6.12.1
Spies are trained to walk away in less than half an hour.
Leave everything behind and get away clean and cold. Shed your past life like a
snakeskin and move onto the next one.
Granted, they're trained to do this with a cover ID, with a
version of themselves that isn't actually the real man.
Still, Michael lived by that for so long, he's kept a part
of it in place.
Or so he thought.
He's doing a better job of going through the motions than Fi
is. She's got a whole bag that she's filling with things. He's got one pocket.
Six pictures. Two are of Fi, from Ireland, the only thing he
took with him, and though it was horrendously bad tradecraft, he did it anyway.
He had them sewn into the lining of his coat.
One is of him and Fi from last year. Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. There was a photographer
working the ballroom as they danced. It's a shot from later in the night, after
the tango, before they hit the wine to compare notes. It was just a basic, slow
box step. He's holding Fi close, her fingers twined with his, pressed against
his chest, her head is on his shoulder, his chin is against her forehead. Both
of them have their eyes closed.
One is of him and Nate. It's the only picture he has of the
two of them. It's two weeks before he joined the army. He's seventeen. Nate is
thirteen. They both look impossibly young and cocky.
One is him and Sam, from 1988. They were in West Berlin,
celebrating the end of a mission. Both of them look silly, and a little drunk.
Okay, a lot drunk. Sam's sitting, legs wide, a blonde on each knee, and a beer
in each hand. Mike's standing behind him, grinning at the camera, beer in hand,
too. If that shot had been taken a few seconds later, there would have been a
blonde in his arms, as well. He's a little fuzzy on how the rest of that night
went, but he remembered enjoying it, and thought the hang over the next morning
was more than worth it.
The last one is the five of them at Carlito's. His birthday.
The waitress took it. Everyone is sitting around a table, looking relaxed and
happy. There's a cupcake in front of him with a candle on it, and Fi's
encouraging him to blow it out. It's a good picture. It'd be a better one if it
wasn't from when they were still lying to Jesse, but still...
Six pictures. He slips them into the pocket of Fi's bag, and
helps Tyler get the files ready.
"It's not the last one." And it hits him, this was home. The first real home he's ever had. He wraps his hands
around Fi's, remembering another moment, similar, though tonight is calmer,
sadder, less scared or jagged, where she wrapped her hands around his and said,
"When the time comes, we'll do it together."
They press the button on the detonator together. And with a
whoosh and the sound of shattering glass home begins to burn.
The counter. Hundreds of planning meetings. Hours of
talking. Meals, fights, bugs, explosives, DIY projects that would make Martha
Stewart blush. The image of her sitting in front of it as he walked into the
loft, sure she was dead. That was the moment he knew he still loved her, would
always love her, and maybe there was a shot of making this work, if he did it
right. He'd kissed her in front of it, pushing every ounce of relief into his
touch, and as the kiss intensified, as they both melted into each other, he
picked her up, put her on the counter, wrapped her legs around him, and used
touch, smell, taste, and sound to convince himself she was really alive, not
just a vision.
The bed. Her hair spread out on the bedspread like the
flames. She'd been right there when he told her he loved her. Right there the
first time they made love in Miami. Ultra-erotic
images tumbled through his mind, accompanied by planning there together,
sharing yogurt, one cup, one spoon, both of them eating together, and the feel
of her skin on his as they slept.
They begin to leave, his hand on her waist, and, at the
door, before stepping out of the loft for the last time, he leans in to kiss
her cheek. "We'll build a new home."
She half-smiles, and he knows that look, a shield in place
because a smile is easier than crying. "I wouldn't have bought the
shredder if I had known we were going to burn it all. At least this way I don't
have to worry about you checking those files over and over again, now."
The smile breaks and tears follow.
He holds her close, smiles back, laughs a little, and feels the tears sliding down his face. "Never again."
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