"In some ways, you are a goddamn terrible spy."
Roque stared at Clay after saying it, neither one of them making a move and then both of them suddenly moving at the same time. It had felt inevitable then — like Clay going off mission, like the team following him, no questions asked.
It didn't last long, but they were both out of breath, shuddering from the aftershocks, not saying a word.
Afterward, Clay got them a towel, and Roque stretched out on the bed, laying on his back while Clay flopped onto his stomach beside him. Roque stared at the ceiling, feeling a little sorry that they'd wasted the money on two rooms if Clay was going to stay here, but shit happened.
Seemed the perfect time to tell Clay, "I knew this was going to happen."
Because it was true, even if he had to walk Clay through it without giving away the ending of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. A goddamn shame Clay hadn't seen it, because Roque knew a futile charge and a hail of bullets was just how their story was going to end, too.
Especially after Roque stood in the streets, telling Clay straight up, "You're losing me, man," and Clay had smirked like that wasn't possible, had walked away for a beer, clueless about American classics and how the real world worked.
So when Aisha came out of nowhere with a deal too good to be true and a mutual enemy, Roque knew Clay was going to say yes, as inevitable as the answer to can this get any worse?
When Aisha motioned to the coffins, Roque considered them a sign, not a joke, and even with Max as an option seared into his mind, he followed Clay to his own grave.
He knew, in the end — like he'd known all along — that calling Max would be another mark in his file, but he didn't see any other out when Clay was letting his dick lead the charge. If compromising their intel, jeopardizing the team, and shooting Jensen wasn't enough for Clay to stop, reassess, and put a bullet in Aisha's head, Roque knew they were never coming out of this, and there was only so much stupid he could let himself be.
When Roque finally made the call, Max laughed on the other end of the line, said, "Your codename can be Judas. Fitting, isn't it?"
"Fuck you, man," Roque said, and hung up.
Bad cop, Sundance, Judas — in the end, it all sounded the same.
So this time, when Clay knocked Roque down, Roque didn't let Clay keep him there, didn't stay on the ground, even with one eye gone, blood spurting from his nose, and his mouth filled with all the words Clay should've listened to but didn't.
Just like: "You're a goddamn terrible spy."
Just like: "You're losing me, man."
Just like: "I knew this was going to happen."
Roque had known all along, in the end. A suitcase full of cash and a plane ride out was just one more stupid thing he'd done because of Clay, for Clay, and that walking away clean was never an option.