|Reality Hangover (Original Fic)
||[Sep. 30th, 2012|09:08 pm]
Title: Realty Hangover
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: When Leo agreed to come back to the Agency to help with the current crisis, he didn't expect the emotional repercussions -- not these ones, anyways.
Notes: Lose interpretation of the prompt "scars" -- in this case emotional/psych -- for hc_bingo, .
“Leo. Stop. Leo!” Mike manages to duck past a punch and grabs Leo’s wrists, twisting them behind his back and holding on tightly, making sure to step away enough so that the other man wouldn’t be able to kick his feet out from under him. “Stop. That’s an order.”
His agent bucks for another second or two, then stills. “Fine. Let go. …Mike, let me fucking go.” Mike drops him and Leo collapses to the mats breathing hard. He sits with his knees pulled up to his chest and wipes one hand over his face to get rid of the sweat. “What?”
“You always talk to your higher ups like that?” Mike smirks. Leo rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything. Mike sighs and gives him an exasperated look. “Listen, I know you’re trying to get back into shape pronto but you are back in shape. You don’t have to wear yourself out like this anymore. I need you to be ready to go when the time comes. You can’t do that if you’re training half to death.”
“I’m not,” Leo says bluntly, stubbornly. He gives Mike a hard look. If the Agency wanted him back so badly, they should have realized that he wasn’t going to wing this thing. Actually, that’s exactly why they wanted him back – because he fucking really gave a damn. He didn’t even understand why Mike cared. Didn’t he have some super important strategy meeting to be at or something? They couldn’t tell him not to train and if he wanted to spend most of his time in the training room among the mats or in the shooting range he sure as hell could. If Mike had bothered to ask James he would have already known this because God knows James, in some sort of misguided humanitarian act of friendship, had tried to get him out of here.
“How much do you train? Don’t answer that, just think about it. Then think about how much you sleep and see if that proportion is healthy. Leo, when we asked you to come back…you were alright. You wanted to get into shape but it was nothing compared to this. …What happened?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Of course he did. Ever since that last ill-fated mission. Ever since he failed because it had been fucking Sam who had come to stand between him and the target… And of course, Mike knew it had something to do with the last mission, he was smart enough to make that connection and if he hadn’t, Shane must have made it for him.
“No one is blaming you for what happened at Sundun Square, Leo,” Mike says very quietly, trying to seem understanding. He sits down on the mats across from Leo, allowing his suit to crinkle. “Even if you had gotten to Scott. We had our hands tied at that moment.” He reaches out and tries to put a hand over Leo’s wrist but Leo jerks his hand away. He doesn’t want the comfort; he’ll break down if he allows himself to take it. Mike is studying his face and Leo finds it harder and harder to breath as the memories come back.
All of them.
“You’re not training,” Mike concludes calmly. “You’re lashing out. At whom?”
“Since when are you the squad shrink, Mike?” Leo jumps up and backs away several steps. “I’m not lashing out at anyone, alright? I’m just…I just want to be done with this. I want to get Scott, I want to get all of those fucking bastards and be done with this! And don’t pretend you don’t know why I came back. Don’t pretend like Shane and James said nothing to you about Aiden and how he died.”
“He died in the Towers, I know.” Mike stands as well. There are creases in his perfectly ironed suit and for some reason that makes Leo want to hit him. It’s an irrational thought, but he wants to do it nonetheless. “Who is it you ran into that night, Leo? This could be important.”
Leo shrugs on his black service jacket and yanks on his shoes. He doesn’t want to talk about it and he doesn’t care if Mike is technically his boss. Leo’s not scared of him. He knows the Agency needs him to do this, otherwise they would have simply utilized an active agent. They knew that talking to Sam would give them leads, that he had contacts in that world that… “Jesus Christ.” Leo stops half way to the door. “Blood hell! You knew all along!” He spins around and glares at Mike, restraining the urge to strangle the other man. “You knew! You knew that Sam didn’t just have contacts and could give us an insider feel; you knew he was directly connected to Scott, that he may even be working directly for Scott and that entire band. That’s why it was so important that I talked to him when we first made contact. Because he was so deep in he’d be jumpy. That’s what James and Shane were arguing about – James didn’t want to hand Sam in.”
Mike’s face is impenetrable but his body language is tense. “But he did. It’s Samuel you ran into that night, wasn’t it. It threw you. I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to tell you or that we’d at least tell you before you saw for yourself. I’m sorry, Leo. It didn’t work out that way.”
“You’re fucking right it didn’t. I just...I can’t believe…” Leo’s voice falters and he presses both hands against his temples. There’s a dull throbbing in his head from too much excursion and too little sleep.
“That one of your best friends would be aiding and abating terrorists?” Mike walks up to him and actually has the audacity to put a hand on his shoulder. Leo tries to slap it away but he’s not very persistent.
“I can’t do this job, Mike,” Leo says after a moment, voice hollow. “I’ll be more of a liability than help. Fuck.”
“You won’t be,” Mike says, almost gently. “I promise.”
“Then you better start telling me the truth. All of it.”
Mike nods, solemn and serious, almost regretful. “I will. I promise.”