Chapter Twelve

They wake to sunlight streaming in through the windshield, the dashboard clock telling them it is nearly eleven. A few cars have joined the Camaro in the parking lot, but nothing that seems unusual or threatening.

Which leaves their biggest problems the fuzz on their unbrushed teeth and repulsive body odor.

"Ugh," Reid groans, scrubbing at his face to wake up. "We've gotta get the money together for a motel tonight. And some clean clothes. And toothpaste. And whatever goop you put in your hair to make it do that crazy spiky thing. Because no offense, dude, but you're a mess. And a smelly one, at that. There's more than one reason I've been insisting on driving with the windows down."

Nate, sprawled in the passenger's seat, stretches his neck and grimaces when he hears the vertebrae pop. "You aren't exactly the picture of personal hygiene yourself." He takes a swig out of the gallon jug of water Reid had stashed in the trunk. It's flat and tinny but preferable to the taste of stale ass currently in his mouth.

He wipes his lips and looks up to see Reid staring at the drop of water that's rolling down the curve of his stubbled chin.

"What?"

Reid blinks too quickly and takes a sharp breath. "Nothing. Caffeine-withdrawal headache. Let's go find some grub."

They find a hole-in-the-wall diner two streets up from the river and take a table in the back, where Reid drinks more coffee than Nate thought the human body could physically hold before calling Andy from the burner phone.

"Ben's filled you in on our whole situation here, right?"

Nate can't hear the other side of the conversation, but he doesn't really need to. It's over in less than two minutes, with Reid scribbling an address on a crumpled napkin, a Western Union where they can pick up enough cash to get through the first week.

"Thanks, Andy.... yeah, I know." He raises his eyes to Nate, something serious and concerned in their depths. "Don't worry, I will."

The waitress appears laden with plates and Reid stabs his finger against the end call button, promptly digging into his pancakes.

Nathaniel is more deliberate, nibbling at the corner of his toast for a moment before pushing it away. He's still nursing his first cup of coffee, his hands wrapped around the mug for warmth, his thumbs tracing over the silly cartoon face printed on the front.

Reid doesn't seem to notice his companion's discomfort until he's halfway through his tall stack, and he barely slows down then, mumbling around a mouth full of soggy food.

"What's up with you?"

Nate doesn't look up, preferring to maintain eye contact with the mug he sets down to free his hands. "Where are we going to get money when we can't work?"

"Ben's going to wire us enough to get us started. And then I'll put my more...creative talents to use."

Nate was afraid of that; he's beginning to suspect that he hasn't actually gone legal but rather just downgraded the level of crime he's associated with.

"You're going to steal."

"No! I'm an upstanding officer of the law. A federal agent. I would never do something like steal." Reid grins, cuts his eyes up at Nate. "I can hustle pool. And darts. And poker." He chews a bit more, cuts another bite off his pancakes. "Besides, I have Sasha."

Nate narrows his eyes further, tilts his head. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Reid's smile grows, lopsided and ornery. "She's a friend from my misspent youth. Always happy to do a little digital Robin Hood-ery for me when I need it."

Nate sighs, but he doesn't really have any other suggestions. It's not like he has any experience in the legal means of making money, so he'll just have to accept Reid's plan. So he nods and goes back to picking at his toast, managing to choke down one whole piece before picking the conversation up again.

"You said to think about where I wanted to go. Did you mean that?"

"Yeah, of course. Why?"

"Because I had no say in Texas, or San Diego, or Lansing. And now suddenly I get to go do whatever I want?" Nate shakes his head, absently strokes him thumb over the handle of his mug for a moment. "It feels like you meant something more with that remark about a bucket list. As if you don't actually believe that I'm going to make it, but you want me to have a good last few days because...you like me."

Reid nearly chokes on his food, his eyes flying wide as he scrambles for the dregs of his coffee to wash it down. He takes a second to recuperate, drawing a deep breath when he realizes that Nate doesn't mean like like, of course; he just means that they've bonded over the past six weeks.

So Reid manages to keep the squeak out of his voice when he replies, his gaze only flicking down to Nate's absurdly full mouth for a moment, seeing the edges of his teeth where he's sunk them into his bottom lip worryingly.

"No, Nate, that's not it. I swear. It's just... if I'm right, if there's someone on the inside working against us, then the best chance we have is to do something that is completely out of the ordinary for the agency. What marshals do is take witnesses and bury them in one place - a house and a job and a full back story. We don't float them on the wind, shuttling them around the country at random. Which is why that's exactly what we're going to do."

Nate squints, surveys the diner for familiar faces out of habit. But when he finally looks back at Reid, he can see that he's serious; he actually thinks this asinine plan will work.

"Isn't it kind of weird that we're on the run for my life, trying to take down the most powerful criminal organization in the country, and our plan is to just act like a couple of road-tripping tourists?"

Reid grins and forks in another giant bite of pancake, the crumbs spewing out the side of his mouth when he talks. "Mmhmm. It's definitely weird. That's what my whole plan hinges on. Unpredictable weirdness."

And there's something so endearing in that grin that Nathaniel's shoulders drop a fraction, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth in answer.

"Okay. I know where I want to start, then."