Chapter Twenty-seven

Reid sits at the tiny table in their motel room with his boots kicked up on the edge, the chair rocked back on two legs. He's eating mostly-burned microwave popcorn and chucking the blackest pieces across the room at Nate, who's sitting cross-legged on the hideous floral bedspread. Reid misses with his first few shots, the stray pieces bouncing off the worn carpet, and smiles to himself when he finally gets a kernel to stick in Nate's messy, twisting hair.

Nate doesn't look up when the popcorn starts pelting him in the side of the face. He's trying to engross himself in the only thing in the room that's still in like-new condition - the Gideon Bible he pulled out of the bedside table.

They're bored. The room's TV doesn't work and they're running low on money, so they've got nothing better to do while they wait for nightfall and the bars to be crowded enough for Reid to "earn" some more.

It takes twelve pieces - one of which smacks only a centimeter from his eye - but Nate finally gets irritated enough to look up, catching an incoming kernel midair and popping it in his mouth. He frowns when he tastes the ashy, burnt flavor, swallowing quickly.

"Your terrible microwaving skills and annoying habits aside, I think it's actually going well so far. Don't you?"

Reid shoves another handful into his mouth, little popcorn fragments flying as he chews and talks. "It's going fucking amazing, Nate. I mean, that thing you can do with your tongue alone would be enough to-"

"No, not us, Reid. I mean the trial - getting there, testifying, the whole grand plan. We've evaded detection by my family for far longer than I had anticipated. I've even begun to entertain the still highly improbable idea that I may actually survive to see next year."

"Damn, Nate, that's downright optimistic of you."

"Yes, well...I just want to know what happens. If I make it to the trial and beyond. What happens then?"

Reid's been thinking about this more and more and he finally knows what his answer should be.

We stay together.

He realized it last Sunday, slouched on one end of a scratchy couch with Nate's feet in his lap and a can of PBR in his hand. They were in a different motel room - one where they had cable - and watching his beloved Chiefs play.

Football is alien territory for Nate; he never even saw a game before meeting Reid. So his reactions are always a half-second too slow, waiting and watching Reid out of the corner of his eye to see whether he should cheer or boo. Reid tries not to laugh, because he gets that sports weren't exactly a priority in the Angelev house, so he just smiles and rests one hand on the top of Nate's feet, appreciating the effort.

But Reid can't help but miss - deeply, painfully miss - Ben, Andy, Jill, Janie, and everyone else he left back home. He thinks about the weekends he spent at Ben and Janie's house, watching the game on their big screen, drinking Ben's pretentious microbrew and devouring those fucking delicious wings Janie makes. They'd usually all get so wrapped up in the game that they'd watch the last quarter standing, lunging toward the TV and shouting any time either team was in the red zone. Reid would have so much to drink that he'd always wind up crashing in the guest room, feeling safe and at home under his best friend's roof.

And that's when it hits him, on that stupid itchy couch with Nate while his favorite team loses terribly: Whether or not they pull this whole crazy plan of his off, he will probably never watch a game with Ben again.

Because Reid already knows - Nate is his life now. Whether he dies defending him or has to follow him deep into Witness Protection, Reid won't leave his side.

Which means losing his friends and career for good.

In order to be a part of Nate's new life, Reid would have to sever all ties that could potentially lead Nate's family to them. Besides, Nate's permanent placement after the trial - if it has even a chance of succeeding - will have to be as far away as possible, ideally in another country.

The TV blares in the background as Reid tries to picture it, a halfway normal life with Nate in an igloo in Iceland or a hut on a beach in Chile, but he can't really. Not yet. All he knows is that he's not going back to life the way it used to be.

It's shocking and strange to realize that everything that Reid had thought was solid and immovable in his life has suddenly changed through no conscious decision of his own. And it breaks his heart for a moment, feeling it all slip away, watching his future shift hazily in the distance.

But then Nate wiggles his toes under Reid's fingers and flashes that broad, gummy grin, the one that's just for Reid. He knows that he's the only person on Earth privileged enough to see Nate like this, so he really can't regret the loss of his old life.

He's gained so much more.

But - and it's a big 'but' - Reid hasn't told Nate about his whole life-altering epiphany yet. He has no clue how to ease into it, and it seems too weird to just blurt out, "Uh, let's run away together in the spring if, you know, we're not too busy being dead."

Jesus. He hasn't even worked up the courage to say a simple, "I love you," yet.

So when Nate asks about the future, Reid sets his popcorn on the table and takes the cowardly way out. He looks away, rocking the chair down and putting his feet on the floor, scratching absently at the back of his neck.

"Well, typically the Marshals Service finds a permanent placement for a witness after the trial is over. A new place with a home and a job - a normal, apple-pie kind of life. Is that, uh, I mean, is that something that you think you'd want?" Reid gives a little half-smirk, tries to be flippant. "I know you've gotten used to the glamorous life on the road with me and all, but I think we could be happy staying in one place longer than a day. Right?"

Nate doesn't hear the little "we" Reid slipped in at the end. It wouldn't have changed his answer even if he had.

Because he already knows he has to choke back the "I would be happy anywhere as long as I was with you," that rests on the forefront of his mind. It would be horribly unfair to say because it's not realistic; even if it were, Reid has a family, of sorts, and a career that he loves. A whole life that he has carefully built for himself back in Kansas, one that he must be missing every day that he drifts with Nate.

He knows exactly what it's like to lose your family, even one as messed up as his. And even though he never talks about it, he still misses them.

He was stuck in traffic with Reid a few days ago and struck with the sudden urge to take a picture of the gridlocked highway and text it to his sister, Elsa. Look, it's as bad as that time in Los Angeles. He'd smiled, remembering the weekend that Elsa had flown him to LA as a birthday present and they'd sat in her Ferrari on the 405 for so long that they eventually just turned the car off and gotten out. They'd wound up playing Go Fish with the kids from the minivan behind them for an hour, happily drinking little pouches of Capri Sun and eating baggies of Goldfish that the mother had offered.

Nate had fumbled in his pocket for a cellphone that he no longer had before remembering that he couldn't text his sister. Not now, not ever again.

And he misses his cousin, Michael, who has mostly avoided the family business by opening a bar in Chicago. Nathaniel used to spend many long weekend benders there, slumped on a bar stool and having intense theological discussions on the morality of his actions and their family. And even though most of what Nate said was practically Angelev blasphemy, Mike had never ratted him out to his father, not once - which sort of made him the closest thing Nathaniel had to a friend.

And now he's practically alone in the world, and it's such a heavy weight to bear. Nate wouldn't wish it on anyone - and especially not someone he loves - and he knows, right then, that he will never take Reid away from his family and friends. It was selfish enough of him to take these months before the trial.

So instead of telling Reid that he wants to stay together, that he can't even picture his life without him, he just swallows, tries to keep his face neutral when he answers.

"Reid, I think it would be best if our lives went back to normal - as much as possible - after the trial. You can resume your life in Kansas; a regular placement in Witness Protection would be perfectly satisfactory for me."

And just like that, the easy, comfortable bubble of denial they've been living in pops. The pressure in the room changes, tightens; Reid feels something slide sharp and painful inside his chest.

He frowns down at the popcorn bag on the table before him, the buttery smell suddenly making him feel queasy. "Yeah, so, okay then, Nate. I guess we'll just find you some nice, normal life to settle down into."

Nate nods and looks away. The air is suddenly so thick that it feels like it's a struggle just to breathe.

*******

Days pass; the tension stays.

They're driving through the dark, somewhere in the Appalachians where North Carolina, Tennessee, and Georgia meet, although neither of them can remember which one of those three states they're actually in at the moment. And they're confused for a moment when the DJ on the staticky radio station mentions Thanksgiving until they realize they've become so disconnected from everyday life that they've nearly missed it. The DJ just blathers on and on, his country twang filling the Camaro with dreamy musings about the next day's celebration of turkey and pie.

Reid chews the inside of his cheek, silently cursing himself.

They'd already forgotten Halloween, which made him feel like shit because this kid showed up at the motel room door in a homemade ghost costume (a threadbare sheet with eye holes, his beat-up sneakers peeking out beneath the ragged hem) and they'd had to give him the travel-sized shampoo from the motel bathroom because they didn't have anything else. And Nate had gotten this look, the one Reid has come to hate more than anything, the one that says he's remembering his fucked up and abusive mafia home life with something other than total hatred. Because he may have grown up in hell, but at least they remembered to buy Halloween candy there.

So Reid had wanted to make the holiday season something special, stay somewhere nice for once, somewhere that would make a proper turkey with all the sides and warm pumpkin pie for dessert. Instead, it'll be Thanksgiving when the sun rises in a few hours and Reid's had a run of bad luck that's left them strapped for cash and searching for an abandoned foreclosure to crash in.

As a compromise of sorts, Reid breaks into a vacation home far nicer than the ones they usually frequent. This one has stacked stone and three stories, huge fireplaces and handwoven wool rugs strewn over the hardwood floors before them, four bathrooms and an oversized kitchen all boasting marble counter tops. The beds are soft and piled in luxurious blankets and fluffy pillows and there's more food in the pantry and freezer than either of them have seen since they left Lansing. The power is even still on, along with well water that runs cold and clear, and Reid nearly cries when Nate experimentally switches on the TV to discover that the small satellite on the roof is operational.

So even though Thanksgiving dinner consists of a shared bottle of bourbon and microwaved frozen turkey dinners with mashed potatoes that more closely resemble Elmer's paste than any real food, the parade on the flat screen and roaring fire beside them makes it feel like so much more.

They're quiet for the most part, the unspoken recognition that this day is supposed to be about family - something they're both sorely lacking - hanging heavily between them.

But later, when they wander out onto the wide front porch to watch the sun dip below the mountain ridge with their fingers intertwined and a buffalo plaid blanket wrapped around their shoulders against the evening chill, Nate leans his head over onto Reid's shoulder and takes a deep sigh, like the last of his tension is finally easing out of his bones.

Reid pulls him even tighter against him, pressing a kiss into the top of his head and watching a pair of wild turkeys strut out of the woods before them, skirting in a line around the front of the cabin on their way down the mountainside.

And it's so perfectly absurd that Reid chuckles softly, relieved as the awkwardness of the last few days lift for a moment. He pulls one of his hands away to point at the birds.

"See, Nate? It's like a sign or some shit - a turkey couple wandering around on Thanksgiving night. This is serious redneck hunter country, so they've probably been hunted fugitives lately, just like us. But they survived past Thanksgiving dinner, so they're good. They're free and happy and fine." He slides his free hand along the warm side of Nate's neck, feeling the pulse beat slow and steady under his calloused palm. "And we will be, too."

Nate doesn't really answer. Instead, he lifts his head to stare at Reid for a long moment, those blue eyes full of love and gratitude...with something closed off and akin to pity hinting in their depths.

But it's easier to pretend he doesn't see it, so Reid doesn't ask. And Nate doesn't tell, just leaning in with a sigh, their mouths close but not quite together, the exhale ghosting over Reid's skin before he closes the distance, capturing Nate's lips with his own.

*******

They move inside long after the sun goes down, overly chilled and shaking until Reid builds the fire back up. They stretch out on the rug in front of it, the cabin and the woods beyond silent, still.

And the way the orange light dances over Reid's skin, sparking against the gold in the stubble on his chin and in the flecks of his eyes, is more than Nate can take. So as the room warms, he slowly peels off their clothes, kissing every inch of that tanned skin until it's covered in gooseflesh for reasons completely unrelated to the chilly fall air.

He brushes his lips across Reid's neck and in the hollows of his collarbones, scrapes his teeth across the meat of his shoulders and sucks the tips of his wide fingers. He swirls his tongue around hardened nipples and over every swell of muscle along his torso, following the trail of soft hair south until he reaches the waistband of Reid's boxers, soft and faded from too-frequent washes over the last few months. And then he strips those away too, leaving Reid naked and vulnerable before him, something that Nate will never tire of seeing.

Because this is Marshal Reid Logan, the war veteran and former car thief, the man who's supposed to be strong, invincibly so, sacrificing everything to protect those in his charge. But here, under Nate's hands, he's just a man, willing to give or do anything not for duty, but for love.

The fire pops behind them, the burst of light showing the darkening of Reid's eyes, the black hunger that seems constantly unsatisfied. He's desperate and craving, fearful for reasons he can't quite put his finger on, but Nate is determined to take this slow, to make it count.

He rolls Reid onto his stomach, kneading the tension from his muscles and thoroughly ignoring his whined pleas for Nate to stop teasing him already, dammit. Instead, he slowly works his way down Reid's back, kissing over every knob of his spine until he reaches the small of Reid's back.

Nate grips the round globes of Reid's ass in his hands and settles himself between Reid's thighs, his tongue tracing down from the dimples at the top to Reid's tight hole. Reid closes his eyes and sighs in contentment as Nate's tongue circles and laps at him steadily, licking him open.

Nate is so attentive, worshipful, wanting to memorize every detail. The firmness of Reid's ass under his hands, the way Reid groans when Nate runs his tongue flat and hard across him, the gasps Reid makes when he flicks the tip of his tongue inside. How relaxed he becomes, warm and loose and inviting, so that when Nate pushes a finger inside Reid's body it welcomes him, drawing him in.

Nate fucks Reid open with his tongue and his hand, moving so slowly that Reid can't help but completely relax, feeling warm and broken apart, disintegrating like the burning firewood.

And when Nate lines himself up behind Reid, languid and smooth as he presses inside at just the right angle, neither one makes a sound. It's just perfect, full and comforting and right, the fire crackling behind them and the shadows stretching across their skin, the rug soft under Reid's cheek, Nate's sigh blowing across the hell of his ear.

Nate takes his time, focusing on exactly what it feels like to have Reid spread and vulnerable beneath him, not greedily but as if he was searing the memory into his heart, something precious to be studied and treasured in later, more lonely moments. He pushes in as deeply as possible before dragging out to just the tip, making sure to slide across that spot inside Reid that pumps pleasure across every nerve in his body, feeling himself growing achingly hard pinned between the rug and his own belly.

Nate moves, purposefully and carefully, every stroke designed for pleasure like warm butter, sliding over them both. Hypnotized by the steady motion of Nate's thrusts, Reid feels so safe and loved, held down beneath that comforting weight.

And just when Reid opens his mouth to beg for more - harder, faster, something - Nate senses it and reaches down, snaking one hand under Reid's chest and pulling him up onto his knees, keeping their bodies lined up perfectly.

Nate is snapping his hips harder now, his lips on that spot behind Reid's ear that makes his chest rumble with wordless moans. Nate drives deeper and faster, wrapping a hand around Reid's dick and stroking him in time with his thrusts. Reid's hand joins Nate's, their fingers overlapping as their twinned hands stroke him, and it's so good that he has to drop his head down, watch the shadows sliding and twisting across the rug beneath them.

"Nate - I - oh, God, it's just so good - love - oh, oh, ooohhhhh-"

Nate's chin is resting on Reid's back but he can see Reid's profile, those full lips parted and a bead of sweat hanging off the bow, his eyes unfocused, whole face blissful and ragged and just fucking perfect.

And when they come it's both powerful and soft, like those big white fireworks that explode with a bang and then fall in sparkling streaks, glittering until they nearly reach the earth, burning long and slow and bright.

*******

Ben's in his recliner with his bandaged leg propped up on the footrest, just about to dig into a late-night leftover turkey and stuffing sandwich when his phone rings.

An unknown caller, but lately that only means one person. He nearly falls out of the chair in his haste to answer.

"Holy shit, Reid, finally. You realize you haven't checked in with me in two weeks? I thought you'd died. And of course the last number I had for you is out of service because you ditch burner phones like bad prom dates-"

"Happy Turkey Day to you too, bitch. And I'm checking in now, so you can unclench." Reid closes the cabin's front door behind him and crosses the porch. And somewhere between the thuds of his boots on the boards he realizes that the tension in Ben's voice is from more than just worry and his grip on the phone shifts and tightens, as does his voice. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, nothing special. Jill is in prison, Sue's going to need therapy from now until the day after forever, and I decapitated a man in my bedroom with a twelve gauge before capping the day off with some delightful leg surgery."

Somewhere around the mention of decapitation, Reid decides he needs to sit down for this.

He sinks onto the porch's top step with a sigh and pulls his jacket tighter around himself before grumbling, "Do you think you can dial the sass back enough to tell me what the fuck happened?"

Ben just smiles at Reid's gruffness, leaning back in his chair. It's so nice to hear from his partner again.

"Yeah, you grumpy old asshole, I can." He rips off a bite of sandwich, starts mumbling around it. "So get this..."

********

Fifteen minutes later and Reid still can't say anything except, "Jill? Really? It was Jill?"

Ben has stopped responding to these useless interjections and just plows ahead with his story. "...so anyway, the good news in all of this is that it's safe for you to come home now. We can get Nathaniel set up somewhere with a new identity and agency-funded apartment, and he should be perfectly safe. You can be back to your normal life by Christmas, Reid."

Ben expects some sort of response; all he gets is silence.

Some small animal rustles through the leaves in the woods outside the cabin. A football game drones on, forgotten on Ben's TV.

And finally, Reid clears his throat, tries to keep his tone light when he says, "Nah, man, I think we should just keep doing what we've been doing. I mean, if those bastards can turn Jill against us, they can get to anyone. And this, uh, this case is just too important to risk it like that."

Ben drops his face into his free hand, the fingers massaging at his temples. "Reid, you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"You didn't start sleeping with him, did you? Please tell me you aren't that stupid."

"Oh, give me a little credit here, Ben. You know me better than to ask that."

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and groans. "You're right. Of course I know that you're exactly that stupid."

Reid can't help it - he grins. "Yeah, you've got me. But come on, I think I deserve a medal or some shit for holding out as long as I did. I mean, have you seen that ass? It just makes me want to-"

"For the love of God, Reid, I'm begging you not to finish that sentence."

"Fine. But it's your loss - and Janie's. You probably could have learned a thing or two."

Ben, frustrated, goes to stand, forgetting for a second that his leg is busted and won't allow him to.

"Can you please at least pretend to be an adult long enough for us to talk about this seriously? I mean, professional considerations aside, do you realize how dangerous this is? How compromised your judgment is going to be - and his, too? You're supposed to die for him if necessary, Reid."

Indignant, Reid jumps up, starts pacing the width of the porch. "And I would, Ben, in a heartbeat. Do you think this is just me fucking some random witness? Because - seriously - it's not."

"That's my whole point. I saw the way you two looked at each other back in New York. I can only imagine how much more serious it is now." Ben pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to keep the frustration out of his voice. "My question isn't whether you'd be willing to sacrifice yourself for him. It's whether or not he'd let you."

And even through his anger, Reid has to admit that Ben may have a point. He grimaces and pulls the phone away from his face, glad that Ben can't see that he's getting through to him.

Finally, Reid pulls it together enough to say, "I won't give him a choice, Benny. If something happens, I'll say or do whatever I have to in order to keep him breathing. I promise."

Ben's gaze follows Janie as she comes into the living room and flops on the couch. Her hair is tied up in a messy blonde bun and she's wearing one of Ben's old dress shirts, the shirttails falling to her knees and the cuffs rolled over and over to keep the sleeves from hanging past her fingertips. She hasn't got any make-up on and she sticks her tongue out at him when she catches him staring.

She's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Ben sighs, knowing that if it were the two of them in Reid and Nathaniel's place, he'd have made the exact same mistakes.

So all the fight slides out of his shoulders and he can't do anything except say, "I'm sorry, man. I get it, really, I do. I'm just worried about you; he's an Angelev. A witness. And he'll disappear after the trial if he even makes it that far." Ben drops his head back to stare at the ceiling. "It's just...how does this ever end well, Reid?"

********

They hang up soon after, Reid shivering silently on the porch and staring out into the dark woods for a long time. He wishes that he had a good answer to Ben's question, but after that awkward conversation with Nate in the motel a few days ago, he isn't sure what to think about life after the trial anymore.

If Nate just wants to move on, to put his Angelev past - including the trial and Reid - behind him and find a normal, anonymous life, Reid can't exactly fault him for that.

But he's got no idea how he can just go back to Kansas and live like he did before all of this happened, how he will ever sit at that desk and not remember how Nate had looked the first time Reid had met him, scarred and bloody and determined.

Or the thousand perfect moments they've spent together since.

And when Reid finally goes back inside, the house is silent and dark, the fire burned down to glowing embers in the grate. He walks quietly to the bedroom but stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching Nate sleep in the silver moonlight.

How does this ever end well?