Title: You Can Run
Author: DizzyDrea
Summary: You can run, but you'll just die tired.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Harm's Way
Author's Notes: Poor Sam. Life sucks for him right about now. He likes to brood, and I figured it wouldn't be as easy as revenge vs. justice for him. So, here's where I think it goes. Inspired by the motto of the AC-130 Spectre squadron that quite likely was responsible for the Hellfire missile that dropped into Abdul's SUV.
Disclaimer: NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles and all its particulars are the property of CBS, Paramount, Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions, Shane Brennan, Shane Brennan Productions, and a lot of other people who aren't me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.
~&O&~
There's a saying among AC-130 Spectre gunship crews: You can run, but you'll just die tired.
Abdul Habaza had tried to run, but the AC-130 flying overhead—known as Casper—had made sure he'd died before he got the chance to get tired.
And he'd died before Sam got the chance to get revenge for Moe's death.
Oh, he'd died. Sam had made sure of that. He'd taken the laser target from Callen and painted the SUV Abdul was fleeing in. He'd done it because it was the right thing to do. He'd done it because, if he hadn't, Abdul would have escaped and lived to cause hell on Earth another day.
That didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel as though he'd let Moe down. And that didn't sit well with him at all.
"You okay?" Callen asked. Again.
They had spent the morning wandering through the souq in Crater, one of the older parts of the Yemeni port city of Aden. Callen had headed south after the whole near-fiasco at Abdul's compound, instead of trying to return to Sanaa. They'd made their way to Aden knowing that a Navy resupply ship would be waiting there to take them to the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, and eventually, home.
Sam frowned, scanning the crowded market. He felt uneasy, unsettled. And he knew Callen was only asking because he hadn't been able to keep that uneasiness off his face. Still, they'd talked about it. He should be over it.
He sighed. "Yeah." He paused. "No."
Callen smiled. "So, which is it? Yes or no?"
Sam smirked. "You channeling Nate, now?"
"Whatever it takes," Callen said, shrugging.
They were currently sitting at an outdoor café, sipping rich Yemeni coffee. They'd found Hetty her futon. Callen had taken great pleasure in finding the loudest, most colorful pattern he could. Sam had tried to rein him in, but his heart hadn't been in it. And Callen had noticed.
"You know," he said, eyes scanning the crowd, "Moe wouldn't have wanted you to get revenge. He died knowing he had to protect you. Maybe, to him, the sacrifice was worth it."
"He shouldn't have had to," Sam said, tipping back his coffee cup, searching the bottom as if it held the answers to life, the universe and everything.
"Die?" Callen asked. "Or protect you?"
"Both," Sam shot back, and it was clear he'd been thing about this for a while. "He shouldn't have been put in that position in the first place. He didn't know what he was doing."
"So, what, now it's Hetty's fault?"
"No," Sam said, sighing quietly. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands before dropping them on the table, leaning forward, head down. "But Moe felt guilty. For Dom's death. For letting me down. I think he wanted to try to make it up to me. Hetty used that."
Callen watched as the pain and anger flitted across his friend's face. He knew Sam was going to beat himself up over this for a long time. He wished it wasn't so, but Sam was one of those people who felt things deeply. People mattered to him. It was why he dogged Deeks so hard about getting shot. It was why he'd pestered Callen himself about getting a permanent place of his own.
But Callen and Deeks were soldiers in this war. Trained and ready to fight. Moe had been an innocent bystander sucked into a situation beyond his ability to handle. That was what hurt Sam the most. And Callen didn't have to hear him say it out loud to understand that.
Callen sighed. "Look, you can beat yourself up over this six ways to Sunday. It won't help. And it won't bring Moe back."
"I know that," Sam said sharply.
"Do you?" Callen asked. "This isn't conventional war. The combatants aren't wearing uniforms advertising which side they're on. The good guys and the bad guys switch sides more often than I change socks. There are days when it's hard to tell who's on which side."
"Yeah," Sam quietly agreed. "But that's why I brought Moe to the States. So he didn't have to go through that."
"And he did anyway," Callen finished for him. He paused, then sighed again. "He made his choice, Sam. I know it's hard to accept that, but Moe chose to join the war. At the end of the day, he trusted you, but he had his own demons to battle. That was never gonna change, no matter if he grew up in the Sudan or Los Angeles."
"I know," Sam said, sighing. "I'd hoped that bringing him to the States would break the cycle, but it didn't. He still died too young. And I can't help feeling that some of that was my fault."
"Why, because you set expectations too high?" Callen asked. "His life was never going to be normal, not after what he'd been through. And he was forced to make a sacrifice you weren't prepared for him to make. But, Sam, where he comes from, that sacrifice is a part of everyday life. And we got Abdul. Moe's sacrifice means that innocent people won't die at his hands, including you and that Saudi prince Abdul kidnapped. I don't care what kind of measure you use. That's a deal I'll take every day."
And that was the real heart of the matter. Not that he'd failed to get revenge for Moe. Not that Moe had been an innocent bystander in a war he didn't have to fight. But that the soldier had been saved by that innocent boy. Sam hadn't been able to protect his friend, but his friend had been able to protect him.
"Doesn't make it hurt any less," Sam said quietly. He lifted his cup and finished off the tepid coffee.
"No, it doesn't," Callen agreed. He, too, finished off his coffee, then turned to his friend. "But you don't have to go through it alone."
Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them. They'd probably never talk about it again, and that was alright. Sam knew Callen understood his grief and guilt, and that he would never be able to run away from it.
Because, after all, you can run, but in the end you'll just die tired.
~Finis