agt_spooky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
agt_spooky) wrote2015-10-09 08:39 pm
agt_spooky) wrote2015-10-09 08:39 pm
Entry tags:
Strike Back fic: Lock and Key (Michael/Damien) 1/2
Title: Lock and Key
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
agt_spooky
Pairing: Michael Stonebridge/Damien Scott
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,200
Spoilers: Season 5
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!
Notes: This is my take on several missing scenes in season five, particularly the series finale.
This is a sequel to I'll Carry You. It's not terribly important that you read that one but it will give you an idea of how Michael and Damien's relationship started and where they thought they were going from there.
Summary: After the events in Black Bear prison that brought them together, Michael Stonebridge thought he had a future with Damien Scott. But then it was over before it ever really began. With Section 20 decimated, all Scott and Stonebridge have left is each other. Is it too late to try and start again?
Damien Scott had been his for five days.
And then Julia Richmond replaced him in Damien's bed.
Now Julia was dead and Damien was on the brink of death himself.
Michael looked down at his hands, stained red with Damien's blood. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast?
Happiness is a fleeting thing. One minute you’re lying in bed with a man who you’ve fallen deeply for, smiling, holding twin bags of diamonds, both of you planning a future together. And the next minute you yourself are being dropped, same as those bags of diamonds, left behind in Russia, with no explanation. Watched, hurt and confused as your future turned his back on you and walked away, right into the arms of another, the very next day.
If the military taught him one thing, it was how to compartmentalize. So Michael took Black Bear and those five days, put them in a box in his mind, locked it and threw away the key.
It was five weeks before he saw Damien again. After Kamali and the small pox virus scare, all of Section 20 was given some much deserved downtime. Michael needed the space, the separation from Damien. He was the first to leave, getting on a plane going anywhere so he didn’t have to watch Damien and Julia making plans that should’ve been their plans.
The time away did him good. His head was clear by the time Section 20 was reactivated and reunited in Thailand. It wasn’t easy seeing Damien and Julia together, but he’d never seen her smile so much in all the years he’d known her. He knew how she felt. What effect Damien could have on you.
After a split second of awkwardness upon seeing each other again, Michael and Damien fell back into routine like nothing had ever happened between them, a well-oiled machine, their only focus the mission.
Which went both pear-shaped and sideways before Michael could even blink. And now Julia Richmond was dead.
It was still hard to comprehend, even standing there on the tarmac, watching as her casket was loaded onto a plane, taking her on her final journey home. Michael wanted nothing more than to accompany her to her resting place, but the bloody fucking mission always came first and none of them could leave. So instead he stood there in the rain, Locke and Martinez on one side of him, Damien on the other, saluting his fallen comrade, his friend. And if there was moisture on all their faces, they blamed it on the rain.
The remaining members of Section 20 found the first bar they could after leaving the airport. They had shots of whiskey lined up a moment later, a photograph lying between them.
Locke raised his glass. “To Sergeant Julia Richmond.”
“To Julia,” echoed three voices, then there was silence.
Martinez wiped at her eyes as she set her glass back down. She touched Julia’s photo. “Rest in peace,” she whispered, then turned and walked away.
Locke was next, his face drawn as he nodded at both Michael and Damien before following Martinez out of the bar.
Michael turned to look at Damien. His partner’s blue eyes were red rimmed but his face was otherwise completely devoid of emotion, his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Michael slid Julia’s photo over between them and rested his fingers on it. His throat threatened to close up over the words he wanted to say, but they were the truth, as hard as it was to voice them.
“Thank you for making her happy. She deserved it.”
Damien looked sharply at him then, surprise on his face. But before he could speak, Michael was walking away, feeling those blue eyes on him until the door closed behind him.
Hours later, somewhere around 2:00 am, Michael was awakened by the tiniest noise only a trained soldier’s senses would pick up on, even when asleep. There was someone standing outside his hotel room door. Immediately on alert, he rolled over in one smooth move and retrieved his sidearm from the bedside table. He moved silently to the door, listening intently, gun raised. Only to lower it a moment later. Although the person on the other side didn’t speak, Michael was so in tune with his partner after five years he knew it was Damien.
He leaned against the door, listening to Damien breathe. It was heavy and ragged and his grief tore at Michael. He wanted nothing more than to open the door and bring Damien inside, but he held back. It was Damien’s call if he wanted Michael to see him like this. So he waited, hoping for a quiet knock, but it never came.
Michael stood there, head resting against the door for long minutes after Damien finally walked away.
Julia Richmond’s death galvanized the remaining members of Section 20, driving them forward with renewed purpose, and vengeance, to capture Li-Na at all costs. To complete the mission so that Julia did not die in vain.
But in the end, it was all in vain - betrayed by Ridley in the final minutes of the mission. Now Locke lay dead in a crashed helicopter and Michael and Damien were on the run from Faber’s mercenary team, trapped in a ravine with Damien bleeding out from a gunshot wound to his stomach.
Michael looked down at his hands, stained red with Damien's blood. It had all gone so wrong, so fast…
Damien was breathing hard, in obvious pain. He looked up from where Michael’s hands were covering his own, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
“What do they say? Those that live by the sword die by the fucking thing. Been a long time coming…” Damien trailed off.
Michael didn’t want to hear this. “You really need to conserve your energy.”
But Damien continued. “You know the first guy I killed in battle…I was shaking, trembling. I even threw up.” He paused, voice hollow. “When did that stop? When did this all become normal for us, Mikey?” He blew out a breath. “Long time coming…”
Michael reached out and put a hand on Damien’s head, rubbed it back and forth. His voice was strong. “Maybe not. Because you're gonna make it through this. You're going to survive and you're gonna go home.”
Damien’s laugh was brittle. “Back to the real life? Paying bills, mowing the lawn, stopping at a fucking red light? I can't see that happening.”
Michael pinned him with his gaze. “Being a father to your son.”
Damien shook his head. “After the shit I've done? Sure…”
Michael nodded, needing Damien to believe this, to give him a reason not to give up right here. “Yeah, sure.” He wanted to say more, but a flock of birds were suddenly startled and took flight, drawing his attention. Faber’s men had found them.
Michael cursed and put his vest back on. He hated to leave Damien laying there but he needed to climb to the top of the ravine and do recon.
“I won’t be long,” he told Damien.
And he wasn’t. It took him less than two minutes to dispatch of two of Faber’s men. He hadn’t heard any gunfire from below, which he took as a good sign that they hadn’t found Damien. But his heart lodged in his throat a second later when he looked down and saw Damien floating motionless in the water – bloody water.
Michael nearly broke his neck getting to the bottom of the ravine, slipping, sliding down the rocky slope, charging into the water. He flipped the dead man off Damien and dragged his partner onto the shore, immediately checking to make sure he was still breathing. He was, but barely. He shook Damien, clutching at his shirt, slapping his face, cradling his head, pleading with him to wake up. He saw the hint of a smile on Damien’s face and breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel his heart seize up when Damien suddenly went completely limp and his eyes closed.
Michael turned Damien over onto his back, put his head down on Damien’s chest. No heartbeat. No breathing.
“No!” Michael yelled at his partner, instantly beginning CPR, pumping Damien’s chest. “You’re not dying on me, damn you!”
Two breaths into Damien’s mouth. His chest rose and fell, but still no heartbeat.
“Don’t you do this!” Michael commanded him, pushing on his chest once again. “Stay with me, Damien…don’t leave me…” he pleaded.
Two more breaths…and Damien stirred, coughing. Michael straightened up as Damien blinked open his blue eyes. It took him a second to focus on Michael, then a small smile crossed his face.
“Jesus Christ,” Michael breathed, hanging his head in relief. He pulled Damien’s upper body up onto his lap, cupped his face with a shaking hand. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, mate.”
Damien nodded and closed his eyes. “I’ll try not to,” he answered, still smiling.
He gently lay Damien back down on the ground and pushed up his soaking wet shirt, taking stock of Damien’s condition. And it wasn’t good. Michael jogged over to where Damien had originally been sitting and grabbed what medical supplies were left. Moving back over to the wounded man, Michael rubbed his thumb across Damien’s cheek, getting his partner to open his eyes again. “I know you want to rest, but we can’t stay here. Your wound opened up again. You’re losing too much blood. We’ve got to get to the safe house, get that bullet out of you.”
Michael once again used gunpowder to temporarily cauterize the gunshot wound and Damien didn’t even flinch, a testament as to how weak he was getting. Michael put one of the last two pads of gauze over it and taped it as best he could against Damien’s damp skin.
“Ready, mate?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Damien answered tiredly, raising his arms for Michael to help him stand. He wavered as soon as he was upright, sagging against Michael.
Michael immediately draped one of Damien’s arms across his shoulders, wrapped an arm around Damien’s waist, and supported him.
“Okay, one foot in front of the other,” Michael encouraged his partner and they set off in search of help and safety.
Damien was in no shape to climb out of the ravine so they had to take the long way out and get back on track to the safe house. The journey was slow going and with every step Michael’s anxiety rose. His senses were constantly on alert for another ambush from Faber’s team and Damien was getting weaker, leaning more heavily against Michael, his breathing uneven.
“Mikey…I gotta stop…” Damien panted, pressing a hand against his stomach. “Just for a few minutes…”
Michael was about to agree, but when Damien’s hand came away with blood on it he knew they couldn’t waste even five minutes.
“We can’t, mate. C’mere…” And then Michael was swinging Damien up into his arms. He grunted with the additional weight. “Oi, I remember you saying not too long ago that you’d lost weight,” he joked, and it got a chuckle out of Damien.
“He ain’t heavy…” Damien smiled.
“…he’s my brother,” Michael finished with a grin, then sobered. “Damn straight, mate.”
Michael made the best time he could, carrying Damien. If he could’ve thrown Damien over his shoulder it would’ve been easier going, but that was out of the question with a stomach wound.
Despite Michael saying they couldn’t stop, even he reached his limit and he risked dropping Damien if he didn’t take a brief rest. He moved over to a large tree and set Damien down as gently as he could with his back resting up against it. Damien groaned and opened his eyes. His breathing had gotten easier since Michael had started carrying him, but he was extremely pale. Michael pushed up Damien’s shirt and swore at the blood soaked bandage. He removed the last gauze patch and taped it over the first one. His hand shook slightly as he did so, honestly scared that he wasn’t going to get them to the safe house fast enough and Damien was going to die on him.
Damien put his hand over top of Michael’s, squeezed. Michael turned his head and saw the same look on Damien’s face as he’d had in the ravine. Resignation.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” Damien said quietly, sincerely.
Michael’s brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For hurting you.”
Michael shook his head sharply and pulled away from Damien, standing up and turning his back on him. He wasn’t doing this. He’d moved on, made his peace, come to terms with Damien’s rejection. That box was locked and buried.
But Damien pressed on, ignoring Michael’s reaction. “When we had to give back the diamonds, all our plans, that future you kept talking about…it was just gone. It was always easier for you to picture than me. So I just…gave up. But I went about it the wrong way. And I’m sorry.”
Michael snapped and rounded on Damien, furious. “You’re a liar and a fucking coward! I put myself out there for you, more vulnerable than I've ever been. And you couldn't handle having to maybe put some effort into a relationship. Because this, you and me, was never going to be easy. Something you might have to work at instead of sliding into a bed and back out again and never look back!” He took a breath and shook his head. “I was a fool to think you were capable of more.”
Damien was looking at him in shock…and guilt. He reached out a hand. “Mikey…”
“Don’t,” Michael warned. “Now get the fuck up. You’re an asshole but you’re my partner and I refuse to let you die on me.”
The remainder of the trek was made in silence. Damien was able to walk the rest of the way, assisted by Michael, but by the time the safe house was finally in sight, Damien was shaking and sweating. Michael was about to carry him again when the door to the house opened and Christy Bryant came hurrying out. Michael trusted her as much as he trusted a rattlesnake, but she was all they had right now.
“Michael,” Christy nodded at him as she wrapped Damien’s other arm around her shoulders and started walking to the house.
Damien raised his head at the sound of Christy’s voice, gave her a smart-ass grin. “You and me, together again, eh?”
Michael caught a strange expression flit across Christy’s face and then it was gone. The two of them got Damien inside and over to the bed where they laid him down as gently as they could. Damien’s face was white and his breathing was labored.
“Mikey?” Damien panted. “Can I pass out now?”
Michael grinned. “Yeah, mate, you can pass out now. Would actually be a good idea if you did,” he finished as he watched Christy pulling out medical supplies.
“Copy that…” Damien breathed and was unconscious moments later.
Christy put Michael to work assisting her in getting an IV started in Damien’s arm and then removing the bullet and stitching him up.
“Thank you,” Michael said to her as he looked down at his partner, alive and resting comfortably. “I know you’re not on the best terms with each other but he wouldn’t have survived without your help.”
Again that odd, strained look crossed Christy’s face and Michael’s sixth sense started tingling, distinctly uneasy. Christy quickly turned away from him, busing herself with cleaning up. “Yeah, well…I couldn’t let him die.” She indicated toward the small kitchen. “Why don’t you get yourself something to eat? I’ll watch him.”
It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to say That’s my job, but in truth he was exhausted, and hungry. So he availed himself of some fruit, cheese and water he found in the refrigerator. He ate quickly then took up position at the window, rifle at the ready, protecting his partner as he slept.
Damien came back to consciousness slowly. His left side throbbed but it was no longer a burning, stabbing pain. And he felt cool and dry, no longer sweating. He carefully blinked open his eyes, making a small noise as the light hit his pupils. Two figures came into focus – Christy and Michael.
“Welcome back,” Christy said.
Damien groaned. “What happened?”
Michael moved toward the bed. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you’,” he answered and Damien gave him the finger in reply, causing Michael to grin.
Christy handed Damien an object. “I pulled this out of you.”
Damien held it up. “Bullet with my name on it, huh?” He paused and glanced around. “We safe here?”
Christy nodded. “Best I could do on short notice.”
“We’ll leave here under the cover of dark,” Michael told him, then walked out of the room and outside.
Damien dropped the bullet in bowl on the table beside the bed, then looked at Christy. “You got the passports?”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Yeah, dumb blonde came all this way and forgot to bring them.”
Damien looked directly at her. “Thank you,” he said and Christy nodded and turned away.
Damien narrowed his eyes as Christy walked around the room, her movements stilted, not quite meeting his eyes. Their relationship had been volatile, to say the least. And they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Which could explain why she was acting so oddly, nervous.
Damien’s unease increased the more Christy talked. He didn’t buy what she was saying for a minute, about wanting back in the Agency. Plus the fact there were no guns at the dam and that Faber’s team had somehow found them there. Did she set them up? There was something going on with her. Which is why when she started to unbutton his shirt he didn’t stop her. The last thing he wanted was to have sex with her. Not only did it make his skin crawl, but if Michael came back and saw them he was loathe to add fuel to Michael’s fire about him sliding in and out of people’s beds with abandon. But Damien rationalized that the ends justified the means in this case. Perhaps he could get Christy to open up, or get her to change her mind about whatever she was keeping from him if the two of them connected again. So he laid back and thought of England. Or more precisely, one Englishman in particular.
In the end, Damien was right. He did get through to Christy, but it was too late. He saw it in her eyes – the apology, the regret at what she’d done.
“There’s still time.”
Three words were all the warning she was able to give before Michael and Damien were plunged into the depths of Hell.
It was the longest fifteen minutes of Michael Stonebridge’s life. He and Damien had been in their fare share of firefights over the last five years, but nothing like this. Not so incredibly outnumbered with no hope of backup and both of them wounded. He’d known this was going to go bad the minute he shot Faber. But that fucking bastard had been culpable in the deaths of both Julia and Locke and he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Unfortunately it didn’t look like he and Damien would, either. But if this was the end of the line, there was no one he’d rather have at his side than Damien Scott, neither of them surrendering, going down swinging until the last bullet. Locke once told him that soldiers like them didn’t make good old men. He was about to find out Locke was right. Or so he thought.
He hadn’t been counting on the stupidity of Faber’s team. Watching their leader gunned down made them reckless. Instead of just waiting it out, for either Michael and Damien to run out of ammunition, or for them to burn to death in the barn that was now nearly half engulfed in flames – instead they charged the barn one after another, making perfect targets. And a source of guns and ammo. One by one Michael and Damien pulled the dead men inside and stripped them of their weapons and turned them against their own teammates. Until finally, miraculously, the two of them were the last ones standing.
“Mikey?” Damien called out from the other side of the car, over the noise of the flames and the cracking, snapping wood. “You alive?”
Michael couldn’t help it. He laughed long and loud from relief. “Yeah! You?” he smiled.
“Fuck, yeah!” came Damien’s enthusiastic reply. “What do you say we get the fuck out of here before this place comes down on our heads?”
A minute later they were both hobbling out of the barn, sporting matching leg wounds. Michael noticed that Damien’s stitches had not surprisingly come open and his stomach was bleeding again. Speaking of bleeding, Michael could now barely move the fingers on his left hand from the massive stab wound that had gone straight through the palm. The hasty bandage he’d managed to wrap around it was stained completely red.
Damien moved over to his side and rested a hand on Michael’s shoulder. The two of them locked eyes, taking a minute to just reconnect and reconfirm that they’d come out of this on the other side. Damien nodded, winked and squeezed Michael’s shoulder. Connection made.
The two of them then quickly surveyed the carnage around them – burning barn, dead men scattered all over the ground and in the house, too.
Michael indicated the barn. “That’s bound to draw attention sooner or later. We need to get out of here.” He held up his wounded hand. “I can’t drive. Why don’t you find Faber’s transport and pull it up to the house. I’ll get as many supplies together as I can.”
Damien nodded. “Copy that,” he answered, then moved off into the dark woods surrounding the house.
Michael made quick work of stripping Faber’s team of everything they were carrying – rifles, handguns, ammo, field medical supplies, money and a couple of cell phones. He piled everything up in front of the tractor in the yard. He moved to the house then and ransacked it as well. Took the remaining fruit, cheese and water from the refrigerator and the blankets from the bed. He was gathering up the remaining medical supplies that Christy had brought when he heard the rumbling of a truck pulling up outside. A minute later Damien was limping in the door.
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Transport’s here.”
Michael nodded. “There’s a pile by the tractor. I’m almost finished here.”
Damien moved over to where he was, saw the bag on the bed. “This Christy’s stuff?”
“Yeah, we’re going to need all this. We need to get patched up.”
“Wait a minute,” Damien said, then began pulling everything out until the bag was empty. He looked at Michael, anger in his eyes. “This is all she had?”
“Yeah, I don’t see anything else, why?”
Damien blew out a breath and shook his head. “No fucking passports.” He looked down at Christy’s body. “Bitch lied.” He glanced over at Michael. “We’re screwed, buddy.”
“Fuck,” Michael swore. “We’ll deal with that later. We need to get out of here. Let’s get the truck loaded.”
CONTINUED IN PART TWO
Author:
agt_spookyPairing: Michael Stonebridge/Damien Scott
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,200
Spoilers: Season 5
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!
Notes: This is my take on several missing scenes in season five, particularly the series finale.
This is a sequel to I'll Carry You. It's not terribly important that you read that one but it will give you an idea of how Michael and Damien's relationship started and where they thought they were going from there.
Summary: After the events in Black Bear prison that brought them together, Michael Stonebridge thought he had a future with Damien Scott. But then it was over before it ever really began. With Section 20 decimated, all Scott and Stonebridge have left is each other. Is it too late to try and start again?
Lock and Key
By AgtSpooky
October 9, 2015
By AgtSpooky
October 9, 2015
Damien Scott had been his for five days.
And then Julia Richmond replaced him in Damien's bed.
Now Julia was dead and Damien was on the brink of death himself.
Michael looked down at his hands, stained red with Damien's blood. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Happiness is a fleeting thing. One minute you’re lying in bed with a man who you’ve fallen deeply for, smiling, holding twin bags of diamonds, both of you planning a future together. And the next minute you yourself are being dropped, same as those bags of diamonds, left behind in Russia, with no explanation. Watched, hurt and confused as your future turned his back on you and walked away, right into the arms of another, the very next day.
If the military taught him one thing, it was how to compartmentalize. So Michael took Black Bear and those five days, put them in a box in his mind, locked it and threw away the key.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was five weeks before he saw Damien again. After Kamali and the small pox virus scare, all of Section 20 was given some much deserved downtime. Michael needed the space, the separation from Damien. He was the first to leave, getting on a plane going anywhere so he didn’t have to watch Damien and Julia making plans that should’ve been their plans.
The time away did him good. His head was clear by the time Section 20 was reactivated and reunited in Thailand. It wasn’t easy seeing Damien and Julia together, but he’d never seen her smile so much in all the years he’d known her. He knew how she felt. What effect Damien could have on you.
After a split second of awkwardness upon seeing each other again, Michael and Damien fell back into routine like nothing had ever happened between them, a well-oiled machine, their only focus the mission.
Which went both pear-shaped and sideways before Michael could even blink. And now Julia Richmond was dead.
It was still hard to comprehend, even standing there on the tarmac, watching as her casket was loaded onto a plane, taking her on her final journey home. Michael wanted nothing more than to accompany her to her resting place, but the bloody fucking mission always came first and none of them could leave. So instead he stood there in the rain, Locke and Martinez on one side of him, Damien on the other, saluting his fallen comrade, his friend. And if there was moisture on all their faces, they blamed it on the rain.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The remaining members of Section 20 found the first bar they could after leaving the airport. They had shots of whiskey lined up a moment later, a photograph lying between them.
Locke raised his glass. “To Sergeant Julia Richmond.”
“To Julia,” echoed three voices, then there was silence.
Martinez wiped at her eyes as she set her glass back down. She touched Julia’s photo. “Rest in peace,” she whispered, then turned and walked away.
Locke was next, his face drawn as he nodded at both Michael and Damien before following Martinez out of the bar.
Michael turned to look at Damien. His partner’s blue eyes were red rimmed but his face was otherwise completely devoid of emotion, his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Michael slid Julia’s photo over between them and rested his fingers on it. His throat threatened to close up over the words he wanted to say, but they were the truth, as hard as it was to voice them.
“Thank you for making her happy. She deserved it.”
Damien looked sharply at him then, surprise on his face. But before he could speak, Michael was walking away, feeling those blue eyes on him until the door closed behind him.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hours later, somewhere around 2:00 am, Michael was awakened by the tiniest noise only a trained soldier’s senses would pick up on, even when asleep. There was someone standing outside his hotel room door. Immediately on alert, he rolled over in one smooth move and retrieved his sidearm from the bedside table. He moved silently to the door, listening intently, gun raised. Only to lower it a moment later. Although the person on the other side didn’t speak, Michael was so in tune with his partner after five years he knew it was Damien.
He leaned against the door, listening to Damien breathe. It was heavy and ragged and his grief tore at Michael. He wanted nothing more than to open the door and bring Damien inside, but he held back. It was Damien’s call if he wanted Michael to see him like this. So he waited, hoping for a quiet knock, but it never came.
Michael stood there, head resting against the door for long minutes after Damien finally walked away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Julia Richmond’s death galvanized the remaining members of Section 20, driving them forward with renewed purpose, and vengeance, to capture Li-Na at all costs. To complete the mission so that Julia did not die in vain.
But in the end, it was all in vain - betrayed by Ridley in the final minutes of the mission. Now Locke lay dead in a crashed helicopter and Michael and Damien were on the run from Faber’s mercenary team, trapped in a ravine with Damien bleeding out from a gunshot wound to his stomach.
Michael looked down at his hands, stained red with Damien's blood. It had all gone so wrong, so fast…
Damien was breathing hard, in obvious pain. He looked up from where Michael’s hands were covering his own, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
“What do they say? Those that live by the sword die by the fucking thing. Been a long time coming…” Damien trailed off.
Michael didn’t want to hear this. “You really need to conserve your energy.”
But Damien continued. “You know the first guy I killed in battle…I was shaking, trembling. I even threw up.” He paused, voice hollow. “When did that stop? When did this all become normal for us, Mikey?” He blew out a breath. “Long time coming…”
Michael reached out and put a hand on Damien’s head, rubbed it back and forth. His voice was strong. “Maybe not. Because you're gonna make it through this. You're going to survive and you're gonna go home.”
Damien’s laugh was brittle. “Back to the real life? Paying bills, mowing the lawn, stopping at a fucking red light? I can't see that happening.”
Michael pinned him with his gaze. “Being a father to your son.”
Damien shook his head. “After the shit I've done? Sure…”
Michael nodded, needing Damien to believe this, to give him a reason not to give up right here. “Yeah, sure.” He wanted to say more, but a flock of birds were suddenly startled and took flight, drawing his attention. Faber’s men had found them.
Michael cursed and put his vest back on. He hated to leave Damien laying there but he needed to climb to the top of the ravine and do recon.
“I won’t be long,” he told Damien.
And he wasn’t. It took him less than two minutes to dispatch of two of Faber’s men. He hadn’t heard any gunfire from below, which he took as a good sign that they hadn’t found Damien. But his heart lodged in his throat a second later when he looked down and saw Damien floating motionless in the water – bloody water.
Michael nearly broke his neck getting to the bottom of the ravine, slipping, sliding down the rocky slope, charging into the water. He flipped the dead man off Damien and dragged his partner onto the shore, immediately checking to make sure he was still breathing. He was, but barely. He shook Damien, clutching at his shirt, slapping his face, cradling his head, pleading with him to wake up. He saw the hint of a smile on Damien’s face and breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel his heart seize up when Damien suddenly went completely limp and his eyes closed.
Michael turned Damien over onto his back, put his head down on Damien’s chest. No heartbeat. No breathing.
“No!” Michael yelled at his partner, instantly beginning CPR, pumping Damien’s chest. “You’re not dying on me, damn you!”
Two breaths into Damien’s mouth. His chest rose and fell, but still no heartbeat.
“Don’t you do this!” Michael commanded him, pushing on his chest once again. “Stay with me, Damien…don’t leave me…” he pleaded.
Two more breaths…and Damien stirred, coughing. Michael straightened up as Damien blinked open his blue eyes. It took him a second to focus on Michael, then a small smile crossed his face.
“Jesus Christ,” Michael breathed, hanging his head in relief. He pulled Damien’s upper body up onto his lap, cupped his face with a shaking hand. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, mate.”
Damien nodded and closed his eyes. “I’ll try not to,” he answered, still smiling.
He gently lay Damien back down on the ground and pushed up his soaking wet shirt, taking stock of Damien’s condition. And it wasn’t good. Michael jogged over to where Damien had originally been sitting and grabbed what medical supplies were left. Moving back over to the wounded man, Michael rubbed his thumb across Damien’s cheek, getting his partner to open his eyes again. “I know you want to rest, but we can’t stay here. Your wound opened up again. You’re losing too much blood. We’ve got to get to the safe house, get that bullet out of you.”
Michael once again used gunpowder to temporarily cauterize the gunshot wound and Damien didn’t even flinch, a testament as to how weak he was getting. Michael put one of the last two pads of gauze over it and taped it as best he could against Damien’s damp skin.
“Ready, mate?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Damien answered tiredly, raising his arms for Michael to help him stand. He wavered as soon as he was upright, sagging against Michael.
Michael immediately draped one of Damien’s arms across his shoulders, wrapped an arm around Damien’s waist, and supported him.
“Okay, one foot in front of the other,” Michael encouraged his partner and they set off in search of help and safety.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Damien was in no shape to climb out of the ravine so they had to take the long way out and get back on track to the safe house. The journey was slow going and with every step Michael’s anxiety rose. His senses were constantly on alert for another ambush from Faber’s team and Damien was getting weaker, leaning more heavily against Michael, his breathing uneven.
“Mikey…I gotta stop…” Damien panted, pressing a hand against his stomach. “Just for a few minutes…”
Michael was about to agree, but when Damien’s hand came away with blood on it he knew they couldn’t waste even five minutes.
“We can’t, mate. C’mere…” And then Michael was swinging Damien up into his arms. He grunted with the additional weight. “Oi, I remember you saying not too long ago that you’d lost weight,” he joked, and it got a chuckle out of Damien.
“He ain’t heavy…” Damien smiled.
“…he’s my brother,” Michael finished with a grin, then sobered. “Damn straight, mate.”
Michael made the best time he could, carrying Damien. If he could’ve thrown Damien over his shoulder it would’ve been easier going, but that was out of the question with a stomach wound.
Despite Michael saying they couldn’t stop, even he reached his limit and he risked dropping Damien if he didn’t take a brief rest. He moved over to a large tree and set Damien down as gently as he could with his back resting up against it. Damien groaned and opened his eyes. His breathing had gotten easier since Michael had started carrying him, but he was extremely pale. Michael pushed up Damien’s shirt and swore at the blood soaked bandage. He removed the last gauze patch and taped it over the first one. His hand shook slightly as he did so, honestly scared that he wasn’t going to get them to the safe house fast enough and Damien was going to die on him.
Damien put his hand over top of Michael’s, squeezed. Michael turned his head and saw the same look on Damien’s face as he’d had in the ravine. Resignation.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” Damien said quietly, sincerely.
Michael’s brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For hurting you.”
Michael shook his head sharply and pulled away from Damien, standing up and turning his back on him. He wasn’t doing this. He’d moved on, made his peace, come to terms with Damien’s rejection. That box was locked and buried.
But Damien pressed on, ignoring Michael’s reaction. “When we had to give back the diamonds, all our plans, that future you kept talking about…it was just gone. It was always easier for you to picture than me. So I just…gave up. But I went about it the wrong way. And I’m sorry.”
Michael snapped and rounded on Damien, furious. “You’re a liar and a fucking coward! I put myself out there for you, more vulnerable than I've ever been. And you couldn't handle having to maybe put some effort into a relationship. Because this, you and me, was never going to be easy. Something you might have to work at instead of sliding into a bed and back out again and never look back!” He took a breath and shook his head. “I was a fool to think you were capable of more.”
Damien was looking at him in shock…and guilt. He reached out a hand. “Mikey…”
“Don’t,” Michael warned. “Now get the fuck up. You’re an asshole but you’re my partner and I refuse to let you die on me.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The remainder of the trek was made in silence. Damien was able to walk the rest of the way, assisted by Michael, but by the time the safe house was finally in sight, Damien was shaking and sweating. Michael was about to carry him again when the door to the house opened and Christy Bryant came hurrying out. Michael trusted her as much as he trusted a rattlesnake, but she was all they had right now.
“Michael,” Christy nodded at him as she wrapped Damien’s other arm around her shoulders and started walking to the house.
Damien raised his head at the sound of Christy’s voice, gave her a smart-ass grin. “You and me, together again, eh?”
Michael caught a strange expression flit across Christy’s face and then it was gone. The two of them got Damien inside and over to the bed where they laid him down as gently as they could. Damien’s face was white and his breathing was labored.
“Mikey?” Damien panted. “Can I pass out now?”
Michael grinned. “Yeah, mate, you can pass out now. Would actually be a good idea if you did,” he finished as he watched Christy pulling out medical supplies.
“Copy that…” Damien breathed and was unconscious moments later.
Christy put Michael to work assisting her in getting an IV started in Damien’s arm and then removing the bullet and stitching him up.
“Thank you,” Michael said to her as he looked down at his partner, alive and resting comfortably. “I know you’re not on the best terms with each other but he wouldn’t have survived without your help.”
Again that odd, strained look crossed Christy’s face and Michael’s sixth sense started tingling, distinctly uneasy. Christy quickly turned away from him, busing herself with cleaning up. “Yeah, well…I couldn’t let him die.” She indicated toward the small kitchen. “Why don’t you get yourself something to eat? I’ll watch him.”
It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to say That’s my job, but in truth he was exhausted, and hungry. So he availed himself of some fruit, cheese and water he found in the refrigerator. He ate quickly then took up position at the window, rifle at the ready, protecting his partner as he slept.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Damien came back to consciousness slowly. His left side throbbed but it was no longer a burning, stabbing pain. And he felt cool and dry, no longer sweating. He carefully blinked open his eyes, making a small noise as the light hit his pupils. Two figures came into focus – Christy and Michael.
“Welcome back,” Christy said.
Damien groaned. “What happened?”
Michael moved toward the bed. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you’,” he answered and Damien gave him the finger in reply, causing Michael to grin.
Christy handed Damien an object. “I pulled this out of you.”
Damien held it up. “Bullet with my name on it, huh?” He paused and glanced around. “We safe here?”
Christy nodded. “Best I could do on short notice.”
“We’ll leave here under the cover of dark,” Michael told him, then walked out of the room and outside.
Damien dropped the bullet in bowl on the table beside the bed, then looked at Christy. “You got the passports?”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Yeah, dumb blonde came all this way and forgot to bring them.”
Damien looked directly at her. “Thank you,” he said and Christy nodded and turned away.
Damien narrowed his eyes as Christy walked around the room, her movements stilted, not quite meeting his eyes. Their relationship had been volatile, to say the least. And they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Which could explain why she was acting so oddly, nervous.
Damien’s unease increased the more Christy talked. He didn’t buy what she was saying for a minute, about wanting back in the Agency. Plus the fact there were no guns at the dam and that Faber’s team had somehow found them there. Did she set them up? There was something going on with her. Which is why when she started to unbutton his shirt he didn’t stop her. The last thing he wanted was to have sex with her. Not only did it make his skin crawl, but if Michael came back and saw them he was loathe to add fuel to Michael’s fire about him sliding in and out of people’s beds with abandon. But Damien rationalized that the ends justified the means in this case. Perhaps he could get Christy to open up, or get her to change her mind about whatever she was keeping from him if the two of them connected again. So he laid back and thought of England. Or more precisely, one Englishman in particular.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In the end, Damien was right. He did get through to Christy, but it was too late. He saw it in her eyes – the apology, the regret at what she’d done.
“There’s still time.”
Three words were all the warning she was able to give before Michael and Damien were plunged into the depths of Hell.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was the longest fifteen minutes of Michael Stonebridge’s life. He and Damien had been in their fare share of firefights over the last five years, but nothing like this. Not so incredibly outnumbered with no hope of backup and both of them wounded. He’d known this was going to go bad the minute he shot Faber. But that fucking bastard had been culpable in the deaths of both Julia and Locke and he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Unfortunately it didn’t look like he and Damien would, either. But if this was the end of the line, there was no one he’d rather have at his side than Damien Scott, neither of them surrendering, going down swinging until the last bullet. Locke once told him that soldiers like them didn’t make good old men. He was about to find out Locke was right. Or so he thought.
He hadn’t been counting on the stupidity of Faber’s team. Watching their leader gunned down made them reckless. Instead of just waiting it out, for either Michael and Damien to run out of ammunition, or for them to burn to death in the barn that was now nearly half engulfed in flames – instead they charged the barn one after another, making perfect targets. And a source of guns and ammo. One by one Michael and Damien pulled the dead men inside and stripped them of their weapons and turned them against their own teammates. Until finally, miraculously, the two of them were the last ones standing.
“Mikey?” Damien called out from the other side of the car, over the noise of the flames and the cracking, snapping wood. “You alive?”
Michael couldn’t help it. He laughed long and loud from relief. “Yeah! You?” he smiled.
“Fuck, yeah!” came Damien’s enthusiastic reply. “What do you say we get the fuck out of here before this place comes down on our heads?”
A minute later they were both hobbling out of the barn, sporting matching leg wounds. Michael noticed that Damien’s stitches had not surprisingly come open and his stomach was bleeding again. Speaking of bleeding, Michael could now barely move the fingers on his left hand from the massive stab wound that had gone straight through the palm. The hasty bandage he’d managed to wrap around it was stained completely red.
Damien moved over to his side and rested a hand on Michael’s shoulder. The two of them locked eyes, taking a minute to just reconnect and reconfirm that they’d come out of this on the other side. Damien nodded, winked and squeezed Michael’s shoulder. Connection made.
The two of them then quickly surveyed the carnage around them – burning barn, dead men scattered all over the ground and in the house, too.
Michael indicated the barn. “That’s bound to draw attention sooner or later. We need to get out of here.” He held up his wounded hand. “I can’t drive. Why don’t you find Faber’s transport and pull it up to the house. I’ll get as many supplies together as I can.”
Damien nodded. “Copy that,” he answered, then moved off into the dark woods surrounding the house.
Michael made quick work of stripping Faber’s team of everything they were carrying – rifles, handguns, ammo, field medical supplies, money and a couple of cell phones. He piled everything up in front of the tractor in the yard. He moved to the house then and ransacked it as well. Took the remaining fruit, cheese and water from the refrigerator and the blankets from the bed. He was gathering up the remaining medical supplies that Christy had brought when he heard the rumbling of a truck pulling up outside. A minute later Damien was limping in the door.
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Transport’s here.”
Michael nodded. “There’s a pile by the tractor. I’m almost finished here.”
Damien moved over to where he was, saw the bag on the bed. “This Christy’s stuff?”
“Yeah, we’re going to need all this. We need to get patched up.”
“Wait a minute,” Damien said, then began pulling everything out until the bag was empty. He looked at Michael, anger in his eyes. “This is all she had?”
“Yeah, I don’t see anything else, why?”
Damien blew out a breath and shook his head. “No fucking passports.” He looked down at Christy’s body. “Bitch lied.” He glanced over at Michael. “We’re screwed, buddy.”
“Fuck,” Michael swore. “We’ll deal with that later. We need to get out of here. Let’s get the truck loaded.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
CONTINUED IN PART TWO