AN: My version of that incredible season 2 ending. One-shot for now but I'd be happy to continue if you want. Would love to hear your thoughts. As always, enjoy!
There's something wrong and it's not a gunshot.
Her expression is too calm, too contained. It's the shock, he thinks, but no, it's something else as well and anxiety grows within him. When he tells Dembe goodbye, it feels strangely final. At least for now, it's just him and Lizzie.
If she lets him. If whatever is on her mind won't sabotage his plans.
He wasn't shocked when he heard the news. Surprised certainly, but not shocked. He doesn't know the exact circumstances, not yet, doesn't know what exactly made her pull the trigger, but she's always been a fighter, a warrior. It's who she is. It's what she's capable of.
He knew what he had to do. He always suspected that one day he'd have to make this call, get on a plane, take her with him. There was something so classic about it, the agent and the criminal. This is how legends start. But he doesn't have time to think of fairytales. She's put herself in grave danger, has made herself a target of both worlds. Expects him to save her.
Now you see? You make it sound like treason, so black and white. It's not, it's green.
"I remember," she says as he walks towards her and he stops. He thinks he misunderstood. He hopes he misunderstood.
"I remember everything." She says it again as if it's nothing. As if this isn't earth-shattering to the both of them.
He asks for no reason in particular, maybe his own peace of mind or whatever is left of it, because of course he knows what she's referring to. That one fateful night. Her memory that ceased to exist at his command. Because no child should live with the guilt of killing her father. Because she can't be held responsible for her actions. Just another gun, just another trigger. And a powerful man falling to the floor all those years ago. Cruel, relentless. And yes, incredibly powerful. Sometimes justice works in strange ways.
"I know what happened."
It stings. The mere admission, it hurts him and he can't take his eyes off her. He needs her to retell the tale, needs to know what she remembers, even though he can barely breathe. The way she looks at him causes his defenses to shatter, causes all the disguises he had so carefully crafted to vanish irreversibly. He had tried so hard to protect her; he had failed so miserably.
And now it's over. And he's still listening to her confession.
"That's why you blocked my memory. Not to protect yourself…To protect me."
She's waiting for his reaction- a sober confirmation is all he can utter. There's a storm coming his way, devastating and all-encompassing, ready to break him. Everything seemed to make sense earlier, he had a plan as he always does, and he's used to being on the run, has been for the last twenty years, and yet this is so much more consequential. He's at a complete loss and he knows she's never seen him like this but he doesn't know how to make it stop. And what if she leaves?
But her expression is not what he anticipated and when he sits down next to her he leaves no room between them and she, well, she doesn't move away and at least there's comfort in that. He can feel it, her eyes fixed on him, the weight on his shoulders as she comes to her final conclusion, you're my sin eater, and it sounds sympathetic, maybe even grateful, but certainly not angry. And he's struggling, takes his time, wants her to stay, wants her to just stay because this is not what he intended for her. He never wanted her to be like him.
He expects many things, terrible things, agonizing things. He expects rejection, braces himself, and his hand trembles, it trembles because he is terrified of losing her and he just wants her to hold on. The thought of touching her right this moment, well, it would be everything to him. Absolution and forgiveness. Vulnerability and trust. There's always been such a strong pull between them.
It's much more of a reflex than a careful calculation but he can't seem to stop himself, he needs this, and when his hand finally covers hers it feels like a silent promise. Mere seconds, that's all he gets. She doesn't pull away. It's enough.
When the car approaches he leads her inside, his hand on her back.
"I'm scared," she tells him after minutes of silence.
"I know," he responds. "But it's going to be fine. You and I, Lizzie, we are going to be fine." And that's all he has to offer. She doesn't even ask where they're going. And then she leans her head on his shoulder and shuts her eyes and he stays completely still.
This is closure. This is redemption. This is her telling him she feels safe in the sweetest and most poignant of ways and he's never known a longing quite as strong as this.
He waits until he's certain, until he knows she's fast asleep. As he sinks down in his seat, he pulls her closer, puts his arm around her, softly takes hold of her hand. Turns and kisses her hair and memorizes every impossible detail of her body against his.
He can make them disappear, can weather the storm for both of them.
"We are going to be fine," he whispers once more.
He hopes she believes him.