Chapter Thirty-four

Stage Two: Anger

It was one tiny, insignificant fight.

Not even a fight - just a sucker punch. That's all Nathaniel had gotten in before the guy went down...besides, he shouldn't really be blamed for it. It wasn't his fault that the man who was in front of him in the dinner line at the homeless shelter looked exactly like the desk clerk from the motel in DC, the one that Nathaniel has figured out gave them away to Elsa and sent her - and her gun - straight for Reid.

The one that ruined everything.

So Nate had hit him. It seemed perfectly rational at the time.

But now the anally-retentive man who runs the shelter is standing guard in front of the doors with his arms crossed over his chest, blocking Nathaniel from coming inside.

"You can't stay here, son. Not in your condition; can't have you starting a fight like last night."

Nathaniel glares. He entertains one recklessly dangerous second where he pictures himself tossing the sweater-vest wearing jackass into the door behind him, scrawling words angrily across the tiny pad of paper he's started carrying around. Fuck your so-called charity. Do you think I need this from someone like you? I'm an Angelev, you ass.

Instead, he just clenches his fists so tightly that he can feel his jagged, chewed-up fingernails cutting into his palms and walks away stiffly.

He'd never imagined his life could get this low - tossed out of a homeless shelter for beating up a stranger.

But he's just boiling with rage, blind with it, itching to beat the feeling into someone else. He strides down the sidewalk, no clear direction in mind, every cell in his body churning with the conviction that it wasn't Reid's fault that any of this happened. He didn't deserve it. Neither of them did.

That fucking clerk deserves it, though. He deserves a lot worse.

Nate stops so abruptly that the woman walking down the sidewalk behind him nearly runs straight into his trench-coat-covered back.

That clerk is the reason I lost Reid, the reason I'm like this.

And I'm going to go give him exactly what he deserves.

Nate heads straight for the bus station and buys the next available ticket for DC. And he spends the whole ride plotting his revenge - he won't kill the guy, he's not that far gone - but he's hungry to pound that stupid acne-ridden face in, to feel that nose snap under his fists, to teach him exactly what it means to screw over someone like Nathaniel Angelev.

He practically runs to the motel when he arrives, bursting through the front door with such intensity that the stringy-haired woman behind the desk nearly falls out of her chair.

"Where is he?!" Nate scrawls on his paper, shoving it into her face. He's somehow even more furious that the clerk isn't there.

"Who?" She asks, her voice wavering, her hand reaching for the gun she keeps stashed under the counter.

"The other clerk, the one who worked here on Christmas. Where did he go?"

She bites at her lip, shakes her head. "All Souls Cemetery. Some lunatic sliced his throat open while he was working." She pulls the gun up and levels it at Nate, but she's shaking so hard that the barrel is waving around. "That's not gonna happen to me."

Some lunatic.

Elsa. Elsa was the lunatic.

And she killed some poor teenager because she was trying to find me.

And just like that, all the fight drains out of Nate. The clerk can see it, the sagging of his shoulders, the way he almost seems to grow shorter.

She lowers the gun; Nate nods at her and trudges back out the door.

*******

"I need to be inside of you, Reid." Nate is urgent, desperate, his pleading voice somehow magically restored and growling next to Reid's ear as he fucks him, hard, from behind.

Reid grunts, feeling Nate's balls slapping his ass, feeling the cowboy hat slip down on his forehead. "You are inside me, Nate, you feel so good-"

One of Nate's hands leaves Reid's hip. There's the soft clink of metal behind him before Nate's hand flashes around to where Reid can see it.

He's clutching a shining silver blade.

"No, not like this. This isn't enough. I need to touch the parts of you no one ever should-" Nate thrusts the knife into Reid's side, sending stabbing, searing pain burning through him, blinding him, making him fold over himself protectively and crumple to the floor.

Nate looms over him, squinting down, his head tilted curiously. "Now I've been inside you like I wanted, Reid. Like an Angelev should be."

Reid snaps awake in a sweat, his hospital gown tangled around his thighs and the staples in his side pulling painfully. There's a small trickle of blood running from one down his side and he swipes at it, irritated.

He's been confined to this hospital bed for days now, and with every passing hour he heals a bit more, has a bit more energy to funnel into what has quickly escalated into a full-on rage. His furious rants have become such a common occurrence that the only time he's bearable to be around is when he's asleep.

"Goddamned son of bitch," Reid mutters, pushing back the hair plastered to his forehead. "How could he be so stupid? How could he have not trusted me?"

Ben, seeing the tidal wave of swearing and screaming bearing down on him, takes the opportunity to sneak out by claiming that he needs to call home. He's really just going to hide in the hospital cafeteria and nurse cup after cup of shitty coffee, because even though Reid is seriously pissing him off, it still feels wrong to fight with someone with a hole in his gut.

Andy, however, has got no such qualms.

So when Reid fully wakes up and gets going on his fourth tirade of the day, Andy throws down the crossword puzzle he was idly working and leans so far over the bed that Reid can see the spit bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth when he yells.

"You want to fight, Reid? Great. Me, too. Let's have it out. But what could I possibly want to fight with you about, hmm? Oh wait. I know. We can start by talking about that trust you keep saying that Nathaniel should have had in you. You're pissed off that he didn't trust you?"

Andy leans in even closer, the bill of his busted baseball cap nearly pushing against Reid's forehead.

"Let me tell you something about trust, boy. Trust is something you earn over years of working with people, of having their back and proving yourself, time and time again. It's something powerful, something that should be respected enough that when a trusted person tells you to get your ass back home, that you need help and aren't seeing things clearly, you pay them some GODDAMNED FUCKING ATTENTION."

"Andy, I did what I thought was right. And it was right - I kept him alive! For fuck's sake, I nearly died making sure that Nate stayed alive."

"Which would have never happened if you had just listened and trusted me when I said to bring him back!"

Something curls dangerously tight deep inside Reid, something that narrows his eyes and makes his voice become a low growl.

"I had damn good reasons to stay on the run. How was I to know that he was going to run off and ditch me while I was unconscious?"

"You should have known because that's your job! You were thinking about this one with your dick, and look where it got you. Lying there alone, pitying yourself like a little bitch, with nothing but staples holding your guts in."

It's so painfully true that all the fire and rage that's been building for days finally boils over, exploding like a volcano in Reid's chest. He strains to sit up as close to Andy's face as he can, gripping the handrails on the bed so tightly that his knuckles ache.

"I WAS DOING MY JOB. I GAVE EVERYTHING TO KEEP THIS FROM HAPPENING, SO FUCK YOU, ANDY! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!"

Reid is screaming so loudly that a worried nurse pokes her head into the room; Andy flicks his eyes to her and waves her away. When he turns back to Reid his entire expression has changed, softened.

"You're right," he says quietly, emphasizing every word until he's sure it makes its way through Reid's thick skull. "You did everything you could, and you had good reasons to run. Just like I'm sure Nathaniel's got a damn good reason for leaving like he did. So you've just got to find a way to let it go and focus on getting better."

And now that he's finally vented it, now that someone has heard and understood him, Reid can feel the anger beginning to dissipate. The hot rage that was pouring through his veins slowly cools, and he takes a deep breath and nods. He's fighting to blink rapidly enough to keep back the tears that have sprung up and surprised him, but one manages to escape and slide down his cheek.

He turns his face away.

"Thanks, Andy," Reid whispers.

"Shut up, you idiot." The words are harsh but the tone is affectionate, a small smile curling at lips hidden beneath a thick beard. "Get some sleep."