Chapter Twenty-nine

"Well, that's it then, Reid. It's over. You've got to come in and-"

"No way in hell, Benny. We're fucked enough as it is."

"My point exactly. So just tell me where you are and we'll get you on the next plane out, settle you into a safe house with a few more marshals to help keep an eye-"

"That's never going to-"

"-dammit, Reid, can I finish a fucking sentence?"

"No. Not when they're all stupid-ass sentences. How do you not understand that the minute we go back on the radar, Nate is dead? Do you really think the Angelevs haven't recruited themselves a replacement for Jill yet? Because I know you're not that naive. And at least out here we can last a little longer; maybe when they show up I can do something to buy Nate enough time to get away."

Reid sighs, his chin dropping onto his chest. He's just so goddamned tired. "I'm not going to spend my last few weeks locked up like a prisoner and waiting for Elsa to find me. If I'm going to go down, I'm doing it swinging. Not cooped up in some dank safe house pissing myself in fear."

He can hear Ben take a deep breath on the other end, ready to continue his argument. Reid cuts him off, hoping to end it with a morose, "Besides, at least out here there's no one else to get caught in the crossfire."

But Ben just keeps talking, trying to convince Reid, terrified at the resignation he hears in his partner's voice. He hasn't gone along with this insane plan for so long just to lose Reid now, so he's sure as hell not consenting to this kamikaze idea.

Reid eventually just hangs up on him.

But because Ben can be a tattling little bitch sometimes, Reid's unsurprised when his phone rings again thirty-seven seconds later.

It's Andy, of course, and Reid has to listen to the same speech all over again, just with 700% more "fuckin' idiot" and "dumbass moron"s tossed in. He even threatens to fire Reid's ass if he doesn't come back to Kansas immediately.

It doesn't change anything. Reid can feel it, twisting in his intestines, knifing into his heart. Running back to the Marshals Service won't protect Nate.

And in that same way, he knows that staying on the run won't save them either. But at least out here, Reid has control. And he'll do everything he can, fight with his last gasping breath, to make sure that Elsa doesn't touch Nate.

It's the best he can do.

*******

They drive in a random zigzag through the Midwest and then head east, sleeping in the car more than either of them is comfortable with, picking up only the barest of necessities along the way. It's weeks of Reid waking up in cold sweats, Nate's hands gliding in soothing lines over his skin the only thing that can calm his pounding heart. Weeks of being constantly vigilant, running on coffee and adrenaline and catnaps stolen in the backseat, parked miles down dirt roads or out on the edges of fields. Of Nate feeling like he sees something familiar in every face that looks their way for a fraction of a second, some hint of the Angelev profile or coloring, a bulge under a jacket that could be a weapon, a sharp gaze that sparks with something like recognition.

Reid would have told Nate to change his appearance slightly, maybe dye his hair or start wearing glasses, but he can't. They lost all their toiletries - along with everything else in their bag - when they had to flee Memphis. And they can't afford to buy a disguise because the little cash they do scrounge together goes toward food and the occasional truck stop shower.

It's ugly. It's hard and uncomfortable and terrifying.

And, to make it even worse, Nate made the most painful decision of his life on that rainy highway outside of Memphis. He's leaving. He's not telling Reid, of course, but he knows that any chance they once had of making it to trial ended the second Elsa caught their scent.

Nate is a dead man.

But he'll be damned if he'll drag Reid down with him. And every minute that Nate stays with him, he's putting his life in danger.

Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow.

And then the morning breaks and he wakes up with a terrible taste in his mouth and an aching back from sleeping in the car, but he's got his face pressed into the bend of Reid's neck, his head and lungs filled with that perfect smell of whiskey and Old Spice and leather and Reid, and he can't bring himself to do it.

He can't leave the only joy he's ever found - not yet. But every night, just before he drops off to sleep with Reid's arm wrapped protectively across his chest, Nate makes a promise to himself. One that he's praying he finds the strength to keep before it's too late.

Just one more night. I just need one more night, and then I'll go.

*******

In a campground in Ohio that's closed for the winter, after shivering through yet another night sleeping in the Camaro, they are having the seventeenth version of the same conversation they've been having for two weeks.

It's not going any better than its sixteen predecessors.

"I told you, Reid, I'm not carrying that."

"I'm not asking you to carry the damn thing, I'm just asking you to know where it is in case something happens."

Nate sighs and closes his eyes. "Fine. Your main piece is at your waist; you carry a back-up on your ankle. There's a 9 mm Ruger in the glove box and a 12 gauge in the trunk. Ammo for all of the above is also in the trunk, under the false bottom."

"Thank you."

"But I'll never use any of it. I'm done with violence."

"But you punched that guy in the bar."

"I know, but at least I only punched him. He's still alive, Reid."

"So you're good as long as you don't kill them. Just, you know, only shoot them a little bit. Kneecap or something."

"I told you from the beginning - I hate guns. I can't be that person anymore."

"Well fuck, Nate, what are we going over all this for if you won't protect yourself?"

Nate throws his hands up and stalks away from Reid, not stopping until he's reached the small creek running through their campsite. It's frozen solid, just like the ground beneath him when he sits.

Reid follows, slowly, hoping to give Nate enough time to burn off his frustration before they continue this conversation. Because they have to get this out; Nate has to learn how to take care of himself in the (increasingly likely) case something happens to Reid before trial.

His ploy works; Nate sighs and sags into his shoulder when Reid flops down beside him.

"You're the one who insists on all this preparedness, Reid." Nate looks up, his eyes wide and clear. "I have no intention of carrying on if you're no longer..." his hands still for a moment, trying to find a word he can bear to say, "okay."

Reid swallows back his anger, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. He has to find the words to make Nate understand, has to make sure that his wishes are carried out.

"It's because I want you to make it, Nate. I want all of this to mean something, for it to matter that I met you, that I ran away with you, that I-" and then he chokes a bit on the words, feeling them thick and sticking on his tongue. Probably because he's never actually said them before.

Reid has loved, sure, in a non-romantic 'Ben is as close as a brother and Andy's the dad I wish I had' kind of way, but this isn't that. This is commitment and promise and - because of the circumstances - really fucking heavy. Like their love is a weight tied around both their necks, dragging them to the cold depths of the ocean until they drown in the dark together.

But he may die today, or tomorrow, and he doesn't want to regret never telling Nate how he feels.

So: Nut up, Logan.

"I want it to matter that I fell in love with you, Nate. Even if I don't make it to trial, even if something terrible happens to me - I want to have mattered." He smiles down at Nate, lifts his face to kiss him softly for a moment. "Don't make my hypothetical death be in vain."

What he doesn't say is how much it breaks his heart to know that Nate is ready to give up if something were to happen to him, how it would affect his decisions and keep him from doing something that may become necessary to get him to trial.

"Don't joke about that, Reid. I couldn't -" Nate looks down at his chewed-up fingernails, trying to keep it together enough to continue. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, especially since it would be my fault. I don't even like thinking about any of this."

"Okay, fine. I get it. So let's just go over it all now and we won't have to talk about it again."

Nate kicks at a pebble, sends it sliding over the frozen stream. "What else do we have to talk about?"

"How are you going to get around?"

"Buses. Trains. Anything that doesn't check ID."

"Good. How do you pay for it?"

"Cash."

"And where are you going to get that?"

"I'm going to beat a hooker to death and steal hers."

Reid barks out a laugh despite himself - Nate has clearly spent too much time around him. "I'm trying to be serious here."

Nate sighs and stands, frustrated. "I don't know, Reid. I don't know how to get money like you. My experience falls more into racketeering, smuggling, and extortion. For small-time stuff, I wouldn't even know where to start. And I can't do it your way because I'm the worst liar on earth."

Reid flashes back to the only time he ever tried hustling with Nate at his side - the one that ended with the dart wound in his ass - and rubs absently at the scar as he pushes himself up to stand beside Nate. "You're right. Yeah, that'd be bad." He pulls a wad of bills from his pocket, thrusts them at him. "So I'll make sure you have Sasha's number - just text her, tell her you're with me, and she'll get you anything you need - and you'll carry all our cash from now on. That way, if something happens and we get...separated...you'll be okay on your own for a little while."

Nate, with a sly glint in his eye that Reid doesn't see, finally finds an opportunity to end the discussion. So he seizes it, getting all up in Reid's personal space. "I'm not taking that."

And, of course, Reid falls for it, shoving the handful of bills into Nate's front pocket. "Yes, you are-"

Nate twists his hips just so, making Reid's fingers graze over his dick, and watches the frustration in his eyes turn into...well, frustration, but a much better kind. Nate leans in, mouthing the words so closely that Reid can practically feel the brush of his lips, Nate's breath on his chin.

"That's it. I'm prepared to be on my own. Now-" and he thrusts into Reid's hand in his pocket, already half-hard, "-can we please go take advantage of the fact that we're together, at least for now?"

Reid's got Nate's bottom lip between his teeth before he even finishes signing.