Sam stood outside of Michael's loft, working up the courage to knock on his door. There was a time not so long ago that he'd have barged right in, and damn the consequences. But that was then and this was now, and Sam was nervous about confronting his friend.

He took a deep breath, and knocked. "Hey, Mike." He yelled, to announce himself. "It's Sam."

After a few minutes, he heard the lock click, and Michael cracked the door.

"Sam?" he said, a question in his voice.

"Yeah, Mike, its me. Can we talk?"

After a minute that felt like an eternity, Michael spoke. "It's not a good time, Sam" he said. His voice held an apology, but Sam knew Michael very well, and could see through the ruse.

"It's never a good time these days, is it brother." He sighed. "This won't take long." He assured him.

With obvious reluctance, Michael opened the door to let Sam in. Entering, Sam glanced around, and saw the gun in Michael's hand. He raised his eyebrows, but Michael just shrugged.

Evidently, Michael felt like he needed a weapon in hand to greet his old buddy.

"What's up, Sam?" Michael asked, getting straight to business.

"We didn't get a chance to talk about what went down with Carlos. It was good of you to bail him out."

Michael nodded, but said nothing. His expression was closed off in a way Sam hadn't seen in years, and found difficult to read.

"I didn't know if you spoke with Fi. It's over between them. Carlos moved out." Sam spoke tentatively. He was fairly certain that Fiona hadn't told Michael. Sam knew it wasn't really his business, but thought Michael should know.

"It has nothing to do with me, Sam." Michael said, tiredly. "If that's why you're hereā€¦" Michael started to walk towards the door.

But Sam didn't move. "That's not why" he said.

Michael turned toward him, and waited for Sam to speak.

"I wondered if you'd heard about Roger Steele," he said carefully, "he's dead."

Michael's posture stiffened involuntarily, and his face became a blank mask.

Sam felt sick. He'd found the timing of Steele's death and Michael's trip out of town with Sonja too convenient to be a coincidence, but he'd held out hope that he was wrong.

"It was you." Sam said. It wasn't a question, and Michael offered no denial. Sam closed his eyes, briefly.

"You should go, Sam" Michael said, with just the barest hint of a threat.

But Sam had known Michael too long to be intimidated, and he was too worried for his friend to be afraid.

"He was a friend, Mike. He was YOUR friend." Sam tried to control the emotion in his voice, but found it impossible. "Are you alright?" he said, concerned. He looked Michael in the eye, searching for any sign of distress, but Michael's eyes were cold and hard. "I'm fine, Sam. And I'm busy. Did you need anything else?"

And then Sam broke.

"God-damnit Mike!" He shouted. "He was a good man!"

"You don't think I know that!" Michael shouted back, his calm fa?ade falling away in an instant.

"Then why'd you do it?" Sam asked, furious. "Because James and Sonja ordered it? When it's a friend you find another way." Sam's fury faded into anguish.

But Michael's anger had been unleashed. "You don't think I tried?" Michael asked, his voice burning. "I tried. I called Strong, and he made it perfectly clear what my job was. I'm supposed to be the SOB that gets it done, no matter what!"

Sam looked at Michael with pain in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. "Is that what you'll say when I'm the target?" He asked.

And at once, Michael pounced on him, one arm across Sam's chest pushing him against the wall as he brought his gun up on him. "How dare you!" he shouted, months of pent-up rage pouring out. "I'm doing this for you! For you, and Fi, and Jesse and my mother. Do you have any idea what I've had to do to keep you safe?" His eyes blazed with bitterness and Sam knew that on some level, he should be afraid of his old friend, but all could muster was sadness.

"Did you ever think the price might be too high, Mike?" he asked, gently. "I'm your friend. I don't want my freedom if it kills you in the process."

Michael looked at him in shock.

Sam spared a glance to the gun pointed at him, then looked back at Michael.

Immediately, Michael backed away, lowering his weapon. He took several shaky, deep breaths, trying to regain control. After a minute, he spoke.

"It's my fault Sam. All of this. Now I'm stuck, and I have to see if through." There was no anger left in his voice, just resignation.

"Let us help you, then," Sam said, "you don't have to do this alone."

"James controls the board, Sam." Michael replied. "I have to play by his rules."

"No, Mike," Sam countered, "you have to appear to play by his rules. It's not the same thing."

But Michael couldn't be swayed. "I have James and Sonja on one side, and the CIA on the other" he said bitterly. "I'm walking a thin line here Sam."

"Yeah." Sam agreed, then continued. "There's got to be a way to buy you a little breathing room. A way for me to run interference."

Michael shook his head. "Not this time, Sam."

Sam started to open his mouth to argue, when Michael spoke again.

"I'm sleeping with Sonja." He said, watching Sam for a reaction. "Not a lot of space for someone else to get involved."

"I guess not" Sam admitted. Then, very carefully, "Don't you think that's going to complicate things?" he asked.

"It was a tactical decision." Michael said, defensively.

Sam nodded, and said nothing. He was tempted to point out that Fiona had started out as a 'tactical decision' too, but decided that might push Michael too far.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Mike" he said instead.

"Funny," Michael replied, "That's what Fiona said, too."

Now Sam was astounded. "You told Fi?"

"Seemed like the right thing to do," Michael said.

"Jesus, Mike."

"Yeah."

Neither man spoke for a minute.

Then Sam said. "I'm sorry about Roger, Mike." He looked him in the eye. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I was just upset."

Michael nodded. "Sorry I drew down you."

"Call it even?" Sam suggested.

Michael nodded again.

"I want you to know something, though," Sam continued, gravely. "I did mean the part about not paying too high a price." He kept eye contact with Michael. "You have to stop before you reach a breaking point." He put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Promise me you'll think about it."

"I will," Michael said, "and now you gotta go. Sonja will be here any minute."

Sam made a face. "Oh, yeah, I'm out" he said, walking for the door "But call if you need to anything, OK? And for God sake call your Mom. She's blowing up my phone!"

For the first time, Michael smiled, but it was the same false, toothy grin that he offered to marks, and it made Sam uneasy. "You wanna help?" he said, "you can be in charge of my Mother."

"Oh geez, Mike!" Sam griped. "Couldn't I just take a bullet for you?" He said, with a small chuckle. Michael's smile faded, and Sam instantly regretted his words. "Take care of yourself, Mike" he said. Michael nodded once, and then turned and went back into the loft.