Author's Note: For Level One of Chelle's 12 Days of Christmas Challenge.
"Maybe he doesn't want to be found."
They will both swear the other one said it. Four days, three hours, and twelve minutes after the last time they heard from him, as he climbed into that truck and peeled off after that utter psychopath.
"You can't follow me this time...I gotta do this one on my own."
His parting words are followed by her name. Whisper-soft like a promise.
The first few days are spent pouring over leads, calling in favors, burning bridges where they have to. Some doors are kicked in, literally reduced to splinters, but it all turns up nothing.
Not in four days. Or eight. Or ten. The loft is a command center, just as it is during any other job, but this is not any other job, so they stay.
When Fi sleeps-finally-she's buried herself face down in Michael's pillow, breathing in his scent. Sam curls up on the floor, and she doesn't object to that.
They can't remember who suggested the job either. Who found the latest desperate fellow with a problem. They do remember hesitating, and a fight, and a lot of angry words they won't tell Michael about when he gets back.
"He's coming back," she asserts with watery eyes.
"I know. Of course he is. He always comes back."
And when she steps forward to release those tears down the front of his Hawaiian shirt, Sam doesn't object to that.
Later, days later, after they meet with the client, she passes out on the desk. Sam carries her back to bed. She doesn't object to that either.
In the morning, they agree nothing happened at all.