Chapter Thirty-one

They keep driving, stopping only for gas and food, until they're practically out of road. They're as far north in Vermont as they can get without crossing the border.

The whole state is frozen, icy white and silent. And there's another storm brewing, the snow falling in ever fatter flakes until it completely obscures the road, the Camaro creeping forward along what Reid can only hope is asphalt beneath.

He finds a place to stop before it's a complete whiteout, a string of tiny vacation cabins that have been boarded up and abandoned not far from the interstate. They break into the one furthest from the road, picking the lock carefully so they can use it again once they're safely inside.

It's just one room - bare wooden walls with one dirt-encrusted window and a small bed in the corner - with no electricity or running water. It's not exactly comfortable, but neither of them even remembers what that feels like anymore. At least it's quiet and secluded; it'll do for one night where they need shelter from the blizzard. And there's a ten foot clearing between the cabin and the surrounding woods, so the deep snow surrounding them will show the footprints of anyone who may be snooping around.

Nate has been even less expressive than normal as they drove, withdrawing until he seems to have folded into himself, his eyes hard and almost angry.

Reid doesn't have to ask why - he already knows. He can feel it coming, too.

The end. The bloody, unavoidable showdown. And he almost wishes it would just happen already, because he's tired of the fear, of the sleepless nights and jangling nerves.

Reid's certain he'd feel better if he could just hit someone...but Nate finds a different way of coping.

Reid has barely gotten the lock fastened behind them before he's shoved face-first into the wooden door, splinters catching on the front of his new "Virginia is for Lovers" shirt as Nate's arm pushes on the back of his neck. He's already grinding, hard, against Reid's ass, his breath hot on his ear as he takes it between his teeth.

Reid opens his mouth, gasping, but Nate just presses against him harder, the rough wood biting into the side of Reid's face and neck. With his free hand, Nate reaches around and flips open Reid's belt buckle, then pops the buttons of his jeans, not letting up for a moment until he drops behind Reid, pulling his boxer briefs down to join the jeans caught midway down his thighs.

Reid huffs, hard, as Nate's blunt nails dig into the meat of his ass and spreads it, his breath hot across Reid's asshole for one quick second before his tongue takes over. Reid groans as his hands scrabble against the door, trying to find something to hold onto. Nate's tongue is beyond teasing, pressing flat and wet and hard as he licks along Reid's ass over and over, feeling the ring of muscle loosen with every pass.

And then he dips inside, tongue-fucking Reid until he can feel the trembling in his thighs, hear the desperation in the sounds he's making. Nate pulls back for a second to suck his own finger, Reid twisting his face over his shoulder to watch Nate's lips pursed around it, his tongue dragging over it wet, his eyes so dark when they flash up to Reid's that they're nearly black.

And then Reid slams his head forward into the door and moans as he feels Nate's finger pressing inside him, steady and deep, his teeth sinking into Reid's firm left cheek. Nate works in and out for barely a minute before Reid is pleading for more, a second spit-slicked finger joining the first and scissoring Reid open, his dick hard and twitching despite the cold air, his nails digging into the door.

And Reid is panting, half-mad with lust, but just when he's desperate enough to start pleading with Nate to just fuck him already, Nate is gone. His hand has disappeared, his breath isn't blowing hot and fast across the bruise he bit into Reid's ass.

But then Reid hears the metal clink of Nate's belt, the deliciously filthy drag of his zipper and then he's back. He shoves Reid back into the door as he bites Reid's shoulder, reaching down for one second to line himself up at Reid's entrance before he shoves inside, thick and fast and so piercing that Reid can't hold back the cry it drags out of his throat.

It's never been this rough, this desperate, with Nate just taking control of Reid's body and refusing to stroke him, not stopping for lube or to give him a second to adjust. It's animalistic and angry and Reid feels completely dominated and turned on as all fuck.

As if from a distance, pain blooms in Reid's right hand, a fingernail ripping half off from gripping into the wood. It's bleeding, his finger leaving a wet smudge that soaks into the wooden grooves, but he doesn't care. He digs his hands in harder.

Nate has his left hand wrapped around the back of Reid's neck, his right holding onto Reid's hip to help him piston in and out of his ass. The tiny cabin is filled with the sound of skin slapping, of gasping breath and the door slamming in its frame. Reid feels raw and feverish and wound so tightly that he's afraid he'll black out before he comes, but then Nate shifts their angle just a small fraction and there, the head of his cock rubbing over Reid's prostate again and again as his breath speeds even more.

And then he's suddenly gone, the heat and pressure of him disappearing from Reid's body as Nate stumbles back to the bed, gasping and crying and shaking.

Reid turns to him, confused. "Nate, what-"

"I don't want to come yet, Reid," he signs, suddenly looking shattered and so small. "I don't want it to stop, it can't end, it just can't-"

And Reid's not sure if it's the words themselves or the utter brokenness he sees in Nate's face, but suddenly it's like the desperate fury that's been building inside him for weeks has been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. It's not enough to feel Nate pounding inside him. Reid wants to take absolute control, to hold Nate under his hands, hard and alive beneath and surrounding him.

He shoves roughly off the door and stalks to where Nate sits, grabbing him by the shoulders hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. Nate has never seen his face like this, so hungry and dangerous and almost furious.

It's hot as all hell.

"Then we won't let it," Reid growls. He pushes Nate down across the tiny bed, twisting him until he's face down into the mattress with Reid gripping his hips so hard he couldn't move if he wanted. "It's never going to end, Nate. Never."

Reid spits on his hand and strokes himself a few times, just the minimum of lubrication before pushing into Nate in one long, thick slide. Reid barely gives him a second to adjust before he's thrusting, deep and hard and overpowering. It's dancing along the line between pleasure and pain and exactly what Nate needed.

Because he doesn't want this to end - ever - but he knows it will, that everything does, and the best he can hope for is to still feel it when it's over. To be reminded of Reid's hard thrusts with every step he takes tomorrow, to have the purple outlines of his fingers pressed into his hips and arms to study in the mirror for days.

Nate balls his hands into the bedding so hard that he hears the fabric tear under his fingernails, his panting breath swallowed by the musty blankets. Reid's belt buckle smacks him in the back of his thighs as he fucks him so fast that there's not even any rhythm to it, just constant, nearly violent movement. Nate's cock rubs against the blankets beneath him and he can feel sweat beading his skin even though the air is so cold that he can feel it in his lungs, sharp and painful every time he gasps for a breath.

He's fighting it, they both are, trying to stay in this mindless state where they're too overwhelmed with the sensations to remember who they are and what is coming for them. But it's so intense and consuming and good, and there's only this, Reid and Nate and skin and friction, the world beyond just a featureless black void.

Nate cranes his neck back as his mouth falls open in a silent shout. He squeezes his eyes shut as the orgasm punches its way through him with no prelude, painting the blanket beneath him in thick white. And Reid is there a second later, twisting Nate's face to his so he can seal their mouths together, force his scream down Nate's throat as he spills inside him.

He collapses onto Nate, nearly unconscious for a moment. And they stay like that, Nate pinned against the mattress beneath him with their hips still pressed flushed together, until their ragged breathing finally slows.

Reid musters the strength to move just enough for their tongues to tangle lazily as they kiss long and slow over Nate's shoulder. And everything seems hazy and soft for one perfect moment, the afterglow humming like a low current over their skin.

But then Reid finally pulls away, flopping down onto the bed beside Nate, and the magic dissipates. The world rushes back into the space between them, cold and dark and hollow.

Nate starts shivering and Reid stands, fumbling through their few belongings to find one of the towels they've stolen from a motel. He brings it back to the bed and rushes to get Nate cleaned up, pulling his clothes back into place to help him warm up.

"Shit," Reid mumbles, seeing the smear of blood from his half-missing fingernail drying on Nate's hip. "I'm sorry." He wipes it off, but not before Nate twists his head around to see.

"Did I do this?" Nate asks quickly, catching Reid's blood-stained hand, his eyebrows drawing together until his forehead crinkles.

"No, Nate, it was the door." Reid juts his chin at it, both of them watching a streak of red rolling down the wood across the room.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so...aggressive." Nate takes Reid's injured hand in both of his, kissing softly over the palm in apology.

But Reid just smiles and pulls Nate back in for another kiss, soft and short, before he huffs a small laugh against his mouth. "It's okay, Nate - I gave as good as I got. Besides, I think the blackout orgasm makes up for a little blood loss."

Nate still frowns and insists on thoroughly cleaning out Reid's wound, winding a bandage around the injured finger and silently chastising himself the entire time.

As if I haven't hurt Reid enough already.

They climb under the covers fully dressed to try to ward off the cold, already feeling the beginnings of the post-sex dull ache. But that's not why it takes them both a long time to fall asleep, the heavy blankets pulled up to their chins, their mixed breath making clouds in the frigid air.

It's fear, foreboding, and the unshakeable sense that this felt like the last time because it was the last time. So even though exhaustion has seeped into his bones and is making his eyes burn, Reid fights sleep as long as possible.

Because Nate said it perfectly - he never wants this to end.

But Reid eventually succumbs to the dark silence and drifts off, his lashes long and stark against his freckled cheek.

Nate struggles to stay awake for a few minutes more, just so he can watch Reid sleep, listening to the howling winter wind whipping outside their door.

*******

Reid wakes with a start, his eyes snapping open as he holds his body perfectly still. He's not sure what woke him - Nate is still snoring lightly against his shoulder - but he knows better than to just assume that everything is fine. Reid executes a graceful drop to the floor, his sock-covered feet silent on the wooden boards, and pulls his gun from beneath the pillow. He stays crouched beside the bed, barely turning as he scans every inch of the cabin.

There's nothing.

So he slides carefully to the door, shoving his feet haphazardly into the unlaced boots there before easing the door open a fraction, just wide enough for one hazel eye and the muzzle of his gun.

It seems quiet, the snow glowing in the moonlight until it's so bright it's nearly day. Which is how he sees the flash of red darting between two bare trees in the distance, the tips of long hair snapping behind a slim figure.

Elsa.

Reid squeezes his eyes shut and swears to himself. She's too far away; there's too much empty space between the door and the tree line. He doesn't think he's got much of a chance for stealth, but he's not about to just sit back and wait for her to come to them.

The tip of his tongue darts out between his lips as he turns for one last look at Nate, nearly lost in the mess of blankets on the bed. Reid wants to tell him that he's sorry it's going to happen like this, but that he doesn't blame him.

That he can't think of anything better to die for.

Instead he turns back to the doorway, sees another flash of red. And goes running out into the dark, kicking up the powdery snow, his gun trained on the spot where he's sure she will reappear.

Except she doesn't.

He stops, his panting breath clouding the night air as he spins, searching for her footprints, any sign of movement-

Fifty feet to his left, weaving through the woods but closer to the cabin now. She hasn't seen him yet, her eyes focused on the small structure.

He should just kill her now. Some part of him knows that, but he's been a marshal for too long. It's too ingrained that he can't just shoot someone in the back.

So he tries to move closer but the night is just so damn silent; even the small crunch of snow under his boots echoes like a firecracker.

She whirls, her own gun drawn, her mouth set hard. And he's ready, his finger itching on the trigger, ready to squeeze, his mind blanking into that white, staticky place where it's all distant enough for him to be able to kill.

But then she smiles at him, her mouth small and pink and so much more delicate than he would have ever expected it to be, and it makes him hesitate.

She seems strangely, irrationally, soft. He'd imagined her more like Nathaniel - strong and controlled, every movement deliberately planned. Instead she moves fluidly, almost ethereal in the frozen woods, and the only trait he can find in common with Nate is that same almost unworldly beauty.

He'd hoped that it would be like this, that she wouldn't remind him of Nate, because he'd believed that it would somehow make her easier to kill. It doesn't, of course; it feels nearly impossible, infinitely harder than it was with Devon, because now he knows who she is.

He knows that this woman had an influence - however small - that helped shape Nate into the man he has become. The one that Reid loves. And that knowledge makes the gun feel so heavy in Reid's hand, turning it into a cold, foreign weapon instead of the natural extension of his body that it used to be.

So even though his aim is good enough at this distance that he knows he'll at least achieve mutually assured destruction, he just waits.

And listens.

"You must be the infamous Marshal Logan. Our mutual friend Lonnie's a big fan," Elsa calls, her voice as small and light as the rest of her.

"Aw, come on now. No need to add being a liar to your list of sins."

She smiles. "What makes you think I'm the sinner out here?"

"Your brother says so. You are Elsa, right?"

"Yes, and I have many brothers. Only one of them is against me - what makes you so sure he's the one that's right?"

"I'm generally on the side of the people who aren't cold-blooded killers."

"Then you're not on Nathaniel's side either."

Somewhere during this exchange they've started moving, circling one another, slowly drawing closer as they weave through the snow and trees in some kind of horribly macabre dance.

"So where's all your backup?"

"Right here," she says, waving her gun. "Names are Smith and Wesson. I could introduce you if you'd like, but that's really up to you."

"In that case, I think I'd prefer not to be shot. Thanks."

"That's perfectly alright with me; it's always so messy killing a cop. So just hand over Nathaniel, let this little family matter sort itself out, and you can go right back to whatever life you were living before."

"No way in hell."

"Let's be honest here, Reid. You're never going to win. Either you walk away or I kill you both right now. And even if by some miracle you take me out, someone else will come. I called it in the minute I found you."

They've circled until they're nearly out of the woods, so close to the cabin that he's standing in the deep imprints his footsteps made when he'd first run out after her. The blizzard has cleared out and it's all so perfectly crisp - the night black and everything covered in a perfect blanket of white snow.

"What if he stops?"

The question surprises them both, crawling out of Reid as if of its own volition. He has never even allowed himself to consciously think about Nate quitting before, but now that the idea is out there - his voice broken and pleading at the same time as it forms the alien words - he can't help but feel an almost painful surge of wild hope.

"What if he just disappears and never testifies? There's no more threat to your family. You go back to life the way it was before, Nate leaves the country, and no one has to die."

She arches an eyebrow, suspicious. "Aren't you marshals all about protecting the testimony? Don't you realize that even if you could get Nathaniel to agree to that, your case would fall to pieces?"

"Yeah, well, I don't really care about that so much anymore."

Shocked silence stretches across a long moment, one where the hope that surges through Reid's chest takes root and he can see it all - walking away from everything with Nate, living long and happy lives far from anyone who has ever even heard the name Angelev.

It's beautiful and shining and so fragile, everything hanging on the next few seconds.

Understanding finally breaks over Elsa's face, a cruel smile curling her lips as she shakes her head in a mockery of pity. "Oh, Reid, you foolish man. You've fallen in love with him. How could you not know better than to love an Angelev? It's not like any of us are capable of returning it."

The gun is so heavy and the night is so terribly cold. Reid's arm is shaking, trembling as he teeters between a life with Nate or none at all. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Elsa's free hand comes up to brace her gun, her eyes narrowing as she lines up her shot. "My original offer still stands. You can walk away and live a nice, long life. But Nathaniel - he's too broken. Too much of a liability. That threat has to be...mitigated."

And that's the moment when Reid knows, with absolute certainty, that he's going to die.

The last warm vestiges of hope drain away, leaving him numb and hollow. Every last-ditch attempt has failed; Elsa's going to shoot him.

He can only hope to take her down with him.

Everything slows down but Reid still feels like he can't keep up, his mind only capturing fragmented pieces.

Elsa, only about ten feet away now. Her eyes sharp, her aim true.

The gun in his hand feeling familiar again, like the only power he has left in the world.

His jaw clenching as he swallows, a shaky, terrified smile playing at the corners of his lips as he makes one last conscious thought.

I love you, Nate.

Always.

And then he pulls the trigger.

There's an answering flash of fire in the darkness, the silence cracked like glass and shattered by the contained explosions. Snow shakes off the tree branches, breaking the perfect blanket on the ground.

Reid doesn't even feel the pain, not really. It's the heat that surprises him, something like hot lead pouring down his side, soaking his shirt and jeans as he stumbles forward, stares down at the red hair fanned across the snow.

She's so pale and delicate, someone Reid would have thought was pretty in another life. But all he sees now is that she's still twitching, her mouth opening like a gasping fish.

She's still a threat.

Reid fires twice more, makes sure she goes still as his vision grows fuzzy at the edges. And then he falls beside her, the world swirling into blackness, their blood intermingling and melting the snow between them.