AN: This will be two or three chapters. I would love to hear your thoughts so please leave a review if you can. Thanks for reading my stories! Enjoy!
He's staring again. She can feel it.
The intensity of his gaze, almost palpable in the small motel room they are currently occupying; her back turned towards him as she studies files scattered all over the shabby wooden desk.
He's so sure she won't notice. But the truth is she does. Every single time.
She never addresses it, never catches him by quickly turning around. Because it's not simply his eyes fixed on her- it's what accompanies it. The warmth that enlaces her, the reassurance. The mere fact that he's still there.
In the beginning she thought he looked at her with pity. Then, after a negotiation in Chicago had turned ugly, a bullet had grazed his arm and they had to retreat to one of his safe houses. Sitting across from him on the edge of the bathtub, she had cleaned the wound and bandaged it, only to find him looking at her with such gratitude and wonder that she could barely breathe. Then he had jumped up quickly, had thanked her for her assistance, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.
It took her twenty minutes to finally get up. It took her weeks to forget the poignancy in his eyes.
They have been on the run for months, have moved from lavish mansions to battered cabins, have driven through numerous states and flown to far-away countries. Escapes aren't supposed to be easy. .
After the first weeks had passed they managed to adapt a routine, managed to go from lucky improvisation to elaborate planning. He's got contacts in every part of the country, every part of the world, and it's impressive and intimidating and crucial to their survival.
They are together constantly, have both realized that privacy has become somewhat of a luxury. It only took them a couple of days to share a bed for the first time, mostly because she insisted, because she didn't think it was fair that he would have to make do with an uncomfortable couch while she was resting in a king size bed by herself. Because she didn't want to appear spoiled and ungrateful and because they were both adults and clearly these things don't have to be awkward. He had looked almost peaceful when he had woken up.
Most of the time he seems calm and reserved, tries to keep his distance and avoid constant hovering, even though he struggles. He would like to keep her close but he knows she needs some space, even with the FBI chasing them. He doesn't really know if she's still in shock or if she simply doesn't regret her actions. Maybe she's already come to terms with what she has done or maybe she never needed to. It's all rather complicated.
She learns something new about him every day. When she gets up for a glass of water in the middle of the night, she sometimes crosses paths with him in the kitchen and she cherishes these moments of innocence and discovery and domestic intimacy, just her and Red, discussing everything that comes to mind. Insomnia doesn't seem all that bad with good company, she thinks. And seeing Red in a plain white t-shirt and pajama pants is something else entirely. Something worth remembering.
He drinks a little too much sometimes, but she's learned when to leave him to it, has learned when to leave him alone. It seems like he is punishing himself though she doesn't quite understand what for. She's already fast asleep when he takes the last sip and whispers her name.
She breaks down twice.
The first time she feels too embarrassed to tell him. It's the middle of the night and she's by herself in a dark bedroom and she's weeping and doesn't know how to make it stop. Then she buries her face in a pillow and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, desperately hoping that Red won't hear her. It's an old house with thick walls and high ceilings and maybe her pain will stay isolated in this room with her and Red will never realize that she doesn't know how to bear the weight of it all. He's done everything he can. Maybe she just isn't strong enough.
The second time she can't quite escape quickly enough. They're having dinner, he's telling her stories of his travels, waits for her to call him out on his exaggerated fables, but she's not smiling. She's still, virtually frozen, except for her hands that are shaking nervously. He calls for her, doesn't know if she can hear him because she doesn't show any kind of reaction- Lizzie?- in fact she doesn't even blink- are you alright?- and then something snaps and Red is by her side, kneels down in front of her, takes her hand. She's crying and trembling, sheer panic written all over her face, and it's been years but he understands anxiety attacks all too well.
"Slow breaths, Lizzie. Just breathe. It's okay."
He stands, pulls her towards him, gently strokes her hair. He can feel her tears seep through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"You'll be okay".
They remain like this for quite some time, until the attack subsides.
Then he carries her upstairs, carefully puts her down on the bed. Makes sure her breathing is steady, her body is warm.
"We'll be okay," he tells her as he presses his lips to her temple.
When she joins him in the kitchen the next morning, he can barely speak a word.
"Thank you, Red." she tells him.
"For what?" he manages.
She moves closer to him and kisses his cheek.
"Always saving me."
He opens his mouth to respond but she's already stepped past him, completely oblivious to the wistful smile on his face.
There's an ache inside him that bears her name.
If only he could explain.