Work Text:
There were rules to their job – they were the good guys, of course there were rules. There was paperwork, and permits, and tests, and evaluations, and more rules than anyone could list verbatim. And that was just the official side – the longer one worked in this field, the more personal rules one got. Because the thing about the official rules is that they didn’t actually matter in the field. When the choice was your life, the life of a civilian hostage, or the life of the pressured criminal who wasn’t the head of the organisation…
Well, on paper there was a correct answer; but in practice it depended on every situation, and every person faced with the situation.
So Clyde had his own rules.
Rule number one: the rules were meant to be broken.
Some might say that rule defeated the point, but he would argue that the rule was the point. The rules were made by people sitting safely behind desks who had never been tortured and still expected to make a headshot from a mile away; and he would burn the rules to the ground if that’s what it took.
Rule number two: never say you’re sorry.
You made a choice and you live with it. No matter what the consequences, you make the decision and it is on you and you alone. There are no excuses and there is no forgiveness.
Rule number three: never get personally involved.
He had told Emily that rule once and she had laughed in his face.
And then had giggled to herself for the next three days.
He thought it was a good rule.
He also referred himself to Rule number One when Tsia got shot in the chest, and he left Emily waiting in the hospital for her to wake up while he went to the holding cell and beat the shooter’s face in until he was unrecogniseable.
He got the confession they had been hoping for, and on paper he put that down as his reason for locking himself in that room but…
Rule number four: never lie to yourself.
Lie to your friends, lie to your family, lie to your coworkers – but never lie to yourself. In a job such as theirs, there had to be a line. There had to be someone they were brutally honest with; and at the end of the day, they only one they could trust with that was themselves.
He never lied to himself. He knew exactly how broken and twisted and useless he was deep down. He stared in the mirror at night after yet another nightmare of seeing his charges die because of his choices and reminded himself that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be good enough.
Rule number five: never ever involve lawyers.
...having them in your bed absolutely did not count.
And no, he wasn’t lying to himself.
Didn’t Rule Number One apply in this instance anyway?
Rule number six: always work as a team.
The only one they could count on to have their back in an emergency was each other. They were practically a family – the only ones who truly knew the best and worst of each other. They had seen each other through thick and thin, through sickness and health, through night and day.
And he would take the torturers knife up himself and break himself apart if it meant they would be safe. He would sacrifice everything to keep them whole and together and happy. He didn’t matter to the team – he was disposable.
There were other rules of course, other lists and other guidelines and other standards that he held himself to in an attempt to remain attatched to humanity.
But at the end of the day, the only rule that matter was the first one. When it mattered, he was a lawless man to do what he knew was right.