That was impossible, but he was trying. Sam felt so right beneath his hands--so good that Michael had thrown caution to the wind, tossed propriety out the window, and just kissed him. He knew it would be like that. If he ever allowed himself to let go, to just be with Sam, he knew it would be exactly like that--all heat and passion, connection and emotion.
Perfection.
But it was wrong for a lot of reasons--mostly because Michael was Sam's boss, but also because Sam had been harboring a crush on him for years. Though Michael's own feelings had developed too, it was taking advantage.
With a sigh Michael pushed a hand through his hair and looked at the time again. Ten minutes to eight. He could do it--discuss the situation in a professional manner and put it behind them so they could both get back to work. Easy as that.
The knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts, but just as quickly, he slid his game face on. No emotion. Professional neutrality.
"Enter."
The door swung silently, and Sam hesitated a moment as he stepped into the office. Michael saw the tension in his shoulders, the stiff way he held himself. Sam shut the door quietly behind him, and when he turned, Michael was taken aback by the determination on his face. It wasn't that he was surprised Sam was determined--Sam could be a stubborn shit, and Michael had been on the receiving end of it more than once--but the sadness underlying the determination rocked Michael to the core.
"Have a seat." Michael gestured and purposefully leaned back to put as much space between them as possible. He had to hold his resolve, especially since he'd seen the look on Sam's face.
Clearly it had to be about more than just the kiss. If Sam was going to push back about his mandate that he approve Sam's cases, Michael had to put on his supervisor hat.
"What did you need to discuss?" Michael kept his gaze focused on Sam, but his mind was already wandering to what he would say to refute Sam's objections. He wasn't going to budge. The step had to be taken.
"There's no easy way to say this." Sam took a breath, and Michael's attention slammed back to his operative. Sam's smile was shaky, and with a sigh, he seemed to stop trying. His gaze never wavered, but his voice shook. "I'm going to request a transfer."
Michael's world screeched to a halt, and his brain refused to process the words. He ran them around, over and over, sure he must have misunderstood or that Sam had actually said something else entirely. But no matter how he played the sentence back, it could only mean one thing.
"What?"
Sam hunched in on himself. "You heard me."
"No." Michael refused to believe it. "I don't think I did."
Something flashed in Sam's blue eyes. It was there and gone before Michael could name it. Sam sat up straight, leaned forward slightly, and fixed Michael with his gaze. "I'm going to request a transfer to another Requiem branch."
Michael shook his head before he could stop himself. That time he knew he heard the words correctly. But they didn't make sense. There was no way Sam would leave--not the town where he'd grown up, not his brother, who was all the family he had, and certainly not Dom, his anchor and partner for more than a decade.
"Why?"
Sam scowled. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Why would you leave?"
"Because I can't do this anymore."
Wait. That made even less sense. If Sam felt he couldn't ghostwalk anymore, then he'd be leaving Requiem altogether and not just moving to a different city.
"I don't understand." He wasn't so full of himself that he couldn't admit when things didn't make sense. And he needed to understand. He had to.
"Are you kidding me right now?" Sam blew out a frustrated breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he looked at Michael hard, and suddenly his demeanor changed. The frustration and sadness were still there, but something else was too. He took a calming breath and then braced his forearms on the edge of the desk. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"No. I don't."
Sam nodded, clasped his hands, and focused on them instead of Michael. Michael had the ridiculous urge to reach out and tip Sam's face back up, so he could see those eyes once again, but he made himself remain still and wait Sam out.
"Because." Sam sighed. "Because Michael, I am half in love with you. And I have been for a very long time. And with just a little more, I'd be all the way in love with you. And I can't let that happen, because you don't want it. You push me away whenever you can, and I just... I can't do this anymore. My heart hurts too much. So I need to go to save my sanity. And my heart."
Michael was up and across the room, leaning on the windowsill and staring blankly at the parking lot, before he even realized he'd moved. Heart pounding, breathing difficult, brain swirling--Michael still couldn't make sense of the words, even though he understood them on a basic level. But he couldn't process it.
"Is this really what you want?" It pained him to ask.
"Read me."
Michael spun around. "I don't do that with you."
The fierce determination on Sam's face startled him. "I'm asking you to. Read me. Because words aren't working with you. I don't know why but... just read me."
Michael should have refused. There had to be a way he could deter Sam, convince him it was better if he stayed. Michael could keep an eye on him and make sure he was safe. If Sam left, who knew what would happen. No one cared about Sam's well-being the way Michael did. Not even Dom.
But he opened up his mind, just a little, and let his ability take over. It took a minute to connect with Sam, because he was so unused to doing it, and it felt like a violation. Every operative knew what Michael could do and agreed to let him do it if he felt it was necessary. But Sam was different.
The moment he could read Sam's mind, Michael's knees almost buckled. There was that determination and fierceness he'd seen on Sam's face, yes, but also longing, unfulfilled and painful--love and affection, and a deep-seated sadness that washed over everything, coloring it and making it taste bitter.
Dammit all to hell.
Michael took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. He had to keep it professional. Yes, there were all sorts of personal things about the situation, but bottom line? He had to do what was best for his operative. Clearly it was time to let Sam go.
"Dominic too?"
The wave of disappointment and sadness was so great, Michael actually staggered back under its onslaught. He slammed the connection between them closed. As soon as he did, he was able to breathe again. But there was no way he'd ever be able to forget the way that felt or the look on Sam's face.
"Yes, of course. We're trying to figure out where, exactly, we want to go. We have a couple of options. Levi needs to look into where he can open a new office."
Michael nodded and steeled himself. He could do this. It was what was best for Sam. With measured steps, he walked back to his chair, lowered himself into it, and deliberately took his time. In the back of his brain, he was still trying to figure out how to change Sam's mind. But he knew he couldn't. More than that, he knew he shouldn't.
"I'll, uh--" Michael cleared his throat. "Where are you thinking of going?"
The closed-off expression on Sam's face was almost too much to bear, so he dropped his gaze to the tablet that sat innocuously on his desk.
"San Diego is our top choice."
Christ, the indifference in Sam's voice was going to kill him.
Michael shook his head. The other side of the freaking country. "That branch office is pretty big. One of the supervisors there is a real asshat too. Atlanta might be better." Was he really offering Sam advice on where to run away to? He forced himself to continue. "Donna is a Guardian, and she'd be a good fit for you and Dom."
Sam's expression was unreadable. "Atlanta is on the list."
Michael nodded. At least Atlanta was a heck of a lot closer. He'd have to see what strings he could pull to make sure Sam ended up somewhere close enough that the brothers could visit and with a superv
isor who would look after him.
"I'll approve the request, when you put it in." It hurt just to say the words, but at least he sounded normal.
For a long moment, Sam didn't respond. Then he simply said, "Good."
They sat in silence for a long while, neither speaking, barely breathing. Michael's mind raced as he tried to come up with something positive and encouraging to say. But there was nothing. He wanted to tell Sam there was no way he was leaving, but he couldn't do that. So he said nothing at all.
Sam stood, and there was tension in every line of his body. "I'm going home. I don't think I can work today."
"All right." Michael dropped his hands to his lap so Sam wouldn't see the way they clenched into fists.
Sam hesitated as though he wanted to say or do something else, but he eventually shook his head. When he turned and headed for the door, his footsteps made no sound on the plush carpet. Michael watched him go, and the ache in his chest grew with each step that separated them.
"Sam."
Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn. Michael took a deep breath and let it out, his voice soft when he spoke.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
Nothing but silence from Sam, and then he just shook his head and walked out the door.
Michael held it together until the door shut and even managed to keep breathing for at least a few more minutes. When he was sure Sam was long gone, he let out a frustrated scream. Julie almost immediately stuck her head in, her blue eyes big and worried, but he waved her away with a bark to hold his calls. She disappeared, and Michael dropped his head into his hands.
He knew his operatives inside and out--some better than most, Sam better than the rest. Or so he'd thought. But he hadn't expected that turn of events. Maybe he should have, but he hadn't. Sam hashing out their kiss, trying to cajole Michael into something more? Definitely. A long and drawn-out, passionate argument about Sam being allowed to pick his own cases? Yes. But for Sam to walk in and say he was leaving? That had never crossed Michael's mind, not even as a remote possibility.
It was all his fault. He knew it. He owned it. He'd been keeping Sam at bay for years, despite knowing how Sam felt about him, despite his own feelings, because it was the right thing to do. But now he'd driven Sam away.
Even more than that, they were ending things with pain and hurt between them. The thought sat like lead in his stomach. It was the right thing to let Sam leave, make a better life for himself. Michael couldn't give him what he wanted, but he couldn't stand the thought of Sam leaving on bad terms.
Besides, the transfer wouldn't go through for months. They still had tons of time to work together, and Michael knew he had to do something to make it easier. Otherwise the next few months would be impossible for both of them. And that would bleed over into the rest of the team. Michael couldn't allow that.
His phone beeped, and he answered it to find Lois was ready to be sent onto the spirit plane. Sending back an affirmative, Michael shored himself up and got into work mode. He'd fix it with Sam once the day was done.
As much as it could be fixed, anyway.
Chapter Eleven
SAM was no stranger to heartache. He'd been suffering it to one degree or another for the past ten years. Every time he tried to move on, he failed. A relationship with someone else was out of the question. His heart was engaged elsewhere. But anonymous hookups and casual dating weren't cutting it anymore. And since he knew Michael would never change his mind, and the pain of true rejection sat heavily on his heart, Sam was ready to change his life so he could finally be happy.
He knew it would take a while--probably a long while. Sam wasn't so naive as to think a change of scenery would magically fix his broken heart. But it was a first, painful step. And Dom would be with him, right there as a constant support. Sam would get past it. Eventually.
In the meantime he had to work. Even though he'd left the office right after his fateful meeting with Michael, Sam pulled up his tablet and reviewed his reports about his current case. Then he read Dom's notes and Michael's comments as well. He bristled and wanted to prove them both wrong, especially Michael. Sam knew he could get the snarky bitch to cross over. He just had to find the right motivation. But when he looked at it logically, he knew it probably wasn't the best course of action--not for him or the spirit.
He'd just finished writing his recommendation that a team go in and deal with her, by force if necessary, when a knock on the door startled him out of his concentration, and he glanced up and noticed it had gotten dark. When he stood he stretched muscles that had bunched because he spent far too long hunched over his tablet. He hit the switch on the wall to turn on the lights as he headed to the front door to let his brother in.
But Blake wasn't standing on his doorstep.
Sam blinked and tried to make sense of what was before his eyes. When he heard the knock, he just assumed it was Blake, because who else could it be? Dom and Levi, and even Derek, would have called first to make sure their company was welcome. Only his brother showed up unannounced, just as he did at Blake's house.
Except it was definitely Michael King on the other side of the door, looking worried, upset, and absolutely delicious in a faded pair of jeans that molded to his long, muscular legs, and a T-shirt that had seen better days but was obviously comfortable.
What the hell?
"What are you doing here?"
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and then straightened to his full height. "I was hoping we could talk."
Something vicious twisted in Sam's chest. Raw pain and anger swirled together. He wanted to talk?
"I think we said all we needed to say in your office this morning." Sam was proud that his voice sounded indifferent when he felt anything but. Not usually a violent person, he wanted to punch Michael in his perfect face, just so he could feel the hurt Sam felt.
"I don't think so." Michael took a step forward and almost pushed into Sam's space. Sam still clutched the door, and he could swing it shut at any time. But when Michael's expression softened, his eyes pleading, Sam's hold relaxed.
"Please, Sam. I think...." He exhaled sharply. "I think, away from the office, we can have a real conversation. There's a lot we need to talk about. Before... before you go."
And there it was. The last bit of hope that had smoldered inside Sam was unceremoniously snuffed out. He hadn't even known it was still there until it was gone. Michael wanted him to leave.
"Fine." Sam stepped back and allowed Michael to enter. If he wanted to talk, they could, but it wouldn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things. Sam would be gone as fast as he was able. "Come on in. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"
Michael blinked as though he were surprised by the hospitality. He shook his head. "No. Thank you. Can we just sit and talk?"
Sam gestured toward the living area, where there were a plethora of seats to choose from. "This is your show. Sit and talk."
Michael chose the far end of the couch, which left Sam plenty of space to join him. But even two feet of space was too close. Instead Sam crossed to the armchair on the other side of the room. He'd arranged his furniture for conversation, so it wasn't as though they wouldn't be able to talk. But it was probably the farthest spot in the room, and that gave Sam a measure of peace. Distance was key.
It was all that kept Sam from breaking down--or worse, screaming and railing.
Michael rubbed his hands on his thighs. The motion was nervous and jerky, and his gaze danced around the room and seemed to take everything in. Sam spent half a second trying to see his home the way Michael did, and wondered how he viewed his taste. It wasn't anything fancy--rich-colored wood and dark browns and warm creams. Easy to match and not overly in your face. Sam had gone for comfort over style, and his living room was one of his favorite places.
"Your house is nice."
Sam snorted out a laugh, though there wasn't much humor in it. "Thanks. But you didn't come here to co
mment on my sense of style."
"No, I didn't." Michael ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. As though he could feel it, he made another swipe to smooth his short locks back down. "This is harder than I thought it would be."
Sam wanted to soothe him, but he held himself rigid and inclined his head. "Just say what you want to say."
It took Michael another minute to find his voice. "I'm sorry I hurt you... that I've been hurting you for all these years. That was never my intent. But it was the right thing to do." His mouth quirked, and he shook his head. "Not hurting you. That's not right. But pushing you away, refusing to let anything grow between us. It's the right thing. We can't be together."
Sam had let him get away with that line of thought for far too long. Of course, whenever they'd discussed it before, it had always been within the confines of the Requiem building. Sam thought Michael had visited him to stop hiding behind the job, to speak freely. If that was the case, then he was going to have to step up his game.
"Stop saying that." Sam's voice was harsher than he intended, but he didn't try to soften it, not even when Michael's gaze jerked to his and surprise was all over his face. Sam held that gaze. "You keep saying we can't be together because of the job, because you're my boss, because you're too old for me. It's crap. It's all crap. If that's all you have to say, then you can leave."
Michael's dark eyes flared as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "It's not. I am your boss. And getting involved is just wrong. Because of that."
"Okay."
"Dammit, Sam. Don't you think if there weren't this huge thing between us, I would have already made you mine? But I can't. The abuse of power is just unacceptable."
Sam didn't say anything as he watched the anguish take over Michael's face. It was the most emotion he'd ever seen from him, and he hated that Michael was so upset. But it was all on Michael. He'd put them in this situation.
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