Author's Note: I was rewatching "Sins of Omission" and realized that I needed to write this. So here it is. The moment when Michael realizes that he cannot marry Sam. Hope you enjoy!
As a spy, you have to get used to the idea that you are going to lie to everyone in your life. Whether it's lying to their face or lying by omission, it's going to happen, so you better be damn good at it. The problem is, after awhile, it's just easier to tell a little white lie than it is to tell the truth. What's worse, though, is when you start to believe your lies.
Fi is on the roof across the street from me, a brilliant smile on her face as she stares down the scope of her rifle. In three minutes, a bank executive is going to walk outside, get in his nondescript, armored car and drive away. Except that his armored car is going to explode right before he gets inside, just enough to scare him into returning some money back to the proper people. I'm only hoping that she didn't make the blast too big.
I have an earpiece in my ear, monitoring the bug that we put in the exec's briefcase. He's proud of the dirty money he's made, and Fi is very excited to be getting it back. I can feel my phone vibrating my pocket. I don't have to answer it to know that it's Fi.
"Yeah, Fi," I answer in my thick Irish brogue.
"You might want to take that earpiece out," she said.
"I told you to go light on the C-4. How much did you use?"
"Enough to make a scene."
"You don't need explosives to make a scene."
"No, but it's much more fun that way. Here comes our guy. You really should take that earpiece out."
"Fi! How much did you—Agh!" The noise was deafening in my left ear as she blew up the car. The explosion was four times bigger than it needed to be, but I'd come to expect nothing less from Fi. I heard three pops from a sniper rifle and watched the exec scramble back into the bank.
"You shot at him? You weren't supposed to shoot at him!" I shouted into the phone. That's the thing about Fi: she just can't resist the temptation to go overboard. This is definitely going to make escape one thousand times more difficult than it should be. But then, there's a certain thrill in the chase…That's how I know I've been spending too much time with Fi. Before Fi, I never got that thrill.
"I have the rifle. It seems a shame not to use it," she answered.
"Well, you've got security coming in your direction. Meet you—"
"Rendezvous point. See you there." I can hear the excitement in her voice, and can't resist a smile. I know that the police is going to be investigating this roof too, but I have some time. Fi's shots, as inconvenient as they've proved for her, have made my way much clearer. For my part, I only came with my Sig Sauer 228, and a pair of binoculars.
I walk out of the building, binoculars around my neck, staring at a map of Dublin like a complete moron. People walking by eye me with amusement and the smiles that natives reserve for tourists. Finally, I grab a passerby and ask in my best confused tourist voice, "I'm trying to find the historical district. Can you tell me where that is?"
The gentleman kindly points me in the right direction and I walk away squeaky clean. In this sort of situation, there is no better cover than looking like a complete idiot. People who live in tourist towns get used to being asked for directions, and playing to the stereotype makes you completely above suspicion.
One thing that operatives are trained to do is memorize all entrances and exits to a building. In the event that your rendezvous goes wrong and you have to get the hell out of dodge, it's very useful, and often life-saving, information. It also helps to rendezvous points around the city where you can meet with assets in case of an emergency. Fi and I have three set in Dublin.
I get to the rendezvous point sixteen minutes after leaving the building. I walk through the front door of the pub and sit alone at the bar. Sitting alone at the end of a bar tells people certain things. It says "I want to be left alone." This way, if your contact does show up, it looks planned. If they don't, you just look like a guy who needed some solitude and a stiff drink.
I've been waiting for six minutes when I see Fi walk through the front door. Her cheeks are flushed from the run and the adrenaline, but she's all smiles. Close brushes with the police have never bothered her. She saunters over to where I sit, fire in her eyes. Pulling a stool up next to time, she sits at the bar and orders a whiskey.
"Have any trouble?" I ask.
"Not a bit. Took the fire escape into the alley and was gone before they even got there. I wiped the gun clean and ditched it in a dumpster three blocks away. They'll find it, but serial number's been filed off, so they won't be able to trace it," she says, running her hands across my back.
"And the explosives?"
"Borrowed them from a guy last week. He hasn't missed them yet." Her drink arrives, and she downs it in one go. "Shall we go?" She bites her lip and looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes. I know this look, and it means one thing, and one thing only. I can feel her fingers on the nape of my neck, and my heart rate spikes.
"Hell yes," I whisper in her ear. I down the rest of my drink and we stand to go, her arm around my waist, mine around her shoulders. As we walk out the door, she grabs my ass. "Behave, Fi."
"What? I am behavin'. Now, walk faster or we may have to make use of an alley," she murmured. She turns to face me and nipped at my chin. Yeah, we'd better hurry.
"You're sure you got away clean," I ask quietly, looking over my shoulder. I don't see anyone, but a few years in this business and you're always looking.
"Positive…Were you worried about me, Michael? I'm touched." Her tone is playful, but I know that her words are completely genuine. The truth is, I was worried. She hadn't had that many escape options from her position, and the fire escape had been the riskiest one.
I know that I shouldn't be attached, but I am. I can't help it. I've never worked with someone like Fiona before. Usually, I work with people who are more like me: hyper-rational and unemotional. But Fi is the opposite. She's driven by her passion, and ruled by her emotions. She thrives on the chaos of a plan gone wrong, and does her best work under that sort of pressure. Even if she escapes only by the skin of her teeth, she still manages to find something to smile about. She has flash, style. Instead of sneaking in and out quietly, she'd much rather make a scene. It makes life hell when you're trying to be discreet, but I can't deny that it's a hell of a lot of fun.
And even if it weren't, the look on her face afterward would make it all worth it. There's a wildness in her eyes, and a satisfaction in her smile that's contagious. As pissed off as I might be about how messy things are, I can't stay too mad at her when she's looking at me like she is right now. Like she loves me.
It's in that moment that I realize I can't lie to myself anymore. It's easy to tell yourself that everything is part of the cover, and it's easy to believe that lie. But there comes a point in time, when you can't believe it anymore, because things are just too real. You can no longer deny that you recognize her smell when she enters a room, or that you like staying the night purely for the sex. No, at some point in time, you have to face the truth.
And the truth of the matter is, I love her. I shouldn't. She's everything that I don't need in my life right now, both from a professional and a personal standpoint. Professionally, she makes things too messy with her impromptu gun shots. Personally…I'm engaged to Sam. Sam, who is probably picking out wedding dresses in between breaking into warehouses in St. Petersburg.
Sam is a better match. She understands my work, and I understand hers. She knows better than to ask too many questions, and I know better than do the same. She understands that most of my life is a lie, and that I've been trained to walk away from one life and into another in under an hour. It's a match made in heaven.
Except that she's never been able to make me feel this way. She doesn't make me smile with her messy extractions, and she's never been able to make me laugh like Fi does. There is bright-hot passion with Fi, and everything is cool and collected with Sam. Even her proposal to me was logical.
"Michael, we understand each other, and the sex is great. We should get married." That's how she had said it, and it made sense at the time. It wasn't that I didn't have feelings for her, because I did. But there's a difference between love and respect. I had both for Fi, and only respect for Sam.
But that respect is enough to keep me from ending it with a phone call or a letter. She deserves to hear it from me face-to-face. The fact of the matter is, as convenient as things are with Sam, I can't marry her when I'm in love with someone else.
"Michael? Are you in there?" Fi asks, waving her hand in front of my face.
"Oh, yeah, right here," I answer, snapping out of it.
"Penny for your thoughts." I know that this is the opportunity to tell her about Sam, but I can't do it. It would hurt her, and I can't bring myself to do that. Not when I'm going to handle it, and make everything okay for us.
"I'm going to have to go settle some things with an old asset. I need to make the arrangements." It isn't a flat out lie, but lying by omission is just as bad.
"Right," she says, climbing the stairs to her flat. "Don't take too long. I'm waiting."
It takes me all of ten minutes to arrange things. Tomorrow I'll be flying to the continent to handle things with Sam. Then everything will straightened away, and things will be okay with Fi.
Even when I'm holding her in my arms, I know that this is a lie. I know that she deserves to know the truth, but I just can't bring myself to say it. Because the fact of the matter is, these moments—the ones when I'm holding her in my arms, or when she smiles at me, or when she makes me laugh—are too perfect to ruin with that revelation.
So instead, I lie, and tell myself that she never needs to know.
Author's Note: So, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are my yogurt! =)