Chapter Thirty

And then, despite both of them feeling less festive than they ever have, it's Christmas Eve.

They make a quick grocery store run before checking into the least Christmas-y place Reid can imagine, a weekly-rate slum in Washington, D.C. where their only neighbors are prostitutes and drifters. They fit in; Nate's leaning wearily against him in a stained shirt with a tear at the neck, Reid's stubble grown for so many days that it's become an unintentional beard. The desk clerk doesn't even blink when Reid hands him his shittiest fake ID, one he made when he was a teenager (and has long since "expired") that claims he's a middle-aged Asian man named Lars Ulrich.

And that's the saddest thing of all - that life with Reid has lowered someone as magnetic and eye-catching as Nate to yet another homeless wanderer. Just another face in the crowd.

Reid should feel proud, successful. He's made Nathaniel Angelev invisible. Instead, he just feels unbelievably shitty.

It's enough to send him back out into the snow after they're settled into a room, the night gray and strangely glowing under the full moon, Reid swearing as he drives block after block in front of blackened storefronts. It's past midnight, technically already Christmas, and the only place that's open is a CVS pharmacy staffed by one waifish and dead-eyed clerk. Reid skulks through mostly-empty shelves in an increasingly-desperate attempt to find anything remotely acceptable for a Christmas with Nate.

He ends up with a foot-tall and sparsely limbed pre-lit tree made out of white tinsel, a crappy red felt Santa hat, and a bag of red and green M&Ms. He sits in the parking lot and stares at his miserable purchases in the chintzy plastic bag with the store logo printed on the side and shakes his head at himself. Pathetic.

As a betting man, Reid knows that this is most likely his last Christmas. Nate's, too. It should be more than a plastic tree and some cheap chocolates in a motel room that smells like a cocktail of bodily fluids.

Reid throws the M&Ms down in disgust, the bag breaking open and spilling all over the floorboard. He swears and rests his head against the steering wheel, watching the candy scatter and feeling sorry for himself for a few seconds before sighing and leaning across the seat to start picking them up.

He blows the dirt off a few and pops them into his mouth because - really - it's not like he could feel any worse. The rest he gathers into his cupped hand, tossing them out into the icy parking lot as sugary little presents for the rats and squirrels. He wedges his hand up under the seat to grope for any stragglers, but he finds something else instead.

Reid sits up, his hands cupped around something he considered his greatest treasure until just a few months ago. His badge. The symbol of everything he was, everything he'd ever thought he'd be.

And it's been living lost among the Doritos crumbs and crumpled straw wrappers under the front seat for months, because it doesn't really matter anymore. If anyone had seen it, Nate could have been compromised, so Reid had stowed it away. Simple. Easy.

He rubs his thumb across the shining metal, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. He knows exactly what he's giving Nate for Christmas.

*******

While Reid is gone, Nate grabs an old newspaper out of the motel lobby and uses it to wrap the few presents he's been able to collect since Memphis, shaking his head at the small size of his finished pile. He'd had over two dozen shirts, one from every state they'd driven through, all in preparation for Christmas morning. But they'd been abandoned like all their other belongings when they'd had to run from Lonnie.

In their crazy driving ever since, he'd been able to pick up three more, but it wasn't the same. He'd wanted Reid to know that he'd been planning this from the beginning, that he'd been picturing Reid's face on Christmas morning since that first bus ride to Kansas.

He ties a bow made from his shoelaces around what he knows will be Reid's favorite, a soft black tee with the Jack Daniel's label printed on it, and hopes that it's enough.

*******

Christmas morning breaks, but it's so nice to stretch out in a bed - even one that's lumpy with scratchy sheets - that they sleep long after the sun shines deeply golden through the holes in the motel drapes. For them, this day isn't about rushing to the tree to rip into presents or taking part in some religious observance. It's about the press of bare skin, the heat of wandering mouths and the lazy touch of sleepy fingertips. About the rumble of Reid's voice through his chest under Nate's ear, about the crazy bedhead spikes of Nate's hair when he finally bothers to sit up.

"Merry Christmas, Nate."

Nate blinks, slow and deliberate, scrubbing over the pillow creases pressed into his cheek as he tries to wake up fully. Reid reaches up and perches a cheap felt Santa hat on Nate's head, the white ball at the end falling into his line of sight and making him go cross-eyed for a second. Reid laughs and flicks it back, leaning up on his elbows to kiss Nate, a light morning caress of those dry lips, Nate's face still overly warm from sleep.

Reid reaches down and plugs in the little tree he put on the nightstand the night before, the twinkling lights sparkling against the plastic limbs. Beneath it, there's something small wound up in a plastic bag with Nathaniel's name written in Reid's messy scrawl, and a short pile of packages covered in old newspaper and tied with a shoestring on the opposite side.

"You know, Santa, you didn't have to bring me anything. I haven't exactly been a good boy this year."

Nate smiles, small and sly, and presses his presents into Reid's hands. "That depends on how you define good, Reid."

Reid tosses the packages off the bed unopened, pulling Nate down and rolling over onto him, and spends the next half hour proving just how good he can be.

*******

Reid's starving when they're finished and cleaned up, so he cooks eggs over the room's one crappy burner wearing only his boxer briefs and the Santa hat. Nate sits at the table behind him, deciding that he doesn't care if there's nothing in that plastic bag under the tree or if this all ends tomorrow.

Because right now, he's got Reid. Adorable, sexy Reid, who's almost giddily happy to have a bed and a place to cook for once. He's turned on the radio, shaking his ass in front of the stove and singing the wrong words to the Christmas carols. He turns to wink at Nate over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling.

Nate tries to memorize it all - the smell of the eggs in the pan, the exact dirty blond shade of Reid's hair, how the sunlight falls across his cheeks and reveals the tiny freckles scattered across them. He wants to lock this moment deep inside himself, to have something to cling to once he finally finds the strength to walk away.

"Breakfast is ready," Reid calls as he slides the eggs onto the two chipped plates that were in the kitchenette. "But don't get too full - I've got a surprise planned for later."

So they eat and exchange presents again, this time Reid actually opening his before getting distracted.

Reid pulls the shoelace and rips open the newspaper, crumpling it up and tossing at Nate's face. He grins to himself as Nate bats it away, then turns his attention back to the pile of cloth in his lap.

T-shirts. A small stack of cheesy tourist t-shirts, from some of the different states they've been to in the last couple of weeks.

"There were more. One from everywhere we went after Kansas, but we left them behind when... you know." Nate feels embarrassed for some reason, suddenly realizing that Reid might think this was an incredibly stupid idea. " I just wanted to show you, somehow, that I've been thinking about you from the very beginning of this whole adventure. That you're what matters most." He drops his hands to his lap, twisting his fingers together and watching the tips turn white from the lack of circulation.

There's a scrape as Reid pushes back from their little breakfast table and then a matching one when he slides the table itself away from Nate's chair. And then Reid is sitting on him, straddling him and pulling Nate's face up to his own. "I love it. I love it." He takes another deep breath, strokes his thumb over the hard line of Nate's cheek. "And I love you."

Nate stretches up the last inch to bring their mouths together, his hands cupping Reid's ass to support his weight when Nate stands, their lips not parting as he carries Reid back to the bed and tosses them both down.

Another half hour passes before Nate finally tears into his CVS bag, sprawled out naked and lying on top of Reid. He pulls out an open - and half-empty - bag of Christmas M&Ms.

He keeps his face very carefully still. Neutral.

"I do like chocolate. It's typically still sealed when I receive it, but..."

"Look inside, Nate."

Nate props up on one elbow and opens the bag, raking his fingers through the hard candy shells until they touch something that is definitely not edible. He shakes it loose and holds it flat in his palm, staring down at a gold circle with the words "United States Marshal" etched into it, a star in the center.

It takes him another second to understand that it's not just any hunk of metal he's looking at. It's Reid's badge.

And now it's his.

"Reid, I couldn't possibly accept this. You're going to need it again after - well, after this is all over." He tries to push his hand back toward Reid, but Reid's having none of it. He folds Nate's fingers down around the badge, squeezing hard enough to make the metal bite into Nate's palm.

"No, Nate, I'm not." Reid's been rehearsing this speech in his head since he'd decided on his gift to Nate, but he can still feel his heart thudding hard in his chest, fear and excitement warring for control. "I know you said that you wanted to go our separate ways when this was all over, that you wanted to go into Witness Protection while I went back to Kansas, but - well, Christ, Nate, that's just fucking stupid. I could never be happy in my old life, not after knowing what it's like to be with you. So I don't need this job or my shitty little apartment or to see Ben and Andy every day."

He takes a deep breath, holds Nate's cheek in his free hand and strokes his thumb over his cheekbone. Nate's eyes are wet, the bead of a tear trapped at the corner and Reid catches it with the pad of his thumb before continuing. "I'd much rather have you. And I know now that - well, because of Memphis - there probably won't be a life for me after the trial, but I just wanted you to know that if there was, I would want to spend it with you."

He leans his forehead against Nate's, their faces so close that all they can see are one another's eyes. So close that Nate can feel Reid's next words blowing across his skin.

So close that he breathes them in.

"I'd want to spend forever with you."

Nate drops the badge onto Reid's chest and closes the distance between them, feeling the press of their lips all the way down in his toes, learning exactly what Reid's mouth tastes like after forming those perfect words - eggs and pepper and home. He memorizes the weight of Reid's tongue sliding against his, the graze of Reid's teeth over his winter-chapped lips, the hair on Reid's chin catching on Nate's own peach-fuzz beard. It's so slow and deep; Nate tries to make it say everything that he can't quite make himself be selfish enough to put into words.

Thank God I found you; I don't know what I'd be without you.

No matter what happens next, I don't regret any of this.

And I would gladly give up forever for this moment, just this one, just to know what it feels like to have you hard and warm and mine.

The badge stays trapped between them as they kiss, leaving matching star-shaped imprints on their chests.

*******

It was a good Christmas, Reid decides. Definitely in the running for his best one yet.

He'd been able to pick up a few groceries at the drugstore, so he surprised Nate with sandwiches made with real turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes (instant, but still) for dinner, and it was all was way too much for just the two of them to eat. So they'd walked door to door through the motel, handing out leftovers to their neighbors. Some were too strung out to really know what was happening; others were so grateful they'd cried.

And they'd decided to leave that night, Reid uncomfortable with how long they'd stayed already and how many people had seen their faces that day. So Nate had dropped off for a nap since they'd be driving through the night and Reid had packed up the few things that had gotten strewn around the room, lonely socks and their shared shampoo bottle, but he still couldn't sleep.

So now he's standing at the window, watching a few fat flurries drift onto the street below. He's in his underwear with a gun shoved into the waistband, alert as always for anything slightly abnormal. A siren sounds in the distance faintly, then disappears.

On the street far below, a limping man in rags is working his way down the parked cars. He busts in the windows of any that look like there's something promising inside, risking jail or at least slicing his arm open for a few old GPS units and some cell phone chargers.

He passes the Camaro without a second glance, Reid always careful to leave it meticulously devoid of any visible enticement. He doesn't want anyone breaking in and somehow tying Nate to the car.

But there's something unsettling in all of it, this poor over-grown Tiny Tim spending Christmas scrounging through the belongings of those better off. He's desperate; so many people are. Any one of them would be willing to flip on a stranger for a few dollars, for the dream of something better.

And all it would take is one of them to bring Reid's whole world crashing down, send another Angelev with a gun headed straight for them. The whole country is their enemy.

Reid drops the curtain, backs away from the window. And then he wakes Nate.

It's time to leave.

*******

They check out a half hour later and drive north through the dark. The snow-covered ground beside the highway glows in the moonlight and the roads are virtually empty. It's like sliding through an alien landscape, silent save the rumble of the engine and the even breathing of Reid, calm and comfortable behind the wheel. Nate has his seat leaned back, half-pretending to sleep, with one hand resting on his chest, over Reid's badge tucked into his shirt pocket.

He knows they don't have much longer. And he knows it doesn't really matter.

Because they've said it all now, either with words or touches. I want you to have a future. I want to be a part of it. And if we die in a desperate grab for that dream, then I'm okay with that, too.

Nate watches the stars through the side window, his eyes half-lidded.

******

"Let's try this again," Elsa says, the tip of her knife biting into the motel clerk's neck and drawing a perfectly round bead of blood to the surface. "You have guests, two men. One of them has dark hair, blue eyes, and a scar on his neck." She presses a fraction harder, the bead turns into a stream. "Where are they?"

He's stoned, having smoked a particularly large bowl as a Christmas present to himself, which makes all of this at least a hundred times more frightening. The red of Elsa's hair is too intense, the snap of her words too sharp, and everything is moving at a strange pace. He feels the warm flush of piss roll down his leg. All his concentration goes into trying not to tremble against her blade and cut himself any deeper.

"I think I remember them, but they checked out a few hours ago." He raises one shaking finger, pointing out the motel window to the north-bound highway.

"And they went that way."