped, torn, or dirty. Billy was a mess, but Billy was a mess because he was a mouthy son of a bitch, and Michael hadn’t been able to convey, “stop speaking” with his eyes. Billy had stopped speaking, but that was mostly because he’d been having trouble breathing. Michael hadn’t checked yet, but he was willing to bet Billy’s stomach was an interesting shade of boot-shaped purple by now.
Billy, demonstrating his alarming ability to read minds, chuckled (and winced). “I think they were steel toed boots,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him. Michael smiled, just a little. “Michael,” Billy said, “Look at me. We’re fine, we’re both fine and we’re going to stay fine,” he sounded certain for someone who’d just gotten his vital organs rearranged by someone else’s toes.
Michael nodded. “We just need a plan,” he said.
“Atta boy,” Billy agreed, smiling now. He dropped his head back against the wall, and if he thought Michael missed the way breathing made Billy shift uncomfortably, he was wrong. “What if I yelled really, really loudly,” Billy said, “Give ‘em my best banshee impression. You could hide behind the door and tackle them.”
Michael raised an eyebrow at Billy. “It’s worth a shot, but I’m no Casey and you’d be pretty useless in a fight right now. No offense.”
“None taken.”
They fell silent, both lost in their thoughts. Michael wasn’t sure about Billy, but he himself was thinking about the rest of their team. Twenty-four countable hours had passed since Michael had last heard from Rick or Casey, maybe more if he had been passed out for longer than two or three.
He wasn’t the type to get nervous, but here he was-nervous. It was his fault, of course it was. Rick had a decent plan, but Michael had thought his was better. His plan was better, an ODS original, the kind of stunt none of the spineless drones who could have landed this mission would pull. That, he realized now, was exactly the problem.
Som’s men had been waiting for them, exactly at the location that should have been the easiest point of entry. The plan had gone according to itself. They had scared away the few guards outside by driving the van through the fence. It would have been unexpected, except Som’s men had been waiting.
“Som means ‘please’ in Khmer, the language spoken in Cambodia,” Rick had commented on the flight over.
“They call him that because he makes every man he slaughters beg for his life,” Billy added. Michael had nodded in agreement and smiled into his knuckles, but remained silent. Sometimes it was good to watch his team try to scare one other. Rick had just rolled his eyes and looked out the window.
Morbidly, Michael wondered if any member of his team had been forced to beg for his life yet.
There was a sound outside the door; footsteps.
“Three,” Billy said, and Michael nodded, he had counted the same number of people. Maybe guards, maybe Rick and Casey, maybe someone just passing through. They had to be ready for any of that. Michael straightened up, but didn’t rise to his feet. They had no reason (or ability) to appear threatening.
The door opened slowly; the sudden light flooding Michael’s vision and making him squint. He shifted, pressing his shoulder against Billy’s automatically. Some age old instinct about safety in numbers.
“Hello, gentlemen.” The man who walked farthest into the room was tall, almost seven feet. He was stately and calm, every inch the king he claimed to be. “I hope that you have found my palace hospitable.” His accent was thick, but a smooth and pleasant, reminiscent of Billy’s-If Billy had been from Cambodia. There was something familiar about his speech pattern, like Michael had heard it before. But that could have been a dream, a long time ago. Michael shook his head and whipped his head around when Billy started talking.
“Everything has been wonderful, thanks,” Billy said before Michael could reply, “I especially enjoyed the pre-natal massage I got earlier. You should let your men know that men can’t get pregnant, though. I’m afraid it was a wasted effort.”
The man laughed, “You are funny,” he said. “I am an educated man. I appreciate humor,” he stepped closer. Michael wondered if the man-he was sure this was Som-noticed the way that Billy pressed against Michael then, his arm warm against Michael’s through the thin fabric of two cotton shirts.
Rick had always said he envied Billy, Michael, and Casey’s ability to stay calm. He had been new then, and observant, but he always missed the little moments of weakness every one of them had shared. Billy, Michael had realized over the years, was a touchy man. When he was nervous, he stood closer to his teammates, and even Casey had learned to accept the press of arm against arm when the situation called for it. Now, as the man stepped closer, Michael pressed back.
“Unfortunately, my men are not so educated, and they do not appreciate a funny man like you.”
Michael always thought things through. He was a planner. A paranoid bastard, Billy said, but he always planned things through. So he knew without a doubt that Som was reaching for Billy, and some less coherent part of him knew that Som was going to take Billy away. That wasn’t going to fly. He had lost two members of his team already. Michael couldn’t lose a third.
He lashed out, an unforgivable, emotional response to a threat to an already weak friend. He caught the tall man’s wrist with his foot, pinning the thin bone between the wall and his shoe. There was a crunch, and then silence.
Silence as three men stepped through the door and grabbed Michael. Silence as the pressed his face against the wall, his cheek grinding against stone and dirt. Silence as they held him there. Silence as he couldn’t get away.
Silence except for the sound of fabric sliding over stone. Silence except for the sound of footsteps. Silence except for the closing of a thick, metal door. Silence-until the first of the grunts, the concealed and muffled sounds of pain.
From down the hall:
“Not as funny now, funny man. It is hard for me to laugh when my wrist is hurt. Your friend must pay for that, funny man. He will pay with you.”
~ ~ ~
Five days ago, Higgins had told Adele that there was intelligence about a Cambodian warlord called Som, who planned to fund some impressively anti-everyone-but-themselves organizations. He was holding three agents hostage, three good agents that the agency couldn’t afford to lose.
It had been a job that the ODS was made for, even Higgins agreed. The job wasn’t easy, by any means. The team would have to infiltrate the secret “palace” of a “king” in Cambodia. He called himself a war lord, but not in the traditional sense. He was a war lord, he financed, created, and found men to fight in wars. All designed to destroy the rest of the world. He was paranoid and insane, but charismatic and charming too. People liked him, despite the knowledge of his business ventures. He was dangerous now, but could someday be lethal.
And Som had agents who knew more than they probably should have known. The ODS would infiltrate his compound, which he called his palace, and get them out. Adele thought that Higgins also hoped they would take the man down and get him arrested, something they were good at doing.
Higgins had been confident the mission would be over quickly and efficiently, even for the ODS. He had seen them off himself. Adele had noticed him smiling.
Now-now she sat in her office at 3:35am and waited for Higgins to come in. Fay was already here. She wasn’t pacing, but she looked worried. Adele remembered the woman who had told her that the ODS would make it out. She remembered the woman who had said with the confidence of someone who had seen it all that the ODS could do anything; that they would do anything.
That woman wasn’t in the office anymore. There was just Adele and Fay, both of them with feelings for members of the now missing ODS. Rick and Michael aside, Adele had found herself warming up even to Casey, who resisted all her olive branches, but tolerated her a good deal more than he tolerated Higgins.
“We know the ODS is somewhere in the mountains, probably at the location of Som’s compound. It is safe to assume the team made it there in one piece,” Fay finally said, walking over to a whiteboard. “Or else the caller wouldn’t have sounded as confident. We have to assume that this was a trap. Som wanted to catch the ODS specifically.”
“Why the ODS?” Adele asked quietly.
“Because they force the CIA to take risks it doesn’t want to take,” Adele saw the smile on Fay’s face as she spoke. “As you may remember with the Hong-Kong mission, or the North Korea mission, or the Russian mission.”
“So their pull in the CIA makes them dangerous to someone like Som,” Adele agreed, “Which means he knew the ODS was coming.”
Fay nodded, “Which means the CIA has sprung a leak.”
Both women fell silent at the implication. The mission, though ‘easy’ for the ODS, had been kept a very real secret. Everything had been carried out by a select group of individuals who were familiar with the ODS. They were trusted resources; friends that Michael and Fay had made over the years. People who the ODS, Higgins, Fay, and Adele had trusted to keep quiet.
But now they knew that someone hadn’t. Adele ran a hand through her hair. “Try calling them again,” she said finally. “Let me know.”
She walked out of the room, her heels clicking quietly on the tiles as she headed down to find Higgins.
It was a mournful sound. She took the long way around to avoid the wall of stars.
~ ~ ~
“Dammit, gents! I had a nice nose.”
Michael wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad to hear Billy’s unique sense of proper etiquette with one’s captors. He was less glad to hear the sound of a body hitting the cement floor. There wasn’t time for pretences now. He turned around and strode across the floor to Billy before the door had shut.
“Hey,” he said, dropping into a crouch. “You ok?”
“Next time you want to defend my honor, I’d suggest you refrain,” Billy said from the floor. “I appreciate the effort, mate,” he added. Michael helped him roll onto his back and hissed sympathetically.
Billy was a mess of red, black, and blue. There was blood smeared down his shirt. “I liked this one, too,” Billy complained from the floor. The statement lacked his usual bite, and Michael just nodded again. He reached out and started undoing the buttons. “Hey now,” Billy said, “I thought you were defending my honor.”
“Shut up for a second,” Michael said as he pulled the fabric away from Billy’s chest. Underneath the button up, things didn’t look much better. He whistled lowly. “I think in some cultures we could hang you in a museum,” Michael said. “It looks like the modern art Fay kept trying to put in the house,” he continued as he ran his hand down Billy’s ribs. “Does this-”
“Yes! It hurts! Cease and desist.”
Michael buttoned him back up and sat back against the wall. He watched Billy shift himself around. “You want a hand?” he offered dryly.
“No,” Billy said, but Michael reached out and pulled and pushed until Billy was propped up, half against Michael and half against the wall. “Thanks, mate,” Billy said quietly, dropping his head back against the cement. It connected with a thud and Michael winced. Billy gave him a look that screamed ‘what’s one more bruise?’ “We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Billy asked eventually.
Michael shrugged and slipped an arm around Billy’s shoulders. He didn’t need to ask, and Billy didn’t need to qualify. When Billy sagged against Michael, neither of them mentioned it. This was as private a time as they were going to get. Michael could support his friends when they needed it. He’d been in the agency long enough to know that needing a moment of help and comfort was not a weakness. “Not yet,” he said instead, answering Billy’s question. “Not yet.”
Billy eventually fell asleep and Michael listened to his breathing even out. He took some comfort in the rise and fall of Billy’s chest, in the smoothness of each breath. It meant that Billy wasn’t in so much pain that he couldn’t handle it. It meant that he was alive, at least for now. The sound of Billy breathing meant that Michael hadn’t failed-not all the way, not yet. He had messed up, his team was in danger, and he couldn’t even justify Billy’s title for him anymore ‘Fearless Leader’ he had told Martinez. Michael sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. “Not so fearless anymore,” he said into the darkening cell. Billy shifted, but didn’t wake. Michael counted that as a victory.
By the time the room had sunk into complete darkness and Billy had shifted to press his face against Michael’s arm in his sleep, Michael’s whole body was numb and buzzing. Numb because Billy’s dead weight was stopping circulation, even the tips of his fingers were prickling with a lack of sensation. Buzzing because there were footsteps outside. Michael counted, onetwo, twothree, threefour. Three people again, two heavy, one small.
one…two, two…three, three…four the footsteps slowed to a stop outside the door, and Michael lifted his head. He moved out from under Billy, leaning him against the wall before shifting just in front of him. Three people? He wasn’t wild about those odds. He would have felt better with Casey there, or with Billy awake, or with Martinez around the corner, but Michael had taken on greater odds alone before. He was moderately confident in his ability to do it again.
The door opened with the soft squeal of protesting metal hinges. Again, the light blurred Michael’s vision. Behind him, Billy stirred. He waited, crouched and ready to pounce. The logical part of his mind shouted the flaws in the plan at him. He didn’t know the floor plan, he didn’t know how many guards were there, he didn’t know if Billy would be able to run with him. In the back of his mind he remembered asking his teammates to throw stones at a plan he’d come up with. It had been Billy who said there weren’t enough stones to throw.
Michael felt that way now.
“Michael Dorset.”
Michael paused, blinked. He knew that voice.
“Martinez?” he asked lowly.
“Michael Dorset your presence is requested by his Excellency Som, whose palace you currently inhabit.”
The words sounded wrong. They weren’t the sort of thing Rick said. So he was probably reciting someone else’s words, and there was probably a gun or a knife pressed against his back. These weren’t odds Michael liked. He held both hands out in front of him.
“I would be honored to meet with Som and negotiate for peace between my team and his.”
“Good,” a voice from somewhere behind Rick’s shoulder said. Michael stepped forward as Rick stepped inward.
“Billy’s banged up,” he whispered. “Keep an eye on him. Where’s Casey?”
“I thought he was with you,” Rick whispered back. Michael raised an eyebrow and met Rick’s gaze. For the first time in a few hours, he felt something like hope.
He opened his mouth to ask Rick about the layout, but hands grabbed him, and he was unceremoniously yanked out into the hallway.
~ ~ ~
“Michael?” Billy asked when he opened up his eyes. Well, it was what he meant to ask, but it came out sounding a whole lot more like “My-cow.”
“Moo.”
So not Michael then, but Rick. Billy lifted his head, and then his aching body, off the ground. “Good to see you, kid,” he said in greeting, tucking his knees up and slinging his arms around his legs.
“Sorry if the feeling isn’t mutual,” Rick said. He appeared to be all in one piece. He was standing, which was a good sign, and running his hands along the walls.
“What’re you looking for?” Billy asked after a few minutes of silence. His head felt clearer now. “I might be able to help. I find that the ability to string together coherent sentences does much to inspire confidence in one’s self and one’s teammates.”
“A weak point in the wall.” Rick paused, looked around the cell, and then at Billy. “I guess I was a lot safer than you,” he mused. Billy blinked at him. “Som had me in a sort of living room, I guess. With a maid and a nice leather couch,” Rick paused and ran a hand through his hair. “She’s a French spy, the maid. She’s been here for a few years. It was a trap, Billy.”
“A spy trap, you mean?” Billy asked. He gingerly rose to his feet, bracing himself against the cold cement wall.
“No,” Rick answered. “An ODS trap. They were expecting us. I think Michael figured it out too. Casey definitely knows, if they haven’t caught him yet.”
“If?” Billy answered. “I thought he was with you?”
“We got separated.”
There was something hard in Rick’s words, a tone that Billy didn’t often hear from the young agent. He moved forward, limping enough to throw him off balance, but he still moved forward. That was the important part. “Rick,” he said, dropping his hand onto Rick’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, mate.”
“Yeah.”
The word was short, and Rick pulled away from Billy. The cell was almost pitch black, but there was enough light through the cracks where the door met the hinges to see Rick’s silhouette pacing back and fourth. “You’re going to make me dizzy,” Billy said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Billy frowned. “Okay, spit it out. What’s the matter with you?”
Rick spun around, and if Billy hadn’t been dizzy before, he certainly was now. “What’s the matter with me?” Rick said, his voice suddenly full of venom. “If you guys had just listened to me, if we had just done things my way, if I had just been a little more insistent, maybe we’d be fine. Maybe if I wasn’t so damn submissive, we would have completed the actual mission and no one would be hurt right now.”
Billy opened his mouth and then closed it. Then opened it again. “Let me get this straight,” he said finally. “You think this is all your fault? This whole mess is all your fault?”
“Yes!” Rick yelled.
“Well it’s not,” Billy said. “We all should have known, and-”
He paused as the door was pushed open. “Oh for the love of all things lush and green,” he sighed. “Again? Really?”
“My men seem to think you are your leader’s weakest link,” Som said from the doorway. “I am afraid we need your assistance again, my friend.”
“Mate, I’m not sure you understand the definition of assistance.”
“Wait, what?”
Billy turned toward Rick and shook his head. “Keep your mouth shut, Martinez. Sit tight, hopefully I’ll be back in a mo’,” he paused, “I may need you to kiss some boo boo’s better though.”
It seemed to take Rick a minute to understand it, and by the time he figured it out, Billy was already being pushed down the hallway. More fun and games with his new friends, he expected.
Billy had taken a lot of shit in his life. It came with the job. He himself had thrown a few great punches. Years had passed, however, since he’d had to deal with outright torture. He hadn’t called this that out loud yet, but in some corner of his mind, Billy knew that was what this was going to turn into.
From what Billy could gather, Som seemed hesitant to harm Michael. Even when Rick had been brought in and Michael had been brought out, no one had so much as laid a hand on their fearless leader. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. It could be a good thing because maybe, just maybe Som was afraid of the repercussions of killing Michael. It could be a bad thing because maybe that would cause him to kill everyone else. Billy certainly didn’t want to die, but he thought it’d be bloody awful to kill him in front of Michael.
He wasn’t so optimistic that his body was going to hold out long under these little sessions.
The room they brought him to this time was nothing like the last one. Where that one had been sterile and clean, this one was plush and showy. It had a wood floor, a glass dining table, and some upholstered bar stools. Michael was perched on one of them, studiously ignoring the glass of scotch that was sitting next to him on the table.
“Well hello there,” Billy said, grinning at Michael. “Fancy meeting you here.” He sauntered away from his captors and dropped down onto the bar stool next to Michael. He picked up the scotch and took a sip. “Good stuff, this,” he said, still grinning. “Come here often, then?”
Michael just looked at him.
“Aw c’mon,” Billy implored. “I’m a little funny.”
He wished that Michael would crack a smile or say something. Just do something familiar so that Billy could stop feeling like he was alone out here, like he was waiting to be beaten to a pulp in front of an impassive stranger. Michael didn’t say anything, barely even looked at him. Billy understood it, he did. Michael was trying to distance himself, maybe trick Som into thinking that Billy didn’t mean enough to be a real threat.
Billy knew that Michael was trying to save his Scottish bum, but it didn’t matter, because he also knew it wouldn’t work.
He wished he could say all of that to Michael. Som appeared to know Michael well enough to know that despite anything else, despite whatever emotions or thoughts he might have, Michael was a good leader. A good leader who wouldn’t let his team get hurt because of him.
Billy had to give the man credit, it was a decent strategy.
“Y’know,” he said to Michael, picking the scotch up again and downing the rest of it, because what the hell, he was about to be tortured, might as well be piss drunk too. “Might be nice if I knew why this bloke’s so into you,” he paused for a second. “But either way, peer pressures a terrible blight on society, so don’t give in even if he asks creatively.” A warning, I’m not worth the consequences of giving up.
Finally Michael looked at him. Billy met his gaze and waited.
But Michael didn’t say anything, he reached out an arm and clapped Billy on the shoulder once, squeezed. Billy read the apology in the lines of Michael’s face. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the men. He’d been expecting it, but the first hit still came as a surprise.
“You’re a right bastard,” Billy said from the floor, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t throw that term around lightly, either. I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”
“I thought that was affectionate.”
Billy’s head snapped up and he picked himself up off the floor. His eyes slid to Michael, who had definitely spoken, but who was no longer looking at Billy. He was standing now, too. Billy stared hard at his leader’s back.
“What game are we playing here, my good fellows?” he asked after seconds without speaking-and, more notably, without violence-had passed. “You got me and two of my pals here, but we don’t know why.”
“We’re starting to figure it out,” Michael corrected him. He was halfway across the room now, standing by a leather couch. His back was still to Billy, but they met each other’s gaze in a huge mirror. Michael dipped his head and flicked his eyes to the left.
“Well you’re alone in that, mate,” Billy said, stepping away from Michael and closer to the guard. He licked his lips and braced his knees. “I mean, you won’t even look at me. I really did think our relationship meant more than that to you.”
Michael laughed. “I think what our new friend Som is trying to show you, Billy, is that I don’t have many people in my life who mean much to me at all. One of the risks of the business,” he paused and nodded again, Billy nodded back. “What Som doesn’t seem to realize is that even though my team means a lot to me, the priority has always been-and will always be, getting us all out alive.”
“Aye,” Billy said sagely, spinning on his heel to smile cheekily at the guard. “We’re all still alive, see, and that has never been an accident.”
The guard opened his mouth, presumably to tell Billy to step back, or maybe to say something unbearably clever before hitting him again. He didn’t get far.
What Michael had known, and what he had shown to Billy, was that they weren’t alone with the man who Som had commissioned to torture at least one of the pair of them. Lurking in the shadows, as quiet and deadly and familiar as always, had been Casey.
“Poor sod,” he said, nudging at the now unconscious guard with the toe of his boot. “Didn’t even know you were coming.”
“Surprise takes the fun out of a good fight,” Casey lamented.
Billy clapped him on the shoulder, “Buck up, my good friend. There are many fights to come.”
“Indeed,” Michael said, walking over to check on Billy once again. Billy didn’t want to think about his arms or legs, but the blood on his sleeves and pants spoke volumes as to Som’s creativity with dull blades-pain he hadn’t acknowledged in the dark, but was forced to accept as reality now that he was in a well lit room. Michael was ready to do one of his clever medical exams, and Billy could see the mental catalog he was running Face: Bruised, Lip: Split, Fingers: Workable, Ribs…
Billy shook his head, “Best leave it, I think knowing the prognosis might actually make it hurt more.”
They laughed, but it didn’t reach their eyes.
~ ~ ~
“We’ve had contact with Som,” Fay announced as she stepped into the office. “Conference room.”
Adele got up and stepped around Higgins in her rush to get out of the stuffy office where neither of them had been able to come up with any good ideas. She thought that if it had been any other day, she might have felt rebuked by his steadily disapproving gaze. If not rebuked, then at least irritated. Today those particular emotions took a number and headed to the back of the line. Adele could compartmentalize well, and anything besides getting the job done (and a fair amount of worry, but denial was working in her favor so far) wasn’t even on the table. “Have we had a visual?” she asked, her heels click clacking in time with Fay’s on the hard floors.
“Yes,” Fay said, she hesitated. “We have a visual of Operative Martinez,” that was directed at Higgins. He was looking at Fay now, not Adele, and missed the brief slump of relief that passed through her shoulders. “He doesn’t appear to be injured, although Som isn’t willing to pull that card off the table.”
“What about the others?”
They all stopped just outside the door to the conference room. Inside, Adele could see suits and skirts-important people there to do their jobs. She felt very strongly that they should all leave. If it was up to her she would be doing everything-at least that way she’d know that it was getting done properly.
“No sign of them yet,” Fay paused, and Adele watched the other woman visibly gather herself. “We believe that Som has a grudge against one of the operatives in the ODS.”
There was more that Fay was clearly hesitant to share. Adele normally could understand boundaries like that and the reasons for them. She found herself less forgiving today. “Oh?” she prompted.
“I haven’t confirmed it with any intelligence,” Fay finally said, “But I believe Som is most interested in Michael.”
With the hard news-or perhaps the hard admission-out of the way, Fay was once again all business. Adele didn’t believe Fay was conscious of the way she smoothed her skirt and stood up straighter. “Our knowledge of Som and his methods indicate that he will not be a direct threat to Operative Dorset himself,” if there was relief in those words, Adele chose to ignore it. “He prefers emotional means to get what he wants. Operative Dorset has been careful to keep anyone he might-” a hesitation, Adele noted, “anyone he might care about a secret, or not a part of his life at all.”
Adele knew without a doubt what the next news would be. She curled her fingers around the file in her hand and felt the edges of the manila envelope crumple under her grasp.
“Except for his teammates, who are with him now.”
“We don’t know that,” Higgins said finally, “We don’t know where anyone but Martinez is. As you said, he appears to be in good shape. Ms. Carson,” his gaze was directed to Fay, “It would be…invaluable if you would share with us what exactly Mr. Som has against Dorset.”
Now Fay looked overtly uncomfortable. Adele’s grip on the envelope tightened, “I will remind you,” she said coldly-something she would have to apologize for later-“That the lives of four agents, plus three other hostages are at stake here. If there is something that we need to know, then you have an obligation to your country-“ to Michael she didn’t say-“To share that intelligence with us.”
Fay pushed her hair out of her face and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. It was several years ago.”
~ ~ ~
“Martinez is still in the cell,” Billy said from a few feet behind Casey and Michael. It had been a mutual decision, although not one he had been happy about, to have Michael take point, with Casey behind, and Billy in the way back. The idea of being “protected” was both unfamiliar and unsavory to Billy, who had made it his priority a long time back to keep his team safe, no matter the cost.
Still, he couldn’t begrudge his friends (rarely did he let himself call them that, team was safer, more sterile; more friendly if one was trying to keep his heart in a box) the same mission, and in truth he would be little use in a fight if it came down to it. He was badly concealing a limp, possibly bleeding out from either his arms or legs, and his breathing was labored. He guessed he had at least two broken ribs, but was counting it a blessing he hadn’t started to drown in his own blood. Small blessings.
“So how’re we going to do thi-” Billy stopped speaking and walking when Michael held up a hand. The three agents flattened themselves against a wall. They weren’t armed, but they had Casey, and Billy thought that his teammate was better than several guns.
They waited, listening to the footsteps marching down the corridor. onetwo, twothree… Billy’s mind automatically started adding up the numbers. There were at least five guards, maybe more, walking past there hidden spot. Whatever the case, no alarm had been sounded, and they didn’t appear to be looking for the missing agents yet.
The footsteps faded and Michael turned. “Billy, you’ll go and get Martinez,” he paused, “Arm yourselves however you can. Don’t take unnecessary risks; he’s a good agent. You’ll have to let him do most of the fighting on this one.”
It wasn’t a tone with room for argument, so Billy just nodded once. He straightened up from where he’d slumped against the wall and carefully took a few steps away from Casey and Michael. The world had seemed much smaller and safer when he had them to fall on. In front of him now was just the long walk back to the cell. He shook off the urge to slump again, lifted his head up, and walked away from his teammates without so much as a backward glance.
Part Two
Author: Lymricks
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Nothing episode specific, but definitely a few overall for the whole series if you haven't been paying attention to who's dating/dated who.
Warnings: There's copious Billy!Whump, so--violence.
Word Count: 6500 this part.
Notes: This was going to be my big bang (right-bastards) fic, but I had a new idea for that. I also don't have a beta, cause I'm new here! So if anyone is at all interested, I'd be much obliged. Otherwise, I'll fly solo.
Summary: For the ODS, it was the perfect mission. That probably should have been the warning sign.
The phone rang at 3am, while Adele was sitting on her couch with a mug of hot chocolate. Wilbur’s, the can read. It was an expensive brand, one a girlfriend’s mother had recommended to her because of her “stressful job.” Adele hadn’t told anyone the full story of what she did for a living, but people continuously surprised her with their ability to infer.
Rick was supposed to call her. He called at midnight her time whenever he could. Rick was easy to talk to. He knew the ins and outs of her job in ways that her closest girlfriends didn’t. She looked forward to the phone calls, whatever their relationship status. For some reason, Adele was nervous about the lack of one tonight.
So she settled down on the couch in yoga pants and tried to get her zen on. The hot chocolate was definitely helping. Her palms, pressed against the warm ceramic, sent currents of relief up her arms. There was a girly movie on the television, and she privately thought about how cute the Scottish actor was. A thought she dismissed immediately. She wasn’t positive, but she was working on a theory that Billy could read minds and would know-even from his remote location-that she was crushing on his countryman. There was no doubt in Adele’s mind that this would lead to some pretty serious repercussions. The ODS had no qualms about tormenting their superiors. Higgins had learned that the hard way.
The phone rang at 3am. Her private line. The number on the screen was one she had memorized, but never added to her phone.
“About time,” she said to the empty air and her non-CIA mug. “What if I had been asleep?” she said instead, into the phone.
“Mission compromised,” said a voice on the other end. Not Rick, she knew that, but she wasn’t sure who else would use his phone. She thought maybe Billy, Casey, or Michael, but this didn’t sound like one of them either.
“Who is this?” Adele said, already getting up. She put the phone on speaker as she slipped into the suit she had pressed a few hours earlier, the one she was supposed to wear to work tomorrow.
“Mission compromised,” the voice-no one she knew-repeated. “We have them.”
The line went dead. No time to do her hair, then.
Adele was in the car on the way to the office in five minutes flat. She dialed in the important people while she clicked her seatbelt into place.
On her coffee table (the one she had let Billy pick out, because he boasted impeccable taste-and she didn’t disagree), the mug of hot chocolate sat cooling, leaving a brown, smudged ring on the glass.
~ ~ ~
Michael was losing his mind. He’d been in bad situations before. He’d been in danger before, but never before had he put his team in such blatant danger. Never before had he lost control of the situation enough to walk his team directly into a very big, very bad trap. Never before had he been so stupid. The only excuse was that he had lost his mind. Now his team had to deal with the consequences.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Billy said finally, pressing his shoulder against Michael’s, just for a second. Michael didn’t agree. He wasn’t prone to panic or hysteria. He was trying to be logical here, not too logical, not as logical as someone like Martinez would have been, but logical in that way that was just Michael. Logical like a chess match. Logical like the guy who was in control.
The problem was that Michael wasn’t the guy in control. None of them had been in control for approximately seventy-two hours, but it may have been seventy-five, or even seventy-six. There was a period of unconsciousness that he couldn’t account for. He was judging time by the lightness or darkness of the cell, but for all he knew, the last time he’d been awake could have been yesterday.
They had known about the danger for at least seventy-two hours. They had separated-for safety--seventy-two hours ago. They’d been caught either three hours ago, or twenty-seven hours ago, depending on how long Michael had been unconscious-and everything, every single thing had happened because Michael had missed something.
“I’m not,” Michael said, turning his head to the left. He was appraising Billy’s injuries. Nothing too bad, a black eye and a nasty looking cut on his jaw, but nothing Billy couldn’t handle. He had a split lip, too, but that was also something that Michael knew Billy could take. Nothing life threatening, that was good.
Michael himself was spotless. Even his clothing wasn’t ripped, torn, or dirty. Billy was a mess, but Billy was a mess because he was a mouthy son of a bitch, and Michael hadn’t been able to convey, “stop speaking” with his eyes. Billy had stopped speaking, but that was mostly because he’d been having trouble breathing. Michael hadn’t checked yet, but he was willing to bet Billy’s stomach was an interesting shade of boot-shaped purple by now.
Billy, demonstrating his alarming ability to read minds, chuckled (and winced). “I think they were steel toed boots,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind him. Michael smiled, just a little. “Michael,” Billy said, “Look at me. We’re fine, we’re both fine and we’re going to stay fine,” he sounded certain for someone who’d just gotten his vital organs rearranged by someone else’s toes.
Michael nodded. “We just need a plan,” he said.
“Atta boy,” Billy agreed, smiling now. He dropped his head back against the wall, and if he thought Michael missed the way breathing made Billy shift uncomfortably, he was wrong. “What if I yelled really, really loudly,” Billy said, “Give ‘em my best banshee impression. You could hide behind the door and tackle them.”
Michael raised an eyebrow at Billy. “It’s worth a shot, but I’m no Casey and you’d be pretty useless in a fight right now. No offense.”
“None taken.”
They fell silent, both lost in their thoughts. Michael wasn’t sure about Billy, but he himself was thinking about the rest of their team. Twenty-four countable hours had passed since Michael had last heard from Rick or Casey, maybe more if he had been passed out for longer than two or three.
He wasn’t the type to get nervous, but here he was-nervous. It was his fault, of course it was. Rick had a decent plan, but Michael had thought his was better. His plan was better, an ODS original, the kind of stunt none of the spineless drones who could have landed this mission would pull. That, he realized now, was exactly the problem.
Som’s men had been waiting for them, exactly at the location that should have been the easiest point of entry. The plan had gone according to itself. They had scared away the few guards outside by driving the van through the fence. It would have been unexpected, except Som’s men had been waiting.
“Som means ‘please’ in Khmer, the language spoken in Cambodia,” Rick had commented on the flight over.
“They call him that because he makes every man he slaughters beg for his life,” Billy added. Michael had nodded in agreement and smiled into his knuckles, but remained silent. Sometimes it was good to watch his team try to scare one other. Rick had just rolled his eyes and looked out the window.
Morbidly, Michael wondered if any member of his team had been forced to beg for his life yet.
There was a sound outside the door; footsteps.
“Three,” Billy said, and Michael nodded, he had counted the same number of people. Maybe guards, maybe Rick and Casey, maybe someone just passing through. They had to be ready for any of that. Michael straightened up, but didn’t rise to his feet. They had no reason (or ability) to appear threatening.
The door opened slowly; the sudden light flooding Michael’s vision and making him squint. He shifted, pressing his shoulder against Billy’s automatically. Some age old instinct about safety in numbers.
“Hello, gentlemen.” The man who walked farthest into the room was tall, almost seven feet. He was stately and calm, every inch the king he claimed to be. “I hope that you have found my palace hospitable.” His accent was thick, but a smooth and pleasant, reminiscent of Billy’s-If Billy had been from Cambodia. There was something familiar about his speech pattern, like Michael had heard it before. But that could have been a dream, a long time ago. Michael shook his head and whipped his head around when Billy started talking.
“Everything has been wonderful, thanks,” Billy said before Michael could reply, “I especially enjoyed the pre-natal massage I got earlier. You should let your men know that men can’t get pregnant, though. I’m afraid it was a wasted effort.”
The man laughed, “You are funny,” he said. “I am an educated man. I appreciate humor,” he stepped closer. Michael wondered if the man-he was sure this was Som-noticed the way that Billy pressed against Michael then, his arm warm against Michael’s through the thin fabric of two cotton shirts.
Rick had always said he envied Billy, Michael, and Casey’s ability to stay calm. He had been new then, and observant, but he always missed the little moments of weakness every one of them had shared. Billy, Michael had realized over the years, was a touchy man. When he was nervous, he stood closer to his teammates, and even Casey had learned to accept the press of arm against arm when the situation called for it. Now, as the man stepped closer, Michael pressed back.
“Unfortunately, my men are not so educated, and they do not appreciate a funny man like you.”
Michael always thought things through. He was a planner. A paranoid bastard, Billy said, but he always planned things through. So he knew without a doubt that Som was reaching for Billy, and some less coherent part of him knew that Som was going to take Billy away. That wasn’t going to fly. He had lost two members of his team already. Michael couldn’t lose a third.
He lashed out, an unforgivable, emotional response to a threat to an already weak friend. He caught the tall man’s wrist with his foot, pinning the thin bone between the wall and his shoe. There was a crunch, and then silence.
Silence as three men stepped through the door and grabbed Michael. Silence as the pressed his face against the wall, his cheek grinding against stone and dirt. Silence as they held him there. Silence as he couldn’t get away.
Silence except for the sound of fabric sliding over stone. Silence except for the sound of footsteps. Silence except for the closing of a thick, metal door. Silence-until the first of the grunts, the concealed and muffled sounds of pain.
From down the hall:
“Not as funny now, funny man. It is hard for me to laugh when my wrist is hurt. Your friend must pay for that, funny man. He will pay with you.”
~ ~ ~
Five days ago, Higgins had told Adele that there was intelligence about a Cambodian warlord called Som, who planned to fund some impressively anti-everyone-but-themselves organizations. He was holding three agents hostage, three good agents that the agency couldn’t afford to lose.
It had been a job that the ODS was made for, even Higgins agreed. The job wasn’t easy, by any means. The team would have to infiltrate the secret “palace” of a “king” in Cambodia. He called himself a war lord, but not in the traditional sense. He was a war lord, he financed, created, and found men to fight in wars. All designed to destroy the rest of the world. He was paranoid and insane, but charismatic and charming too. People liked him, despite the knowledge of his business ventures. He was dangerous now, but could someday be lethal.
And Som had agents who knew more than they probably should have known. The ODS would infiltrate his compound, which he called his palace, and get them out. Adele thought that Higgins also hoped they would take the man down and get him arrested, something they were good at doing.
Higgins had been confident the mission would be over quickly and efficiently, even for the ODS. He had seen them off himself. Adele had noticed him smiling.
Now-now she sat in her office at 3:35am and waited for Higgins to come in. Fay was already here. She wasn’t pacing, but she looked worried. Adele remembered the woman who had told her that the ODS would make it out. She remembered the woman who had said with the confidence of someone who had seen it all that the ODS could do anything; that they would do anything.
That woman wasn’t in the office anymore. There was just Adele and Fay, both of them with feelings for members of the now missing ODS. Rick and Michael aside, Adele had found herself warming up even to Casey, who resisted all her olive branches, but tolerated her a good deal more than he tolerated Higgins.
“We know the ODS is somewhere in the mountains, probably at the location of Som’s compound. It is safe to assume the team made it there in one piece,” Fay finally said, walking over to a whiteboard. “Or else the caller wouldn’t have sounded as confident. We have to assume that this was a trap. Som wanted to catch the ODS specifically.”
“Why the ODS?” Adele asked quietly.
“Because they force the CIA to take risks it doesn’t want to take,” Adele saw the smile on Fay’s face as she spoke. “As you may remember with the Hong-Kong mission, or the North Korea mission, or the Russian mission.”
“So their pull in the CIA makes them dangerous to someone like Som,” Adele agreed, “Which means he knew the ODS was coming.”
Fay nodded, “Which means the CIA has sprung a leak.”
Both women fell silent at the implication. The mission, though ‘easy’ for the ODS, had been kept a very real secret. Everything had been carried out by a select group of individuals who were familiar with the ODS. They were trusted resources; friends that Michael and Fay had made over the years. People who the ODS, Higgins, Fay, and Adele had trusted to keep quiet.
But now they knew that someone hadn’t. Adele ran a hand through her hair. “Try calling them again,” she said finally. “Let me know.”
She walked out of the room, her heels clicking quietly on the tiles as she headed down to find Higgins.
It was a mournful sound. She took the long way around to avoid the wall of stars.
~ ~ ~
“Dammit, gents! I had a nice nose.”
Michael wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad to hear Billy’s unique sense of proper etiquette with one’s captors. He was less glad to hear the sound of a body hitting the cement floor. There wasn’t time for pretences now. He turned around and strode across the floor to Billy before the door had shut.
“Hey,” he said, dropping into a crouch. “You ok?”
“Next time you want to defend my honor, I’d suggest you refrain,” Billy said from the floor. “I appreciate the effort, mate,” he added. Michael helped him roll onto his back and hissed sympathetically.
Billy was a mess of red, black, and blue. There was blood smeared down his shirt. “I liked this one, too,” Billy complained from the floor. The statement lacked his usual bite, and Michael just nodded again. He reached out and started undoing the buttons. “Hey now,” Billy said, “I thought you were defending my honor.”
“Shut up for a second,” Michael said as he pulled the fabric away from Billy’s chest. Underneath the button up, things didn’t look much better. He whistled lowly. “I think in some cultures we could hang you in a museum,” Michael said. “It looks like the modern art Fay kept trying to put in the house,” he continued as he ran his hand down Billy’s ribs. “Does this-”
“Yes! It hurts! Cease and desist.”
Michael buttoned him back up and sat back against the wall. He watched Billy shift himself around. “You want a hand?” he offered dryly.
“No,” Billy said, but Michael reached out and pulled and pushed until Billy was propped up, half against Michael and half against the wall. “Thanks, mate,” Billy said quietly, dropping his head back against the cement. It connected with a thud and Michael winced. Billy gave him a look that screamed ‘what’s one more bruise?’ “We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Billy asked eventually.
Michael shrugged and slipped an arm around Billy’s shoulders. He didn’t need to ask, and Billy didn’t need to qualify. When Billy sagged against Michael, neither of them mentioned it. This was as private a time as they were going to get. Michael could support his friends when they needed it. He’d been in the agency long enough to know that needing a moment of help and comfort was not a weakness. “Not yet,” he said instead, answering Billy’s question. “Not yet.”
Billy eventually fell asleep and Michael listened to his breathing even out. He took some comfort in the rise and fall of Billy’s chest, in the smoothness of each breath. It meant that Billy wasn’t in so much pain that he couldn’t handle it. It meant that he was alive, at least for now. The sound of Billy breathing meant that Michael hadn’t failed-not all the way, not yet. He had messed up, his team was in danger, and he couldn’t even justify Billy’s title for him anymore ‘Fearless Leader’ he had told Martinez. Michael sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. “Not so fearless anymore,” he said into the darkening cell. Billy shifted, but didn’t wake. Michael counted that as a victory.
By the time the room had sunk into complete darkness and Billy had shifted to press his face against Michael’s arm in his sleep, Michael’s whole body was numb and buzzing. Numb because Billy’s dead weight was stopping circulation, even the tips of his fingers were prickling with a lack of sensation. Buzzing because there were footsteps outside. Michael counted, onetwo, twothree, threefour. Three people again, two heavy, one small.
one…two, two…three, three…four the footsteps slowed to a stop outside the door, and Michael lifted his head. He moved out from under Billy, leaning him against the wall before shifting just in front of him. Three people? He wasn’t wild about those odds. He would have felt better with Casey there, or with Billy awake, or with Martinez around the corner, but Michael had taken on greater odds alone before. He was moderately confident in his ability to do it again.
The door opened with the soft squeal of protesting metal hinges. Again, the light blurred Michael’s vision. Behind him, Billy stirred. He waited, crouched and ready to pounce. The logical part of his mind shouted the flaws in the plan at him. He didn’t know the floor plan, he didn’t know how many guards were there, he didn’t know if Billy would be able to run with him. In the back of his mind he remembered asking his teammates to throw stones at a plan he’d come up with. It had been Billy who said there weren’t enough stones to throw.
Michael felt that way now.
“Michael Dorset.”
Michael paused, blinked. He knew that voice.
“Martinez?” he asked lowly.
“Michael Dorset your presence is requested by his Excellency Som, whose palace you currently inhabit.”
The words sounded wrong. They weren’t the sort of thing Rick said. So he was probably reciting someone else’s words, and there was probably a gun or a knife pressed against his back. These weren’t odds Michael liked. He held both hands out in front of him.
“I would be honored to meet with Som and negotiate for peace between my team and his.”
“Good,” a voice from somewhere behind Rick’s shoulder said. Michael stepped forward as Rick stepped inward.
“Billy’s banged up,” he whispered. “Keep an eye on him. Where’s Casey?”
“I thought he was with you,” Rick whispered back. Michael raised an eyebrow and met Rick’s gaze. For the first time in a few hours, he felt something like hope.
He opened his mouth to ask Rick about the layout, but hands grabbed him, and he was unceremoniously yanked out into the hallway.
~ ~ ~
“Michael?” Billy asked when he opened up his eyes. Well, it was what he meant to ask, but it came out sounding a whole lot more like “My-cow.”
“Moo.”
So not Michael then, but Rick. Billy lifted his head, and then his aching body, off the ground. “Good to see you, kid,” he said in greeting, tucking his knees up and slinging his arms around his legs.
“Sorry if the feeling isn’t mutual,” Rick said. He appeared to be all in one piece. He was standing, which was a good sign, and running his hands along the walls.
“What’re you looking for?” Billy asked after a few minutes of silence. His head felt clearer now. “I might be able to help. I find that the ability to string together coherent sentences does much to inspire confidence in one’s self and one’s teammates.”
“A weak point in the wall.” Rick paused, looked around the cell, and then at Billy. “I guess I was a lot safer than you,” he mused. Billy blinked at him. “Som had me in a sort of living room, I guess. With a maid and a nice leather couch,” Rick paused and ran a hand through his hair. “She’s a French spy, the maid. She’s been here for a few years. It was a trap, Billy.”
“A spy trap, you mean?” Billy asked. He gingerly rose to his feet, bracing himself against the cold cement wall.
“No,” Rick answered. “An ODS trap. They were expecting us. I think Michael figured it out too. Casey definitely knows, if they haven’t caught him yet.”
“If?” Billy answered. “I thought he was with you?”
“We got separated.”
There was something hard in Rick’s words, a tone that Billy didn’t often hear from the young agent. He moved forward, limping enough to throw him off balance, but he still moved forward. That was the important part. “Rick,” he said, dropping his hand onto Rick’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, mate.”
“Yeah.”
The word was short, and Rick pulled away from Billy. The cell was almost pitch black, but there was enough light through the cracks where the door met the hinges to see Rick’s silhouette pacing back and fourth. “You’re going to make me dizzy,” Billy said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Billy frowned. “Okay, spit it out. What’s the matter with you?”
Rick spun around, and if Billy hadn’t been dizzy before, he certainly was now. “What’s the matter with me?” Rick said, his voice suddenly full of venom. “If you guys had just listened to me, if we had just done things my way, if I had just been a little more insistent, maybe we’d be fine. Maybe if I wasn’t so damn submissive, we would have completed the actual mission and no one would be hurt right now.”
Billy opened his mouth and then closed it. Then opened it again. “Let me get this straight,” he said finally. “You think this is all your fault? This whole mess is all your fault?”
“Yes!” Rick yelled.
“Well it’s not,” Billy said. “We all should have known, and-”
He paused as the door was pushed open. “Oh for the love of all things lush and green,” he sighed. “Again? Really?”
“My men seem to think you are your leader’s weakest link,” Som said from the doorway. “I am afraid we need your assistance again, my friend.”
“Mate, I’m not sure you understand the definition of assistance.”
“Wait, what?”
Billy turned toward Rick and shook his head. “Keep your mouth shut, Martinez. Sit tight, hopefully I’ll be back in a mo’,” he paused, “I may need you to kiss some boo boo’s better though.”
It seemed to take Rick a minute to understand it, and by the time he figured it out, Billy was already being pushed down the hallway. More fun and games with his new friends, he expected.
Billy had taken a lot of shit in his life. It came with the job. He himself had thrown a few great punches. Years had passed, however, since he’d had to deal with outright torture. He hadn’t called this that out loud yet, but in some corner of his mind, Billy knew that was what this was going to turn into.
From what Billy could gather, Som seemed hesitant to harm Michael. Even when Rick had been brought in and Michael had been brought out, no one had so much as laid a hand on their fearless leader. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. It could be a good thing because maybe, just maybe Som was afraid of the repercussions of killing Michael. It could be a bad thing because maybe that would cause him to kill everyone else. Billy certainly didn’t want to die, but he thought it’d be bloody awful to kill him in front of Michael.
He wasn’t so optimistic that his body was going to hold out long under these little sessions.
The room they brought him to this time was nothing like the last one. Where that one had been sterile and clean, this one was plush and showy. It had a wood floor, a glass dining table, and some upholstered bar stools. Michael was perched on one of them, studiously ignoring the glass of scotch that was sitting next to him on the table.
“Well hello there,” Billy said, grinning at Michael. “Fancy meeting you here.” He sauntered away from his captors and dropped down onto the bar stool next to Michael. He picked up the scotch and took a sip. “Good stuff, this,” he said, still grinning. “Come here often, then?”
Michael just looked at him.
“Aw c’mon,” Billy implored. “I’m a little funny.”
He wished that Michael would crack a smile or say something. Just do something familiar so that Billy could stop feeling like he was alone out here, like he was waiting to be beaten to a pulp in front of an impassive stranger. Michael didn’t say anything, barely even looked at him. Billy understood it, he did. Michael was trying to distance himself, maybe trick Som into thinking that Billy didn’t mean enough to be a real threat.
Billy knew that Michael was trying to save his Scottish bum, but it didn’t matter, because he also knew it wouldn’t work.
He wished he could say all of that to Michael. Som appeared to know Michael well enough to know that despite anything else, despite whatever emotions or thoughts he might have, Michael was a good leader. A good leader who wouldn’t let his team get hurt because of him.
Billy had to give the man credit, it was a decent strategy.
“Y’know,” he said to Michael, picking the scotch up again and downing the rest of it, because what the hell, he was about to be tortured, might as well be piss drunk too. “Might be nice if I knew why this bloke’s so into you,” he paused for a second. “But either way, peer pressures a terrible blight on society, so don’t give in even if he asks creatively.” A warning, I’m not worth the consequences of giving up.
Finally Michael looked at him. Billy met his gaze and waited.
But Michael didn’t say anything, he reached out an arm and clapped Billy on the shoulder once, squeezed. Billy read the apology in the lines of Michael’s face. Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the men. He’d been expecting it, but the first hit still came as a surprise.
“You’re a right bastard,” Billy said from the floor, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t throw that term around lightly, either. I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”
“I thought that was affectionate.”
Billy’s head snapped up and he picked himself up off the floor. His eyes slid to Michael, who had definitely spoken, but who was no longer looking at Billy. He was standing now, too. Billy stared hard at his leader’s back.
“What game are we playing here, my good fellows?” he asked after seconds without speaking-and, more notably, without violence-had passed. “You got me and two of my pals here, but we don’t know why.”
“We’re starting to figure it out,” Michael corrected him. He was halfway across the room now, standing by a leather couch. His back was still to Billy, but they met each other’s gaze in a huge mirror. Michael dipped his head and flicked his eyes to the left.
“Well you’re alone in that, mate,” Billy said, stepping away from Michael and closer to the guard. He licked his lips and braced his knees. “I mean, you won’t even look at me. I really did think our relationship meant more than that to you.”
Michael laughed. “I think what our new friend Som is trying to show you, Billy, is that I don’t have many people in my life who mean much to me at all. One of the risks of the business,” he paused and nodded again, Billy nodded back. “What Som doesn’t seem to realize is that even though my team means a lot to me, the priority has always been-and will always be, getting us all out alive.”
“Aye,” Billy said sagely, spinning on his heel to smile cheekily at the guard. “We’re all still alive, see, and that has never been an accident.”
The guard opened his mouth, presumably to tell Billy to step back, or maybe to say something unbearably clever before hitting him again. He didn’t get far.
What Michael had known, and what he had shown to Billy, was that they weren’t alone with the man who Som had commissioned to torture at least one of the pair of them. Lurking in the shadows, as quiet and deadly and familiar as always, had been Casey.
“Poor sod,” he said, nudging at the now unconscious guard with the toe of his boot. “Didn’t even know you were coming.”
“Surprise takes the fun out of a good fight,” Casey lamented.
Billy clapped him on the shoulder, “Buck up, my good friend. There are many fights to come.”
“Indeed,” Michael said, walking over to check on Billy once again. Billy didn’t want to think about his arms or legs, but the blood on his sleeves and pants spoke volumes as to Som’s creativity with dull blades-pain he hadn’t acknowledged in the dark, but was forced to accept as reality now that he was in a well lit room. Michael was ready to do one of his clever medical exams, and Billy could see the mental catalog he was running Face: Bruised, Lip: Split, Fingers: Workable, Ribs…
Billy shook his head, “Best leave it, I think knowing the prognosis might actually make it hurt more.”
They laughed, but it didn’t reach their eyes.
~ ~ ~
“We’ve had contact with Som,” Fay announced as she stepped into the office. “Conference room.”
Adele got up and stepped around Higgins in her rush to get out of the stuffy office where neither of them had been able to come up with any good ideas. She thought that if it had been any other day, she might have felt rebuked by his steadily disapproving gaze. If not rebuked, then at least irritated. Today those particular emotions took a number and headed to the back of the line. Adele could compartmentalize well, and anything besides getting the job done (and a fair amount of worry, but denial was working in her favor so far) wasn’t even on the table. “Have we had a visual?” she asked, her heels click clacking in time with Fay’s on the hard floors.
“Yes,” Fay said, she hesitated. “We have a visual of Operative Martinez,” that was directed at Higgins. He was looking at Fay now, not Adele, and missed the brief slump of relief that passed through her shoulders. “He doesn’t appear to be injured, although Som isn’t willing to pull that card off the table.”
“What about the others?”
They all stopped just outside the door to the conference room. Inside, Adele could see suits and skirts-important people there to do their jobs. She felt very strongly that they should all leave. If it was up to her she would be doing everything-at least that way she’d know that it was getting done properly.
“No sign of them yet,” Fay paused, and Adele watched the other woman visibly gather herself. “We believe that Som has a grudge against one of the operatives in the ODS.”
There was more that Fay was clearly hesitant to share. Adele normally could understand boundaries like that and the reasons for them. She found herself less forgiving today. “Oh?” she prompted.
“I haven’t confirmed it with any intelligence,” Fay finally said, “But I believe Som is most interested in Michael.”
With the hard news-or perhaps the hard admission-out of the way, Fay was once again all business. Adele didn’t believe Fay was conscious of the way she smoothed her skirt and stood up straighter. “Our knowledge of Som and his methods indicate that he will not be a direct threat to Operative Dorset himself,” if there was relief in those words, Adele chose to ignore it. “He prefers emotional means to get what he wants. Operative Dorset has been careful to keep anyone he might-” a hesitation, Adele noted, “anyone he might care about a secret, or not a part of his life at all.”
Adele knew without a doubt what the next news would be. She curled her fingers around the file in her hand and felt the edges of the manila envelope crumple under her grasp.
“Except for his teammates, who are with him now.”
“We don’t know that,” Higgins said finally, “We don’t know where anyone but Martinez is. As you said, he appears to be in good shape. Ms. Carson,” his gaze was directed to Fay, “It would be…invaluable if you would share with us what exactly Mr. Som has against Dorset.”
Now Fay looked overtly uncomfortable. Adele’s grip on the envelope tightened, “I will remind you,” she said coldly-something she would have to apologize for later-“That the lives of four agents, plus three other hostages are at stake here. If there is something that we need to know, then you have an obligation to your country-“ to Michael she didn’t say-“To share that intelligence with us.”
Fay pushed her hair out of her face and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. It was several years ago.”
~ ~ ~
“Martinez is still in the cell,” Billy said from a few feet behind Casey and Michael. It had been a mutual decision, although not one he had been happy about, to have Michael take point, with Casey behind, and Billy in the way back. The idea of being “protected” was both unfamiliar and unsavory to Billy, who had made it his priority a long time back to keep his team safe, no matter the cost.
Still, he couldn’t begrudge his friends (rarely did he let himself call them that, team was safer, more sterile; more friendly if one was trying to keep his heart in a box) the same mission, and in truth he would be little use in a fight if it came down to it. He was badly concealing a limp, possibly bleeding out from either his arms or legs, and his breathing was labored. He guessed he had at least two broken ribs, but was counting it a blessing he hadn’t started to drown in his own blood. Small blessings.
“So how’re we going to do thi-” Billy stopped speaking and walking when Michael held up a hand. The three agents flattened themselves against a wall. They weren’t armed, but they had Casey, and Billy thought that his teammate was better than several guns.
They waited, listening to the footsteps marching down the corridor. onetwo, twothree… Billy’s mind automatically started adding up the numbers. There were at least five guards, maybe more, walking past there hidden spot. Whatever the case, no alarm had been sounded, and they didn’t appear to be looking for the missing agents yet.
The footsteps faded and Michael turned. “Billy, you’ll go and get Martinez,” he paused, “Arm yourselves however you can. Don’t take unnecessary risks; he’s a good agent. You’ll have to let him do most of the fighting on this one.”
It wasn’t a tone with room for argument, so Billy just nodded once. He straightened up from where he’d slumped against the wall and carefully took a few steps away from Casey and Michael. The world had seemed much smaller and safer when he had them to fall on. In front of him now was just the long walk back to the cell. He shook off the urge to slump again, lifted his head up, and walked away from his teammates without so much as a backward glance.
Part Two