Notes: A big thanks to faye_dartmouth for betaing, anymore mistakes youfind are mine.
Serenity_pen wanted some Michael whump so here it is :) I hope you like it and I hope that you get well soon.
The title is a part from a Shakespear quote: Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately the boys belong to the CBS, else I would have let them continue their adventures.
Trust a Few
Awareness came suddenly, completely without a warning. One second it was dark and the next there was a light burning his retinas.
Ice cold water soaked him and the shiver that ran up his spine bashed his back hard into the brick wall.
Pain followed that shiver and Michael had to bite his lip to prevent a groan from escaping. But he wouldn't give his captor that satisfaction.
The guard – bucket still in his hand with the last drops of water trickling to the ground – barked out a laugh before he banged the door closed behind him. Keys rattled in the lock and then they were alone again.
"Are you okay?" Billy's voice sounded as tired as Michael felt.
Michael wriggled in his chains, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably. His hands were shackled above his head and to the wall. The chains were short and the point where they had been attached to the wall had been carefully chosen. He couldn't sit on the ground, but neither could he stand, at least not without dislocating his shoulders first. So he was forced to either rest his complete weight on his legs or let it rest on his shoulders.
The muscles in his legs were hurting from the strain while the rest of his body simply hurt because of the beating they had received earlier. But the beatings had stopped hours ago and had been replaced by the cold water treatment
Michael had long ago forgotten what their captors had originally asked them. Not that they would have answered any of the questions, but Michael liked to know at least some reason for the torturing.
"I'm pretty sure that I don't need to shower for the next year at least," he finally replied and shook his head, spraying cold water droplets everywhere and ignoring the headache that flared up at the movement.
"That certainly saves on the water bill." As usual Billy was keeping up his sunny demeanor, as if he wasn't hanging by hands from the ceiling.
While their captors had shackled Michael to the wall, they had chained Billy's manacles to a hook in the ceiling, so that he was suspended in the middle of the room. His feet were barely touching the floor and his blood had stained the puddle underneath him pink.
Bruises were standing out in stark contrast to Billy's pale face and the tatters of his dress shirt were probably hiding more. And Michael was pretty sure that he wasn't looking any better.
"How long have I been out?" Michael asked, even though it didn't matter much in the greater scheme of things, since he had no idea how much time had passed since they had been captured. He could only hope that Casey and Rick were doing to their best to find them and get them out.
"Not long, a few minutes at most," Billy replied, staring at Michael through half open eyes as his head lolled against his arm.
"I sincerely hope that the next time I wake up, it'll be in a hospital," Michael said and groaned as he tried to relieve some pressure from his shoulders.
"I sincerely hope that you don't pass out again," Billy replied. Blue eyes stared straight at him and, not for the first time, Michael was stricken by the intensity in them. He sighed and let his weight rest on his shoulders again. Billy was right, he couldn't pass out. No matter what kind of bad situation they were in right now, he was still the leader.
"No passing out," Michael reassured. "How's your back?"
Billy winced at that question and Michael couldn't stop the string of images that flashed by his inner eye. He could still see Billy biting through his lip as the Scot tried not to scream with each new hit of the whip and he could still hear the snap of the leather as it tore through flesh.
"At least now it's thoroughly cleaned."
Which told Michael absolutely nothing, but he wasn't exactly expecting a straight answer from Billy. They were similar in that regard and were prone to hiding the seriousness of their injuries. It bugged Michael as a team leader to not know everything, but he also could understand it. So he let it go for the moment, since there was nothing he could do anyway.
Still, his mind was already whirling with ideas on how to get them out. While he trusted Casey and Rick to get them out, he didn't want to sit around helplessly, waiting to be rescued. That was not in his blood, no matter how much was being spilled right now. There simply had to be something he could do. Anything else felt like giving up.
But the chains around his wrist were solid iron. They already chafed his skin and he could feel small trickles of blood running down his forearm. And the shackles were firmly bolted to the wall. No matter how hard he pulled, the chains didn't move and their captors had stripped them of everything they could have used to open the locks.
Billy, too, had tried everything to get out of the cuffs or to loosen the hook that bound him to the ceiling. But no matter how often he had pulled, nothing had given except for the skin around his wrists.
When the door to their cell opened soon after their last soaking, Michael became more worried. That worry grew when he saw that, together with the guard, their original captor came in.
Yuri Halkias had been on the CIA's most wanted list for a few years. One of the ODS' assets had contacted them a few days ago and had informed them of Halkias' newest plans to sell weapons in Yemen.
The ODS had flown out and had tried to stop that sale from going down. But something had gone wrong and it bugged Michael that he didn't know what and why. But he and Billy had been captured after collecting some of the equipment they needed.
They had been on their way back to their safe house after the buy, when the attack had come.
Michael and Billy had deliberately kept to the darker backstreets to not be seen and that had been their downfall. The four men had attacked them from behind. Surprise at been on their side and while Michael and Billy had fought back, it hadn't been good enough. Especially since their four attackers had been armed with tazers.
Billy had been the first to go down, muscles still twitching slightly in response to the shock and Michael had found himself facing the remaining two men. He had raised his arms in capitulation, but he still had been stunned into unconsciousness.
And now Yuri Halkias was smiling at them. That could never be a good sign.
"I must admit," Halkias said with a barely audible Greek accent. "That I am impressed with you."
"You have a weird way of showing that," Michael replied even before Billy could open his mouth. That had been one of the reasons why the Scot had been whipped earlier: he just couldn't shut up. Now Michael tried to react before Billy could, hoping to spare the other man more pain.
"Ah, you Americans and your stoicism," Halkias said and stepped past Billy to have a better view of Michael.
"I'm Scottish," Billy reminded him and that earned him a chuckle and a fist to the stomach.
"I am well aware of that. However, you do work for the Americans. In some ways, that's almost worse."
"It's my charisma. Everybody wants to work with me," Billy replied, slightly out of breath, but still jovial.
"Billy, shut up," Michael warned him, well aware that it was a useless warning.
"I wish I could," Billy replied.
Michael winced. That was after all one of Billy's biggest advantages and, at the same time, his biggest weakness. No matter the situation, he needed to talk.
"As much fun as it is watching you two, I do have an agenda and I want it resolved fast," Halkias interrupted them. After a quick wave to the guard, the man shortly disappeared only to come back with a trolley.
"Now, since beating it out of you has not worked, I thought I should try a different method."
One glance at the trolley and Michael knew what method Halkias meant. And suddenly the countless soakings made sense.
Water conducted electricity. Soaked to the skin as he and Billy were, the current would travel better and it would therefore be much more painful.
"That is going to hurt," Billy stated resignedly.
Michael didn't have the chance reply. Something touched his chest and his muscles clenched involuntarily as a shockwave of pain reverberated through his body. He bit on his tongue to suppress a scream and tasted blood.
A steel band tightened around his chest and Michael started to have problems breathing and, as the pain increased, he finally let go of the scream that had been building in his throat. Then suddenly, the sensation stopped and he drew in ragged breaths as sweat started to form on his face.
Through a haze of pain and tears, Michael saw Billy struggling in vain against his bounds, fury clear on his features.
"So, my dear gentlemen, who is the man that has betrayed me?" Halkias asked in a friendly voice, as if he was sitting down for coffee and cake instead of a torture session.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Michael lied, still breathing heavily. But under no circumstances was he going to give up the name of their asset. The man had trusted the ODS, had helped them track down Halkias and Michael was not going to betray that trust. Even if it might get him and Billy killed. There were other operatives that could still use the asset, there always would be. It was easier recruiting new CIA agents than recruiting new assets.
And Michael had always been prepared to die in the line of duty.
He wasn't prepared to lose one of his men, however. Regret was already growing in him at the thought that this mission could also cost Billy his life. Because Michael didn't mind sacrificing himself, but he hated to put the lives of one of his own on the line.
"I was expecting this answer," Halkias said and shook his head, clearly only pretending to be crestfallen about the answer. The man seemed to be enjoying inflicting pain on other people.
The wrong end of the tazer touched his chest again and the pain was back, stronger than before. Every single muscle in his body tightened and he could feel his heart as it hammered against his chest. This time there was no air in his lungs left to scream with and Michael heard his blood rushing in his ears and something clattering to the ground.
The source of the pain was finally torn away, but the shockwaves still pulsed through his nerves. Breathing hurt and Michael fought hard to remain calm, but his heart was beating irregularly and it was clearly struggling to find the right pace again.
His eyes were still clenched shut tightly and he concentrated more on his breathing than what was happening around him, but Michael heard the sound of someone moving around, the clatter of metal against metal and then someone was screaming.
It wasn't Billy, he could tell that much, but other than that he was lost and he hated that feeling more than he hated the pain. So he forced his eyes open and forced them to focus.
The first thing he saw was the guard's face.
The man was lying maybe three or four feet away from him, eyes closed and lips blue. Either dead or unconscious, but Michael couldn't tell which and he didn't really care at the moment either. Because Billy wasn't hanging in his line of sight anymore; instead, where the bolt had been, there was now a hole, plaster cracked around it.
Michael's eyes roved around the room, trying to locate his wayward operative. And when he finally did, Michael blinked in surprise. He knew that Collins was a highly capable operative, but most of the time it was hard to remember, because Billy usually hid that deeply under a jovial facade, well obscured by an overtly talkative and friendly nature.
But seeing him now, standing over an unconscious Halkias, blood staining his hands and a blank deadly look in his blue eyes made him aware of that fact all over. Michael hardly ever saw that expression, since it appeared whenever Billy had been pushed too far and was beyond angry and pissed.
"Billy," Michael said. He was still out of breath, but at least his heart had found a slower rhythm again and the last muscle spasms were stopping.
His voice had the desired effect and with a quick shake of his head, Billy turned back into the man Michael liked best. Now worry replaced the empty look and in three quick steps, Billy was beside him.
"Are you okay?" Billy asked as he crouched down beside Michael.
Dorset clearly could see the wince Billy tried to hide at the movement, but for the moment, he chose to ignore it. They could compare wounds later. Michael replied with a nod and a question of his own, "What happened?" And he really wanted to know that. Earlier attempts pull the hook Billy's chains were fastened to out off the ceiling had failed and ended with Billy cursing and in pain at nearly wrenching out his shoulder joints. And while Billy didn't look good, it looked like his shoulders were still in place – unlike the hook.
Billy took a quick look over his shoulder at the cracked ceiling and when he turned back to Michael, he was smiling crookedly. "Couldn't let them kill you, could I? I'm kinda scared of what Fay would to do me if I did."
"You're scared of Fay?" Michael asked, incredulous. Billy was trying to distract him from the real story, but Dorset was going to get it out of him eventually and it surely would be an interesting report to read.
Billy chuckled. "Aye, woman scorned and all that. I'd rather face another Halkias than your angry ex-wife."
Hating that he had to interrupt the moment of levity, Michael turned serious again. "We're not out yet."
Billy's face closed off again as he nodded solemnly and got up to rifle through the guard's pockets in search of a key. The Scot was moving stiffly and the second Michael saw his shredded back, he hissed in sympathy. Deep cuts criss-crossed Billy's back, seeping blood and staining the remainder of the shirt red. Billy was going have some impressive scars, not to mention that he must have been in quite some pain right now.
And Michael wasn't feeling any better. His leg muscles were burning in earnest now and his feet were still tingling with the current. Every breath hurt, mostly because of the cracked or broken ribs he had suffered, and his head was throbbing with every still slightly off beat of his heart. Michael couldn't wait to get out of the chains and just sit.
"Double jackpot," Billy said and grinned. He was still crouched beside the guard and was jiggling a set of keys in one hand and a gun in the other.
"If those are the right keys," Michael replied. There was still the possibility that those keys where for something else entirely and he didn't want to get his hopes up too soon.
Billy didn't reply and that was also telling Michael more than the Scot probably thought. But Michael wasn't going to say something, not now. Besides, the moment he started asking about injuries, Billy would return the questions and he wasn't ready for that yet.
"You know," Billy said as he stepped out of Michael's line of sight to test the different keys, "as a kid, I hated puzzles."
The metal of the manacles scratched against Michael's chafed skin with every new key Billy tried and Michael tried to follow Billy's line of thinking, which could be, even under normal circumstances, very hard. But Billy helped Michael's slow brain along by adding, "And this feels like a really annoying 1500 piece puzzle."
Michael chuckled, glad for the chatter and happily joined in. Rick would be proud of them, since they shared and the youngest operative always liked to emote. "I actually liked puzzles."
"Sitting and planning. Aye, that I can see you doing," Billy replied and Michael could nearly hear the grin in the Scot's voice.
There was a click and finally, mercifully his left arm was free, shortly followed by his right. Blood flowed back into them, followed closely by pain and then Billy's hands were guiding him to the ground.
Michael couldn't stop a groan from escaping as he slid down the wall and was finally able to sit, to rest his arms. He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed in exhaustion.
Billy slid down the wall beside him, sounding equally relieved at being able to rest his limbs.
"Should we simply wait here until Casey and Rick storm in?" Billy asked.
Michael forced his eyes open again and turned his head to look at Billy. "No way do I let myself get rescued like some damsel in distress. Malick would never let us life that down."
Billy nodded and lifted his still manacled hands. "Mind helping me getting rid of these then?"
Michael felt vaguely guilty for forgetting about that fact, but it was an effort for him to lift his arms and to accept the keys. His fingers were still tingling as they were slowly waking up and every single movement hurt, but Billy's hands were stained with blood and he too needed to get rid of the shackles.
Michael's own wrist were cut open with bruises blossoming around the open wounds and Billy's didn't look any better once the heavy chains clattered to the ground.
"Ta, mate."
Despite what Michael had just said, both had yet to move from their slumped position. Letting his eyes drift over the room, the bare walls and the closed wooden door, they finally came to a stop on Halkias. The Greek arms dealer hadn't moved since Billy had brought him down and Michael was a bit worried that there was a more sinister reason behind that than just unconsciousness.
"Are either of them dead?" Michael asked and simply nodded his head toward the supine figures. He knew that killing people sometimes was the only choice in their line of work, but subduing an opponent –with words or with fists – was something Michael preferred. It made him feel more humane in all that he usually had to do to achieve his job. And sometimes that made all the difference in how well he slept.
But still Michael knew that he was going to suffer from nightmares long after this mission. It wouldn't be about the fate of Halkias, but rather about what if's of the mission. That bit of humanity that made him dislike killing people also caused nightmares.
"I don't think so. Choked the guard, but he should still be alive," then Billy chuckled. "Halkias fainted when I did that. Didn't even touch him."
Michael grinned back. It surely would have been a sight to see a big man like Halkias faint so easily. But it was definitely to their advantage that the Greek had a weak soul.
With a sigh, he tried to push himself up, only to find his arms buckling and unable to hold his weight. But they needed to move before Halkias came around, because he really didn't want to be around when the man woke up. Or when Casey and Rick came. Michael was, after all, their boss and he shouldn't need rescuing.
Billy had more luck getting to his feet and a second after he stood, he helped Michael up.
With muscles quivering and leaning heavily against each other, the two operatives made it to the door. It wasn't graceful, but it worked and at least they were still standing.
They pulled the door to their former prison closed together and Billy locked it before pocketing the keys. He had placed the gun in the front of his pants, not exactly the safest place to store a weapon, but there weren't a lot of other alternatives. Still, Michael had a bad feeling about it and every so often his eyes would rove over to the gun, making sure that it was still secured.
They had no idea where they were or how to get out, but by mutual agreement they simply chose one direction down the corridor, hoping that it would lead them out. They were staggering like drunks, arms around each other's shoulders and Billy was using his free hand to support them on the wall as they stumbled along.
"What is going to happen to them?" Billy asked shortly after they had left the door behind them.
Michael shrugged; while he didn't want to kill Halkias, he didn't really care what was going to happen to him either. "Local authorities can take care of him. We'll alert them once we're out. There should be enough incriminating evidence to lock him up for a good long time," Michael said.
They continued to shuffle along in silence, neither man had enough energy to talk, which was just fine for Michael.
He lost all sense of time. Michael had no idea how long ago they'd been kidnapped and he had no idea how long they had been walking through the maze of corridors in Halkias hiding place. They were underground, that much he knew, because there were no windows in the bare walls. But other than that, he was still disconcertingly lost. The area was probably smaller than he thought, simply because their progress was slow.
They were shuffling forward in an unsteady gait, hardly able to hold each other up and they had stopped more than once already to get their breath back, to regain some bit of strength to keep on moving.
But for now they had been at least lucky and had not met any more guards. And Michael was sure that there had to be more around. Most of them were probably above ground. It was just a theory, but Michael was sure he was correct. Experience told him that a man like Halkias had more than just one guard on his property.
Michael's legs still felt like jello and every step hurt. Every single muscle in his body felt overused and achy and he knew that it would only get worse in the next few days. And it wasn't just the muscles, it was his head and his ribs too that protested with every single movement.
His feet barely left the ground with every step he took and Michael felt vulnerable putting that much weight on Billy - especially since the Scot was injured himself. He tried to bury those feelings deep down - now was not the time to ponder on feelings, that would come after the mission, after they were safe back home again. Right now, he needed to concentrate on getting them out.
Billy hadn't said a word in a long while and Michael knew that the Scot was in real pain. The worse the injury was, the more silent Billy was about it. It at least was an effective way to distinguish between fine and not fine, but right now it was just another worry that added to Michael's growing list.
There was a soft clatter, then footsteps became audible and Michael and Billy came to a stop.
Michael could feel Billy's breath faltering for a second before it settled back in a deep, regular rhythm. It was a clear sign that Billy probably was as afraid as Michael was, not that either of them would outwardly show or say it.
The corridor in front of them made a sharp turn and, while they could hear someone approaching, they couldn't see who it was. At least they couldn't be seen either.
Billy maneuvered Michael against the wall far away from the corner. He was making sure that whoever was approaching wouldn't immediately see Michael.
Dorset wanted to protest against the protecting, but he stopped himself in time. He was the boss, he shouldn't need protecting, but a good leader should also know when to step back and let others do the job. And with his hands trembling and his sight going fuzzy from time to time, Michael knew that time had come. Besides, he had no gun to defend them; still, he wished that he could do something.
But, as he leaned against the wall, watching Billy take up position, Michael felt the exhaustion spread though him. Despite the adrenaline flooding his system, he needed to fight to keep his eyes open and in focus. The world had started to gray out on him and Michael needed to blink from time to time to clear his sight. He knew it wouldn't be long now until he passed out. But he would fight it for as long as he could, he owed it to Billy.
The Scottish operative stood a few feet to Michael's right with his back against the wall. He had pulled the gun and was now holding it two handed in front of him, barrel still pointed to the ground. From his position on the ground, Michael could see the tension in Billy's eyes and tightly clenched jaw. Michael was pretty sure that the only thing that kept Billy going right now was the adrenaline and he hoped that it would last long enough for them to get out. Especially since he was not going to be any help. But he trusted in Billy's stubbornness to push on even when on the brink of exhaustion.
The footsteps were slowly coming closer and Michael counted at least two different people walking down the hall. Neither of the approaching men were saying anything and it was hard to really judge just how far away they were.
Then, suddenly, Billy moved. Michael hadn't seen anyone coming, but then, the Scot had blocked his view. Despite his injuries, Billy was fast and still strong and all Michael saw was blurred shapes as Billy pulled the other man around the corner and shoved him face first into the wall.
It was a bold but effective move, especially since Billy used his left to hand to hold the new comer's wrist high against the man's back, while he pressed his left forearm into the man's neck to further pin him. His right hand – the one holding the gun – was aimed at the second intruder.
But there was something familiar about the shorter man who was now squashed against the wall and the noise of surprise that had escaped him sounded somewhat recognizable to Michael too.
"See, I told you that you shouldn't have worried about them." That voice was definitely familiar and Michael slumped in relief. Casey and Rick had found them.
Billy's shoulders too relaxed as he slowly lowered the gun and then let Rick go. "Sorry, laddie, didn't know who you were." The Scot stumbled a few steps back and leaned against the wall, and Michael had absolutely no idea what kept him standing.
Even though Rick was now free to move again, the younger operative had yet to shift. Wondering why, Michael followed Rick's line of sight and also stared at the blood that stained the wall. It was a big stain, smeared when Billy had moved and small drips were making their way to the ground. Michael had known that Billy's back was bad, he had seen it, but he had never imagined that it was still bleeding that openly.
Unknowingly, Michael's gaze again followed Rick's, as he turned to look at Billy.
The Scot was trembling visibly now, fighting hard to stay on his feet. Sweat was running down in small rivers down his pale face.
"Just a wee bit of a bleed, nothing bad," Billy tried to reassure them, but judging by Casey's stare and Rick shaking his head, neither man believed him.
"He's been whipped," Michael told them, knowing that Billy wouldn't tell the truth and right now the other members of his team needed to know the truth. But his tongue was heavy in his mouth and Michael wasn't quite sure if they heard him correctly. The world around him was now permanently tinged in gray and no matter how much he blinked, it didn't get any better, it was as getting darker instead. Michael was losing the fight against unconsciousness, but still he tried to fight it.
He could hear Casey talking, but the words were garbled and he couldn't grasp their meaning. Everything sounded as if it came from far away. Michael wanted to curse, but he didn't have enough air left. There went his hope of walking out of that building. But at least he had been right, because Michael was sure that the next time he would woke up, it would be in the hospital and he couldn't wait to rub it in.
This time awareness came more slowly and far more gently. There was no bright light stinging his eyes; rather a soft, dimmed one that was reflected on the white ceiling.
Michael was still lost, with no idea how much time had passed since they had been rescued. But time right now was unimportant. They were safe.
His muscles were loose and relaxed, far more than nature could ever cause and there was a soft, regular beeping in the background. Michael drifted in that relaxed feeling for a bit. Drugged up like he was, Michael could forget the worries and the stress for a while and he was going to enjoy that feeling for a minute or two, before he let reality crash back in.
He didn't keep track of the time, but when he thought that he'd languished enough, Michael turned his head to search for his missing teammates.
They had to be around somewhere, because whenever one of the ODS was admitted to a hospital, the rest were never far away.
Casey was sprawled on a chair. His feet were placed on Michael's bed, his head was resting against the backrest and he was snoring softly. Their youngest team member had adapted a similar sleeping position in a chair closer to the window. Both looked uncomfortable and would, most likely, have a crick in the neck come morning, but still, Michael hadn't have the heart to wake them up.
Only when he knew that both, Casey and Rick were there, did Michael search for Billy.
The other man was lying on his side, facing Michael. Unlike Michael, he wasn't wearing a hospital gown and the electrodes taped to his chest were clearly visible. Several more IV's disappeared under Billy's skin and an oxygen mask had been placed over his mouth and nose.
Wriggling his own face, Michael ascertained that he too wore a mask and that he probably looked as much like a pincushion as Billy did.
"Billy. Billy," Michael whispered harshly, hoping to be heard, but at the same time hoping that he wouldn't wake Casey or Rick. He needed to hear Billy's voice, needed to hear that his friend was going to be okay. Seeing him lying still in that hospital bed was not reassuring him, he needed more.
"They pumped even more drugs into Billy than they gave you. I don't think he's going to wake up anytime soon," Rick said. The chair creaked softly as he stood up and into Michael's line of sight.
Even in the half-light of the room, Michael could see a bruise on the younger operatives face where Billy had rammed him against the wall.
"But he's going to be fine?" Michael asked. Since he couldn't hear it from Billy, getting the news from Rick would have to be enough.
"Yeah," Rick nodded. "Both of you should be fine in a few weeks."
Michael nodded. That was all he needed to hear. His team was safe and it was close by. "What about Halkias?"
"We gave the police an anonymous tip where to find him. It's already all over the news," Rick replied smiling at the good news.
A small sigh escaped Michael as he let himself relax into the pillow. The mission was a success, despite his and Billy's kidnapping and subsequent hospital stay. So he could let the drugs take over again, he could drift away into timeless haze and hopefully when he woke up next, he could talk to Billy.
Much to the surprise of his teammates, Michael actually didn't mind hospital stays that much. While he tried to avoid spending much time in them, he had come to accept that in his line of work, hospital stays were often unavoidable.
Besides, the food they served was better than anything he was able to produce on his own.
Michael was still happy that he and Billy were finally released after three days
They could finally go home again, recuperate and then concentrate on the next mission.
For the flight home, Fay had booked them a commercial flight. But the CIA had been gracious enough to buy them seats in the business class. Which was the least they could do, considering that Billy could barely sit upright because of the unknown number of stitches in his back.
He still looked uncomfortable though, even with the painkillers Michael had forced down Billy's throat.
They hadn't talked about what happened in the basement and knowing Billy, the Scot would never bring it up either.
Michael knew that Billy misguided people on purpose, made sure that they would underestimate him and Michael could understand the value of that in the field. What he couldn't understand was why Billy thought that this was necessary even with his closest friends.
But then, Billy had been betrayed by his closest friends back in the UK, before the government had deported him.
Trust didn't come easily for Billy, no matter how much he pretended otherwise and it had been a hard fight for Michael and Casey to earn that trust.
Not that it was any different for Michael. His work with the CIA had made him a paranoid bastard - as Billy was fond of calling him. And trust was something that developed over years of working with the same people. That was why he had falsely trusted Simms, even after all the years of separation. They had worked together for so long and had survived so many difficult missions, that Michael didn't even think about betrayal.
And it had nearly cost the rest of his team.
"You're over thinking things again," Billy's voice cut through his thoughts.
Michael sighed and glanced over. The Scot was sitting in the chair beside him, carefully not leaning against the back rest. His eyes were focused on Michael, taking everything in and looking slightly worried.
"And you're always under thinking things," Michael returned.
Billy shrugged in reply and then winced when the movement pulled at his stitches. "Maybe, but worrying until your head explodes is not a nice way to leave God's green Earth."
"What you did in that basement," Michael started, but Billy interrupted him.
"Was a team effort. We wouldn't have made it out on our own."
"You saved my life," Michael continued, unperturbed. It was something that needed to be said. It was something Billy needed to hear, especially since they seldomly admitted these things.
"And next mission, you may save mine," Billy shrugged again, this time more carefully. "That's the way our job goes and that is what we do. We're not in the spy business because of the glory. We do what's right and then hope that it was enough. All one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. Arthur Miller."
"An overflow of good converts to bad," Michael conquered.
"Shakespeare," Billy nodded. "Let's just hope that our less than virtuous deeds can stop the overflow of good."
A flight attendant stopped any further conversation as she leaned into the aisle and asked them whether they wanted chicken or beef. Seconds later, the food was in front of them and Billy grinned at Michael, "So what do you think is better? Hospital food or airline food?"
Michael returned the grin. He knew that Billy was redirecting the conversation into safer areas, but right now he didn't care. They were on their way home and while again they were slightly unsound, they would heal.