May 1982 – Cilician Gates, Turkey

Michael pulled down his sweatshirt and sat back down in front of the campfire. He rested against a jagged boulder and looked up into the night sky. The guides had found them a spot with a decently-flat, dirt landing on the grassy crags denoting the sloping landscape all around them, and they were settling in for the night. Long needles of Turkish pine intruded among them, but the stars above glimmered peacefully.

Sighing, Michael picked up his needle and thread again, and continued stitching a connecting piece of canvas between the shoulder straps of his pack. His new crew and their Turkish guides were talking and laughing, while Michael kept his own face lit with the shadows from the ground.

One of the guides stepped over Michael's legs on the way back to his spot around the fire. "And you, angry, sewing man?" the guide tapped Michael's boot with his own, smiling vexatiously. "Do you have a woman? Or are you the woman?" He laughed, and sat in the dirt with his elbows on his knees.

Michael took a couple of seconds to glare over at the man, but didn't answer. He returned his attention to his pack.

"Nah, Ergun," Joel, the cameraman, said, smirking at the heavily brooding Michael. "Everybody knows Michael's got a woman." The crew whistled and clapped in agreement; Ergun looked intrigued.

Michael yanked the needle from between his lips and bolted to his feet, the explosive skid of the dirt and the fire between them adding to his perceived ferocity. "Just shut the fuck up! I'm not here to whet your fantasies, or get into your dick measuring contests, okay!? I'm here to shoot these ibex – that's it! And if I hear my wife mentioned in any of your pathetic conversations, I will shove you nasty claps in this fire, you hear me!?"

The men all looked up at Michael, dumbfounded, the sharp crackles of the fire noticeably taking over the conversation. Michael eyed each of them before sitting back down to resume his work. They continued to glance his way, encouraging the elongated silence.

Joel finally spoke up. "Dude, what's your problem? Tim said you were funny."

Michael lifted his head with a dry glare, "Yeah, well, Tim was wrong."

The men shook their heads, and eventually resumed a quieter version of their earlier discussion. Kevin, the assistant producer, was sitting next to Michael. After watching him for a minute, Kevin nodded at Michael's pack.

"Why are you doing that, anyway? It's gonna be a bitch to get off and on every time we break."

Michael exhaled, still cooling off, but nodded, "I know. But I need to shift the weight to my chest. Right now, I'm using too much of my sides to haul, and I'm just…coming off an injury."

Kevin popped some pistachios in his mouth. "Yeah, how'd you do that, anyway?" Michael glowered up at him. "I mean, you look better now! But when you first took over the crew…you looked like you'd been cage fighting, or something," he chuckled. "What was it?"

"Or something," Michael answered dryly.

"Okay… animal or mineral?"

Michael looked at him incredulously, Kevin laughed.

"Yeah, I mean, you get run over by a herd of cows? Or…go off Niagara Falls in a barrel?"

Michael shook his head to himself.

Kevin was still smiling, "Well, I can make stuff up, or you could just tell me. What's with the secrecy? We're gonna be out here for months. You just gonna be the phantom of the fireplace, or you gonna say something?"

Michael exhaled. Rolling his eyes, he admitted, "It's not that interesting, okay? It was just a barfight."

Kevin laughed, "The Great and Powerful Oz - he speaks!" Then, calculating what he'd just heard, Kevin squinted his eyes, and spoke quieter. "Wait- you were trashed…" He looked toward where the rest of the crew were talking. "I guess I should let the guys know not to worry about being murdered after all."

Michael shoved Kevin's shoulder roughly, "A. There were three of them. And B. They were fucking soldiers."

Kevin scrunched his face at him, "Then why the hell would Talbot put you in charge of us? You're clearly an idiot!"

Michael permitted a small laugh, "I'm not an idiot. I was drunk…And I'd put my restraint that night up against anyone's!"

Kevin's eyebrows shot up, "Now there's a story! Let's have it!"

Instantly, Michael deflated back to normal. He started sewing again.

Kevin pulled on Michael's arm, "No! Don't leave me yet!" he fake-wailed in an obviously higher pitch. "Aunty Em! Aunty Em!"

Michael shook him off of him. "Get off'a me!" he growled, then settled a little more good-naturedly. "…I just don't want to talk about it."

A few seconds went by.

Kevin brought the conversation down several decibels. "Ahhh…They were all over her, huh? Your wife? …And she didn't mind?"

Michael's head shot up with an astonished look on his face.

"What? You think you're the only one of us this has happened to? We're gone half the year!"

Michael started to sew angrily again. A few more seconds went by.

"So, you were in a bar…what happened!?"

Michael sighed in exasperation, and looked up at Kevin. "She was pissed! I was pissed…" He shrugged, "We were fighting…I was jealous. She was jealous... So, she decided to go to a club without me."

"Damn," Kevin shook his head.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, well, I followed her, and things…got out of hand. I ended up punching the dick that was enjoying her."

Kevin laughed, knowingly.

"Well, apparently he had friends with him," Michael sighed and went back to stitching.

"Damn…that is a good story."

Michael gave Kevin a side eye.

Kevin waited a couple seconds, "So, that all happened right before you decided to switch with Jack?"

Michael nodded. "I told him I would right after it happened. He'd been trying to get me to take this trip for months, but I was in Iceland at the time and just wanted to get home for a bit. Things were strained with my wife…" Kevin nodded, tossing a few more pistachios into his mouth. "Then, when all this hit the fan, I thought the space would actually do us some good, or at least keep us from killing each other. But now…"

Kevin frowned, "You don't think so?"

Michael shrugged, "I dunno…we haven't talked about it at all." Michael nodded at Kevin reassuringly, "I mean, we had some serious make-up sex the night before we left-"

Kevin nodded approvingly, "Of course."

"But it just seems like…this was a big fucking deal. And I don't wanna be a pussy about it, but… it still feels off."

"What'd she do?"

Michael glanced at him, and waited a second before saying, "Basically, gave the fucker a half-hour lap dance in front of me."

Kevin's eyes bugged out. "Why'd you wait so long?"

"I got pissed!"

"Yeah..?" Kevin waited impatiently.

"…So, I grabbed a girl and did the same thing in front of my wife."

Kevin blinked. He didn't say anything for several seconds. "You two are some kind of freakshow, you know that?"

"Yeah, her ripped boytoy said as much when they hauled him away…" Michael chucked a pebble into the fire.

Kevin squinted his eyes, "You really think you can ever get this to not 'feel off'?"

"Huh?"

"You seemed like you were surprised that it still 'felt off' – but why the hell wouldn't it?"

Michael didn't say anything for several seconds. Finally, he shrugged, "I just wanted it to work out."

"She's worth that?" Kevin asked skeptically.

Nodding slowly, Michael said quietly, "She's something else, man… She's a rock. When everything's going to hell in a handbasket, she's calm and reassuring. I've never been tighter with anyone, and I mean, right from the start."

Michael laughed softly. He tipped his head all the way back, and groaned. "And she's hotter than hell," he strained. Kevin laughed. "I mean, she's a bit of a liar and stubborn as a goat…but yeah, she's worth it."

"So, what's you guys' problem?"

"We fight all the time. Different goals and shit. She's got it all up in her head that she's a 'serious businesswoman'. Meanwhile, her boss is sniffing her out - he's so obvious…and she drains herself for him. It's such a joke, and she has no idea. At least I thought she didn't… And the fucker pays her an assload of money to pull off this charade – but now I'm thinking, 'and to do what else?' I mean she's not dumb, but she acts stupid around him. I've tried to get her to quit, but she really thinks she's sanctioned, and it's not about her boss keeping her within reach…Now, that's the guy I'd really like to punch."

"Mm-hmm," Kevin nodded his head in solidarity.

"'Course, it doesn't help that she's hot for him, too."

"She told you that?"

"Essentially; right before this whole thing went down..." Michael stared into the fire wistfully. "And every day," he glanced quickly at Kevin and shrugged, "I mean, up until this shit." Kevin nodded, and Michael returned his gaze to the flames. "Every day, I kiss her goodbye at Grand Central, and she skips off, pretending she's not the world's highest paid showgirl."

"Damn," Kevin shook his head.

A few seconds went by, then Michael piped up, "Oh, and we don't communicate."

Kevin started in overly dramatic surprise, "Naw!"

Michael rolled his eyes, and went back to sewing.

After a few seconds, Kevin cautiously stated the obvious, "You could, ya know."

Michael shook his head, but didn't look up from the canvas, "That means I'd have to be willing to lose her…"

Kevin nodded, "So, this is…better?"

Michael paused, "For now."

Kevin watched the fire, and it squealed and snapped. After a minute, he looked at Michael.

"You know, if she's acting stupid around him, I don't think she's slept with him."

Michael looked up at him, frowning, "What?"

"You were wondering what else she's done for her boss besides look hot," Kevin spoke seriously. "Sex gets rid of that nervous shit."

Michael's brows capitulated, but he kept his scowl. "Yeah, well, my recent experience suggests there's a lot in between."

"And how does she act now?"

Michael paused. "Shaken," he said. "We both are."

"Cool. But, you know, all this stuff is about you two, about who's wearing the pants. It's not about those other fuckers. If it were, you would've pounded that guy the second she touched him." Kevin lifted his eyebrows, but kept his eyes the same. "Man, that message was for her - and you damned the cost to either of you. My guess is, she was doing the same thing… I mean, I'm not saying you should stay together, or anything. But if you guys don't knock these power plays off, you're not gonna make it."

Michael gave him a flat smile and dead eyes. "I don't know that it matters anymore." He looked into the flames, "Everything just hurts."


The train jostled Angela as she tried to focus on her notes for this morning's meeting. Her motion sickness hated when she read on here, but she was pressed for time.

No matter how hard she pushed her fingers into her forehead, the insufferable evidence that she wasn't in control wouldn't let up. Sighing, Angela closed her eyes and her folder, and leaned back against the headrest.

Angela smiled; her flashbacks were not always wraiths. She hugged herself and snuggled into the seat, remembering Michael's warm body pressed onto hers before he left, the look of sincerity in his eyes as he chose her again and again.

The truth is complicated, but this part is easy. Michael's right; this part is just as real as our problems. And it's what makes us make sense. I said everything I needed to say on the way to La Torre - I have had it! But the last couple of months have been the flip side; the desire to be together just as strong as the need to get away. How do we function like that?

Angela groaned inwardly. In a chaotic march toward destruction, that's how. I can't do that again. It gets so confusing when we're together - and his touch is the only thing that stops the spinning.

When he touched me for the first time in weeks, I nearly died! He dropped his armor that night, and I was the one who felt completely naked.

How can I let something that powerful go? How can I not?


Angela walked to the Waldorf on her lunch hour, and picked up a postcard of their magnificent lobby in the gift shop. Smiling, Angela took it back to her office. She had no idea what to write. But she was experiencing the same feeling she did at Chesterton's, after their big fight where he'd scribbled behind the refrigerator. That same feeling had been haunting her since she'd picked Michael's head up off the floor of the club. She needed to be near him, and somehow hoped this prayer would ease her suffering.

Biting her lip, Angela started to smile as she wrote.

'Michael, If they get you to play poker, don't lose your shirt.

That's my job. Love, Angela'

Her smile grew as she made a tiny sketch of the flowers and hearts in the same pattern as she had on his chest.

Angela sat up to admire her little love note, when she got a fresh hit of sadness. Is it my job still? Can I claim that? She felt tears coming, and needed her mascara to hold out for a few more hours. Tipping her head back, she made sure the droplets were wiped cleanly from her face. She sniffed, and looked down at the card.

I can't put that pressure on him, and I'm not going to assume that right. Besides, it might be teasing him, too. I have no idea if I even want us to be together.

Kissing the card, she dropped it in her wastebasket, a lipstick print over his cursive name.