Chapter Thirty-eight

Reid goes back to work, sort of. He's setting up new witnesses with new lives, he's checking in on old ones having problems, he's filling out the shit-ton of paperwork that comes with working for the government. But it's all sort of gray, only half-thought out and performed by rote.

Thankfully nothing of real importance happens; he'd have probably gotten himself killed.

Because what he's really doing, every waking second of every day, is planning for April 5th. He's casing the courthouse, looking for any vulnerabilities, any way that the Angelevs can get to Nate the day the trial starts, the day Nate is scheduled to testify.

And there are thousands of problems - it's a public facility in the middle of the city. Until Nate makes it through those doors (and the guards and the metal detectors), he's an easy target. Not to mention that Reid has no idea where Nate will be coming from, which entrance he'll try to use, how cautious he'll be. He wishes they could talk, just once, before that day, but it's not like there was any emergency contact information in Nate's letter. And there have been no more sightings, no leads to follow no matter how ridiculous sounding.

Nate is a ghost in the wind.

But that doesn't really change anything; Reid believes what Nate told him in that letter. He will show up. He will testify.

They will be together.

Reid believes it so much that he convinces Christine to proceed with the trial on nothing more than a crumpled letter and Reid's word that Nathaniel will show.

"If he doesn't, it all falls apart," she says, shaking her head. "I'll be professionally ruined, the trial is over before it begins, you'll definitely be fired-"

"He's coming, Christine. I promise."

He believes it so much that he starts getting his few affairs in order, packing up his old life, getting ready to run. Because, now more than ever, he wants that life that Nate hinted at in his letter. The one where the two of them are together, even though Reid has no idea what that will really be like.

But it doesn't matter, because he knows enough. He knows it will mean waking up every morning with Nate's warm breath on his neck. It will mean falling asleep every night with their feet tangled together under the blankets. It will mean adventure and excitement and danger; it will mean dozing lazily in front of a TV movie after cold, leftover pizza.

It won't be perfect, but it will be better than that. It will be real.

So Reid lets the lease on his apartment expire, sells off the bit of furniture he'd picked up over the years. He never moved out of Ben's guest room after he got out of the hospital - it had seemed like a waste of the small bit of time they had left together, and besides, Ben and Janie seem to like having him around.

He makes plans. He gets ready.

And he believes.

*******

Andy can sense it.

Reid's just too calm after he comes back from Reno, too at peace with this whole Nate-is-staying-on-his-own-until-trial plan. And while there are many words that could describe the Reid Logan he has come to know and love, zen is not one of them.

So it doesn't take long before Andy hauls him into his office after hours, a mostly-full bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the desk between them, and wastes no time getting to the point.

"You're thinking about running away with him."

Reid just leans back in the chair, takes a swallow of whiskey and relishes the slow burn of it sliding down his throat. "Not just thinking. It's going to happen."

"Reid-"

"This is it, Andy. This is my shot. From the very beginning of this whole thing, I was so sure that the Reid and Nate story had to end bloody or depressing. But we've been through the bloody and depressing parts, and we're still here. We're still fighting, and we're going to make it through this. So I'm not going to let him go again. Not ever."

Andy knocks back his drink without any pleasure. There's no talking Reid out of this; that much is clear from one glance at him. But Andy's got his piece to say, and he couldn't look himself in the mirror tomorrow if he didn't at least try to get it out.

"Alright, look. I get that it's all romantic and exciting out there on the road. You basically took one long vacation with the guy, with the added thrill of danger in the mix. Hell, who wouldn't fall in love under those conditions?"

Andy pours them both another drink, scratches at his beard. "But that time is over. And I think you need to just take a second, now that you're back in your real life, to look around at all the things you'd be giving up. And I want you to really ask yourself if it's worth it. If it is, that's great. Be with Nathaniel, get married if you want. I'll buy you a waffle iron and walk you down the damn aisle."

He downs his second drink, stares at the amber drops still clinging to his glass. "You don't have to answer me right now; I just want you to think on it. Make sure that the juice is really worth the squeeze, so to speak."

Reid nods and finishes his drink. He doesn't tell Andy, because he knows this little speech was made out of love, but it was completely unnecessary.

Reid already knows the answer.

*******

April 4th and Reid, Ben, and Nathaniel are all drunk.

Reid hasn't lost his faith - he's convinced that Nate will show tomorrow. But that didn't stop him from spending the whole day furiously running around the city, checking with every informant he's ever heard of to see if anyone matching Nate's description has rolled into town.

Nothing.

It's cold and dark by the time he trudges back home. And Janie takes one look at him before wrapping him in a blanket and handing him a tumbler filled generously with whiskey, patting his arm comfortingly.

Reid pouts on the couch for an hour before stumbling bleary-eyed into his room. His bag is packed, his suit for tomorrow's trial hanging alone in the closet. A tacky tourist shirt for Kansas, something he'd bought for Nate on a whim, sits folded on the pile of his clothes. It was supposed to be symbolic, somehow - the beginning of their next world tour together. But Nate is just going to have to be okay with getting it slightly used, because Reid's tugging it over his head, craving the comforting hope it holds and too hammered to be able to restrain himself.

*******

Ben stays up all night working the internet and phones, drinking his way through a six-pack and desperately trying to find out if Nathaniel is going to show up. He doesn't have quite the faith that Reid does.

But he gets the same answers that he's heard every time he's asked about Nate since Vermont. No one's seen him. No one's heard anything.

He rubs his burning, tired eyes, giving himself a second to send up a fervent prayer that Nate is still alive.

*******

He is.

The reason none of Ben and Reid's informants have seen Nate is because he's still three towns over. It'll mean waking terribly early to get to court on time, but he'd rather do that than risk spending even one night in the hornet's nest of Angelevs that he's sure have swarmed in for the trial.

He's nervous for a hundred reasons, mostly to do with his testimony, but also related to the small box he picked up the day before.

He wishes he could talk to Reid about everything; he knows he can't.

So he drinks himself into an early, blacked-out sleep not long after the sun sets, the box clutched protectively to his chest.

*******

The night passes slowly for all three of them.

And then, strangely, the sun rises like it always does. It's completely unremarkable, nothing to show that April 5th is any different from every day that has preceded it.

They all sigh, turn away from the sun lighting their separate windows.

They're terrified, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters until they're together.

*******

Reid's prowling around outside the courthouse not long after dawn. He never really slept and he can't be sure if he's still drunk or just sleep deprived; he's jittery and anxious and excited and nauseous.

His suitcase is in the Camaro's trunk; he made sure to hug Janie extra-tightly when he'd handed her coffee mug to her that morning.

Because this is it. If they make it through today, Reid's teetering on the edge of a brand new life. It's terrifying.

His phone buzzes for the fourth time in the last hour, each time with an increasingly frantic and threatening text from Christine. This one reads, If he doesn't show up, I'm going to force-feed you your own deep-fried ballsack and then sit back and cackle mercilessly.

Reid shudders, but deletes it without responding, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Ben is pacing beside him, the spring breeze ruffling his ridiculous hair.

"Benny, I gotta tell you something."

Ben stops, his face stone, his eyes wary. And Reid knows that Ben and his giant fucking brain have already figured out what he's going to say, but he's got to get it out anyway.

"If he shows - when he shows..." Reid trails off, rubbing at his face as he tries to find the words. "Even if we put them all away for life, he won't ever be safe. There's too many Angelevs, they're too powerful. They'll have him killed from prison just for revenge."

Ben exhales slowly, dropping his chin to his chest, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"You're going to run. Permanently."

Reid's hands are jammed in his pockets, balled into fists so tight that his blunt nails bite into his palms. "Yeah. As soon as he's off the stand." He has to blink and look up to fight back the tears. "I wanted you to know."

Ben wants to argue, to tell Reid that he's throwing his life away and that he'll never feel truly safe or happy again.

But he can't, not without lying. He's seen too much of Reid since Nathaniel ran away; he knows now that the only shot Reid's got at real happiness is if he does exactly what he's planning.

So Ben rakes his fingers back through his hair and looks away, breathes deeply until he's sure he can keep his voice from cracking.

"I get it, man. I do. I just want you to be happy." He pulls out the burner phone he used to keep in touch with Reid during his last exile, the one Reid gave him when their partnership started so many years ago. "And I'll always be here if you need me. No matter what."

They hug, tight and bittersweet, feeling lonelier already. And they stay like that for a long time, both trying to surreptitiously wipe their eyes on the other's jacket. Reid uses his pickpocket skills one last time, dropping something in Ben's jacket pocket without his notice before he pulls away.

*******

Hours pass; the media has swarmed the outside of the courthouse, a jostle of dozens of reporters and cameramen, each of them shouting different questions at everyone that walks toward the front doors.

The wind is light and warm; Reid hates that he's missed the beginning of spring with Nathaniel. He'd have taken him to New York to watch the last of the snow melt from Central Park, to Georgia to see the dogwoods bloom.

He understands why Nate left, he really does. But it doesn't stop him from being sad that they missed so much time together, so he tries to focus on the fact that they've got the rest of their lives to make up for it.

If he ever shows up.

Nate's stepmother, Naomi, and the defense attorney, Karl, sweep up the courthouse steps in a flurry of flashbulbs and unanswered questions shouted from the press. In contrast, Christine slips in relatively unnoticed, pausing only to glare meaningfully in Reid's direction.

There are marshals and cops everywhere. They've made everything as safe as possible for Nate, and so far, everything has been fine. No one has spotted any known Angelev associates, but Reid's not naive enough to believe that there aren't any there.

Still, every time Reid's radio crackles to life, everyone checking in over and over, the report is the same - there's no sign of any trouble.

But Reid won't let them stand down and he doesn't leave his post.

Because the time for trial to start has come and gone, and there's still no Nate.

Inside the courtroom, Christine delivers her opening statement, pacing before a jury as she tries to sell them on a case that she no longer has faith in. And out on the front steps, Reid is rapidly losing his mind, sure that the only reason Nate isn't there yet is because something has gone horribly wrong.

Reid's stomach ties itself in new and intricate knots with every terrible scenario that comes to mind - that Nate has been caught, that he has been killed, that he will never show up here and Reid will never know what happened.

Reid has limited his pacing to the most crowded area, moving between the crush of reporters and the front doors. He's trying to watch everyone, to cover every possibility, to check behind the trees and columns and news vans and the hundred other places that an Angelev could be hiding. He fidgets, thinking about just standing completely out in the open, exposed and conspicuous so that when Nate shows up, Reid can be sure that he's seen.

Fuck the dozen other Angelevs that I'm sure are here with their sniper guns. They don't matter. Only Nate matters.

But that's stupid, so Reid ducks behind a column to catch his breath for a second, the fear that Nate really might not ever arrive coming alive in his chest and clawing him apart from the inside.

And then Nate is just suddenly there, his hands moving to shape what have just become the two best words in the entire motherfucking universe.

"Hello, Reid."

Reid stares at him, scraped raw with worry and hope, his eyes already watering as he tries to process that yes, it really is him, it's all going to be okay.

"Christ," he breathes, hauling Nate in against him, burying his face in Nate's warm neck and balling his hands in the back of his coat. Reid's hanging on as if he believes that by squeezing hard enough he can fuse them together, make one giant Reid-and-Nate person that's too strong and solid to be vulnerable, a whole that can never be divided again.

Nate manages to push back just enough that they're facing each other from inches away and Reid opens his eyes for a moment, letting himself take in all the tiny details of Nate that he'd missed - the way his nose crinkles a bit when he smiles and the dark stubble that's always dotting his cheek, the exact curve of the perfect dimple in his chin and his constantly unruly hair. But he mostly focuses on the way Nate feels under his hands, the hard, compact warmth of him, the solid thrum of his heartbeat, every thud ebbing at Reid's fear until it finally washes away.

Reid looks into Nate's eyes and smiles to himself. He'd been wrong, lying in bed a month ago and sure that he had to be remembering their color too intensely, that they couldn't possibly be that blue.

They are; they're perfect.

And that's all the time he gets to study Nate before he's shoved back against the pillar, Nate's hands running through Reid's hair as he seals their lips together, kissing hard and desperate. Their tongues slide together hungrily, and it's as if Ben isn't there, as if there aren't hundreds of people nearby, as if Nate isn't about to walk inside that building and do the most dangerous thing he has ever attempted.

It's a perfect moment, frozen and timeless, and if either of them were having any doubts about the choices that led them here, they all disappear.

But - eventually - they still have to breathe.

So when his lungs begin to burn Reid tears his lips away, gasping.

"Thank God," he murmurs, more reverent about those words than he's been in his entire life. He rests his forehead against Nate's, both their eyes squeezed shut as they breathe one another in. "I was so worried."

And Nate can't seem to loosen his fists, clenched so tightly in Reid's shirt that he's sure he's tearing it, but he can't bring himself to care. He just wants to tell Reid everything - how much he loves him and how much he missed him, how desperately he wishes that this day was already over and that they could focus on really starting their lives together.

Instead, all he can say once he turns Reid loose is, "Me, too. I apologize for being late."

Reid laughs and takes a small step back, holding Nate at arm's length so he can look him over, make sure he's real and here and as perfect as he feels.

He's as disheveled as always - his tie is loose and crooked, hanging over a white shirt. And he's wearing another boring blue suit that Reid's sure he picked up at Goodwill, along with an ill-fitting black trench coat.

He looks incredible.

"Dammit, Nate, there's so much I wanted to say, but I can't remember any of it now. The only thing I can think of is how much I fucking love you."

And then one of the things he's forgetting buzzes in intrusively, in the form of yet another text from Christine. Reid wants to ignore it, he wants to stay in this perfect, happy bubble for just a few moments longer, but he knows he can't.

"Fuck, Christine, alright, I get it," he mumbles, looking up at Nate apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's just that the trial has already started-"

"It's okay, Reid. We'll have all the time in the world to talk later...right?"

And Reid has been taking it so for granted that they would run away together after the trial that he didn't realize until this exact moment, in the hesitant way Nate's hands shook at the end, that Nate hasn't actually heard him say any of that.

So Reid cups Nate's face in both his hands, staring into his eyes with a grin like sunshine, warm and bright and filled with the promise of tomorrow. "We'll have our whole lives, Nate."

Nate can't help but smile back, letting himself bask for just a second, the small pit of uncertainty in his stomach filling in, disappearing. Letting himself really feel that just on the other side of his testimony waits his happily-ever-after.

"Let's get this over with, then," he says before closing his eyes for a moment, taking a breath so deep it makes his chest swell. And when he opens them again, there's that look of blued steel that Reid saw at the deposition, the one that convinced him that Nate was willing to do anything to take his family down.

They both nod, their thoughts the same.

It's time to finish this.

Nate pulls back, gestures for Reid to lead the way.

And that's when Ben walks over to join them, seeing in their faces that the personal moment is over. He stands close to Nate, signals at Reid that they're ready to move.

Reid knows better than to allow what's about to happen.

He knows he should draw his gun before he leaves the small cover of the column. He should be worried, even there, only steps from the courthouse door, even with the heavy marshal presence, even with Nathaniel finally at his side and healthy.

But he's too overwhelmed; he's too invested.

He strides out into the sunlight blithely, reaches for the courthouse door to hold it open for Nate.

Nate takes a single step forward, scanning the crowd nervously. And something blinds him for a second, sunlight glinting off the metal inside one of the reporter's coats.

Nate squints, looking harder, and it's like the world has suddenly been drowned in molasses; everything is so slow that Nate can see every detail.

He sees the reporter drop the microphone he was holding, drawing a gun instead. Nate glances at the man's face and realizes, a second too late, that it's not a reporter at all.

Hair that was once the same shade of black as Nate's own, now gone iron gray. Deep frown lines etched around a full mouth and between thick eyebrows, a solid build that's turning to fat in his old age.

It's Charles, Nate's father. The man that had once loved his youngest son the best, that had wanted to put his entire empire in his hands. The one that had set up Samuel to spy on Nathaniel, the one that had trafficked in fear and anger for so long that he had turned his entire family into monsters. The one that's now here, with a gun, and he's smiling, his dark eyes burning with hatred and revenge.

Nate spins and sees Reid, still grinning and oblivious as he tries to usher Nate forward.

Nate flicks his eyes back to his father and follows his aim, sees that he's not the one currently in the cross-hairs. Charles is aiming at the doorway, at the man waiting to walk him inside.

Because Charles's plan is to take out Reid and let Nathaniel live just long enough to see it, just long enough to feel that extra agony before he dies.

And his father is going to succeed, because Reid's not looking. He's watching Nate, not the crowd, and he's going to get shot.

Again.

Because of Nate.

Again.

Penelope's voice, unbidden, floats through his ears.

Remember who you are.

And Nate doesn't stop to think, because he realizes now that it isn't his vow of nonviolence that's keeping him from being the criminal he used to be or the man that his family always wanted him to become. It's something inside him, something intrinsic to the way he was made, some flaw in the mighty Angelev design. It makes him capable of love. Of loyalty.

And it gives him the strength to do the right thing.

Ben is beside him, his gun holstered at his belt only a few inches away from Nathaniel. And then it's not; then it's in Nate's hand, his thumb flicking off the safety with familiar ease.

He feels the cool metal under his fingertips and the comforting weight of the gun. He hasn't carried one since Reid made him hold his spare all those months ago in Lansing, hasn't fired one in even longer, but it doesn't seem to matter. His arm raises as if on its own, his gaze tunneling down to Charles at the far end of his barrel. He aims easily, as if Charles's head were a magnet drawing the bullet to him.

Nate exhales slowly, and he squeezes the trigger.

So does Charles.

Two shots echo through the portico, lightning followed by the thunder of a hundred screams, reporters and lawyers and civilians running like ants from a kicked over mound, crouching low to stay out of the fire.

Nate doesn't see any of them. He sees Reid, standing exactly where he was, his face frozen in shock. He sees the shot Charles had intended for him, gone wild and embedded in the now-fractured stone three feet above Reid's head.

He turns; sees the scuffed soles of Charles's shoes as he lies bleeding on the courthouse steps. He's not moving.

Nate's seen enough; he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting Ben take the gun before sagging into Reid's waiting arms.