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Sam inhaled, a deep shuddering breath.
He tried to memorize every last detail, racing against the end looming in front of him. Michael’s arms wrapped around him, warm and familiar, even after so long. The shape of his head underneath his hand, the texture of his hair against his fingers. The smell of him — woodsy cologne, the sharp tang of the soap he used, still the same, the new overlay of sweet baby lotion. The flex of his shoulders underneath Sam’s fingers, covered by the soft, silly, reindeer-patterned cardigan. The lingering taste of his lips on Sam's.
His eyes, the most beautiful things Sam had ever seen. But he’d never forgotten them, after all. Even as the other memories had blurred with the years, Michael’s eyes had stayed, vivid every time Sam closed his own. Deep brown and gentle and smiling, crows feet just starting to emerge at the corners. Never cold, not even when he was dragged away from Sam, drying blood on his hands.
He felt Michael inhale in turn, and clutched him closer. If only he hadn’t reacted instinctively, disarming Alex Clark’s man in black, pulling the trigger as easy as breathing then turning the gun on the Clarks. If only he’d been more convincing, more pleading with Helen before Alex Clark stepped forward to protect her son. If he hadn’t come back to London at all. If only he stopped to think —
Then again, stopping to think had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, all the way back with his hand shaking in front of a kid with a blood-splattered face, hadn’t it? If he’d made a different choice that night…
If, if, if.
He squeezed his eyes and willed back the burning tears. He had made his choices, and despite it all, he couldn’t regret coming back for Helen. She’d given up her own freedom for him, and he had done the same. Theirs was a business of codes, but even beyond codes, Sam had Helen and Helen had Sam. Always. That was the way things had been, and that was the only way things could be. There was no room for happily ever afters, no room for Michael and Ruby and Helen’s Jason.
He allowed himself one last moment in Michael’s arms, then with herculean effort, pulled himself away. He turned and walked to the door, footsteps echoing and harsh against the soft yellow of Michael's flat.
He did not look back.