If Sam was a more generous soul, he’d have told Fiona where she was going wrong with Mike. As it was, he was perfectly content to watch the whole thing crash and burn. He liked Fi, he just didn’t like competing with her for Mike’s attention. So he just sat back and tried not to rise too often to the bait when she took verbal jabs at him.

The thing about Mike was that he needed lots of space and his job. He had serious trust issues which forced him to keep control of as much of his world as possible. It made him a great spy, but a lousy boyfriend; especially where Fiona was concerned. Personally, Sam liked the title “lover” better. Lovers understood your particular brand of insanity and made allowances. Lovers knew when to push back and when to stand down. Most importantly, lovers were secure in knowing how you felt about them no matter how many others might occupy your bed.

Fiona didn’t understand any of that, but then, she was still pretty young. That was one reason Sam didn’t mind his age; experience counted for a lot in life and the spy game. Not to mention that he was a way better lover now than he had been even ten years ago. As much as Fiona and the world at large sneered at his physique and alcohol-consuming ways, Sam knew there was a lot to be said for cute and comfy. And a little humor went a long way too, something else she hadn’t yet figured out.

The last few months had been especially rough on Mikey and if Fi didn’t back off soon with all her demands, she would find herself short one Michael Westen. Not that that would bother Sam in the least.

“Hard at work, Sam?”

Looking over at Mike, very finely dressed in black slacks and a linen shirt, Sam grinned and nodded towards the empty chair. “Absolutely. Just need to decide between a Mojito and Jack tonight.”

Mike took the chair and half-grinned in return. “Who’s winning?”

Taking in Mike’s mostly sober expression, Sam guessed, “Not you, from the looks of it. What’s up?”

“Fi left.”

Sam didn’t have to act shocked because he was. “As in, for good?”

Nodding, Michael took the water the waitress set down and told her, “Two Jacks, straight up. What’ll you have, Sam?”

One of them had to stay sober so Sam answered, “Whatever import’s on tap, darlin.’”

She winked at him and Sam automatically grinned back. Flirting was an ingrained habit and an occasionally life-saving one, at that. Turning back to Mike, he asked, “You okay, Mikey?”

Michael shrugged. “I will be.”

The waitress returned with the drinks and a basket of various appetizers, bless her.

“Thanks, darlin,’” Sam said.

She nodded and left them alone, like a good waitress knows how to do.

Sam spent the next couple of hours watching Michael get blind, stinking drunk. It was the first time in a very long time that he’d seen it happen. Not that the occasion didn’t warrant it. Michael was really hurting to make himself so vulnerable.

Then again, he thought. Mikey’s getting drunk with you here to watch his back, not off alone somewhere licking his wounds.

Thank God. The last thing anyone needed was an out of control Michael Westen. Sam knew that the people manipulating Michael so far hadn’t even tapped the surface. Sam had seen Mike’s dark side and lived to talk about it; no one else ever had.

“Why haven’t you made a move on me, Sam?”

Sam’s lips pursed and he answered, “Because of Fiona.”

“Too much competition?” Michael asked, suddenly mean.

Oh boy, one of those nights, Sam thought. He just shrugged and said, “Nah. Just figured you were happy so why mess with a good thing?”

Pulling a one-eighty as he usually did when truly drunk, Michael grabbed Sam’s hands from across the table and said urgently, “I’m sorry, Sam, that was totally uncalled for! So sorry. You’re a great friend, the best. I love you, you know?”

He did, which was why Sam put up with so much when it came to Michael. Patting Mike’s hand, Sam agreed, “I know, buddy. Hey. How abut we get you home? You’re gonna have a helluva headache in the morning.”

Michael downed the last of his drink and nodded. It took them both to get him up and mobile, most of his weight on Sam, and several minutes to get out to the caddy. The drive to the apartment didn’t take long, but getting him up the stairs sure as hell did. Halfway up, Michael decided to get amorous and grew a couple of extra hands, sliding them all over and making Sam groan in frustration.

When Sam finally deposited Mike in his bed, he’d been thoroughly groped and his body was all for continuing. Sam would never take advantage of Mike in this state, though. Now, if Fi were still in the picture, there would’ve been no problem with follow through, but Michael was too fucked up to do anything and mean it.

Shaking his head fondly, he said to the somnolent man, “Night, lover. Sweet dreams. I’ll be here with your hangover remedy first thing.”

The chair wasn’t all that great, but Sam had slept in worse for less cause. Some day soon, Sam would be sleeping in the bed with Michael after a lot more than just groping.

Sam was a patient man.