I'd Rather Fuel a Fantasy Than Deal With This Alone

Mike still hasn't said a word since they got in the car, just the occasional sob that he tries to stifle, but the noise breaks Ryan's heart anyway. Ryan keeps looking over at Mike as he drives, pressing his lips together. There's nothing for him to say. He knows this pain all too well; he's lost a lot of people. But Ryan sometimes forgets how desensitised he is. He thinks about Debra and realises that Mike has probably been thinking about her a lot more than he has. It's not that Ryan doesn't care or sees her as a necessary loss. No, every time he sees her face on his pinboard, it makes his heart lurch. It brings up that guilt, all those awful thoughts reminding him that if he hadn't hesitated here or been a little quicker there, they could have found her in time. The loss of a fellow agent is never easy, but it's harder when you're the one who was supposed to save them. Ryan realises that Mike has probably thought about Debra as much as he has thought about Claire — and he's thought a lot about Claire. Carrie is a distraction. Carrie pretends to listen and pretends to care, but Carrie only cares about herself. The person his heart aches for is Claire.

Ryan tells himself to stop being selfish and reminds himself that Mike just lost his father, a father he had a complex relationship with, but a father nonetheless. He knows Mike grew up in a military family. He knows Mike was pressured. He knows Mike loved his father despite their differences. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be pulled into this case that spreads darkness into the lives of every person it involves. Ryan can still see the face of Mike's father, full of bravado and dignity. But his eyes were so full of fear. Ryan can hear Lily laugh and see her wicked smile, and it just makes him want to keep driving as far as he needs to go until he hunts her down. At this moment, he wants her dead more than he wants Joe dead, which says a lot. Ryan wants her dead because she hurt Mike. He recognises the strength of his emotions here. He's been through enough to detach from grief and treat each loss almost methodically. It's the only way he can keep going despite the increasing burden on his heart. It's not the shock or the sadness; after all, he didn't know Mike's father. It's the anger that consumes him right now. He hurts because Mike hurts. He's not usually this empathetic, this affected by other's emotions. Joe would probably make some remark about them being similar if he could hear his thoughts, but it isn't like that. Not at all. He doesn't see people as means to an end, as equal as animals slaughtered for sport, as toys to play with.

No matter how much Ryan hides it, he cares about the people in his life.

They pull up outside Mike's apartment. Ryan turns his head, and Mike has been aimlessly staring out the window.

"Hey," Ryan says softly. "We're home."

After a beat, Mike looks at him with a small nod. His eyes are completely bloodshot. Thankfully, nobody is around at this hour, so they have privacy as they take the elevator up to his place. Mike walks slowly, staring blankly ahead of him like a zombie, and Ryan tries to match his pace, wanting to keep his eye on him. He looks like his knees might give out at any second.

They get to the door, and Mike is still capable of getting his keys out and unlocking, so Ryan lets him. They wander into the dark, and Ryan recalls where the light switch is, turning it on as Mike seems to miss it. The brightness is almost offensive at this hour — especially after what has just transpired — so he works the dimmer until it's bright enough to see but nothing more. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to bombard Mike with questions. He doesn't want to coddle him.

But he doesn't want to leave him alone.

Ryan watches Mike sit on the couch and bury his head in his hands. He's numb, and he's tired. As Ryan goes to sit across from him, he notices a photo of Mike and his dad on a shelf. It looks like his Quantico graduation. Mike's young and all-smiles and full of life. He's eager, the way he remembered him the first day they met. His dad is smiling, too. Mike has his dad's smile. Ryan's lips twist. When he takes his seat, Mike looks up at him again, somehow looking worse than he had in the car five minutes ago.

"Just go to sleep, Mike," Ryan advises.

Mike reacts to that like he's asked him to run a marathon.

"There is nothing you can do right now except take care of yourself," Ryan points out. "Get some sleep."

He mutters something about wanting a shower, and Ryan nods. He stays where he is on the couch, listening as Mike walks into his room, opens some cupboards and then goes into the ensuite to shower. The water doesn't run for long enough to concern Ryan, but he wouldn't be surprised if he took a moment to cry again.

When Ryan hears the water stop, he gets up and walks to the doorframe of his bedroom. He realises he's never seen his bedroom before. When he comes over, it's usually to have a beer, or, as of late, a soda, while they watch football in his living room. Mike has just gotten in bed, and Ryan says nothing, just watching over him.

For a second, Ryan believes, with hope, that Mike has fallen asleep already and that exhaustion has overtaken him. But as Ryan goes to lie down on the couch outside, he hears Mike say his name.

Ryan walks over to the bed. Mike sniffles and looks up. Mike can't even bring himself to ask, shame in his expression beneath his pain.

"Do you need me to stay?" Ryan asks gently.

There's a beat of silence before Mike whispers, "Please," meeting his eyes.

He knows Mike doesn't do well alone. He also knows that Mike hasn't been the same since this mess started. The life has slowly drained from his eyes, and now, with the death of his father to process, Ryan realises that Mike is lost. He's losing faith in what he used to believe in. Everything has been shaken up since Joe's escape. Nothing is safe anymore. No one can be trusted. That was always something that came with working for the FBI, but Ryan realises now more than ever how little he trusts. It's his default way of life. Meanwhile, Mike's passionate loyalty is in pieces. Except, well, they can trust each other. They have each other. They have each other, and Ryan is going to be there to help him through it. Ryan's aware that if, if Mike was working for Joe or Lily or whoever else, showing vulnerability like this would be a sure-fire way to suck him in. But Ryan can see his soul, and he knows, he knows that Mike is genuine. He trusts him.

Ryan takes his shoes off and his jeans, leaving just his t-shirt and boxers. It's for comfort and nothing more. He gets into the bed slowly and props himself up on his elbow. Mike curls up and lets out an anguished sob, like the one he did on the steps outside the FBI. Ryan does what he did then: pull him close and hold him as though willing him to understand that he is there. Mike cried his eyes out then, but Ryan knows he's on the verge of starting up again now. Even if he has no tears left, it's the act of surrendering to the wormhole of grief that provides catharsis.

"I'm so sorry," Ryan whispers, his voice breaking.

It's not just about his father. It's about Debra. It's about Claire. It's about every agent who needlessly lost their life in the hunt for Joe and Lily. When the emotions of one loss come up, so do all the others, like anchors at his feet, each one weighing down his body. Ryan is so good at suppressing those thoughts, compartmentalising, not letting them get in the way of what he has to do. But now, he's reminded of what it means to be human, and it pains him to think about how long it's been since he's smiled and really meant it. It's hitting him now because Mike, someone whose demeanour still tends to elicit a can-do attitude and optimism even in the darkest of times, can no longer burn bright.

So, Ryan holds him in the comfort of the night and only hopes that that light isn't lost forever.