Had no idea why I spent so long plotting and writing this. Guess I was just pissed that Steve died at the end. To me, it looked like that Steve was killed by the director and script writer. They didn't how to make them get along, so they killed Steve, even though there were chances to make it work. I thought the movie owed me a better ending. And apparently I can't get that from them. So…I made my own.

Maybe no one would ever read this… But for any sweetie who sees this and opens this page, thank you! Thank you very much! Hope you will like it. I liked it.

Being a best of the best Mechanics, Arthur sees everything and more. Every time before a mission, he plans for the necessities, the unexpected, the possibilities, and even the impossibilities. Therefore, it was not the moment when Arthur saw Harry's gun under Steve's jacket that he knew the boy would seek his vengeance. He knew from the beginning, even before Steve went to him. So of course, he was prepared for it.

After Arthur rolled away from the van one second before being swallowed in the flames, as he walked away calmly, his back to the earth-quaking explosions, he had this picture in his head, the picture of what was going to happen to Steve. He would go back to the lake house, sit on the sofa for a second, turn on the record that he hadn't been allowed to touch, and go to the garage to drive away the red Jaguar, being the worst student of all time, doing exactly what Arthur told him not to. And then Steve would see the note he left for him. He would give it a laugh, and then…

Boom.

Arthur knew that all these would happen. He knew Steve well enough to plan everything for him. The only thing he didn't know quite well and plan for is himself. It remained, and will still remain, a mystery why he agreed to train Steve in the first place. It definitely had little to do with redemption. If it did, he would have handed Harry's gun to Steve himself and waited for the bullet right after he killed Harry. And of course it was not to find a partner or a successor. Above everything, Arthur works best alone, which had been proven correct ever since Steve tagged along. Also, he knew from the beginning Steve was not equipped to be a Mechanic either physically or mentally. So why did he, against all odds, decide to take Steve in?

There is no exact answer to it. It is just the complexity in the humanity, and there is no way nor use to narrow it down. Or maybe, the answer is just as simple as that the lost look in Steve's green eyes got Arthur so bad that he could not refuse.

But now, everything is over. Arthur thought so as he stood in front of the ruins that used to be his lake house. He was right, and Steve is gone now, and he could finally be alone again and start a new life. Arthur wanted to feel the weight in his heart relieved. He didn't. Instead, there was this weird feeling of sorrow and lost that he was unable to defeat.

In the end, Arthur let out a breath. He slowly walked around the ruins and found the Jaguar in the garage. Wait, Arthur thought and stopped, brows furrowed. Seeing the Jaguar in the garage instead of outside seemed wrong. A thought flashed in Arthur's head, and he started to stride toward the Jaguar, which had little left of its gorgeous red glow.

As Arthur suspected and somehow also expected, no body remains were on the driver's seat. The explosions were huge for sure, but not so extreme to vaporize a body. Arthur's brain remained blank as he searched the ruins of the house, finding the torched bodies of Dean's hitmen, but nothing resembling Steve. And then he spent three hours sweeping the surroundings, the bushes, the lake, and the forest far behind. The sun set to the west, leaving a rich smear of orange and red on the house ruins, making it less morbid and depressing. A thought dawned on Arthur. Steve is still alive, out there somewhere. Arthur let out a breath, a relieved breath.

To be a best of the best Mechanics, apart from maintaining 100% mission completion rate, the ability of being untraceable is very important. A redundant number of various identities and distributed safe houses are required. Even though at the moment Arthur Bishop was publicly dead and no one should be looking for him, precaution still remained priority. However, instead of hiding somewhere far away, Arthur settled down in the nearest town late that night.

As soon as Arthur finished checking the neighbourhood and assured there was no potential threats, he got out his laptop and started looking. It was a searching website, an online black market for information, top secured, anonymous, and highly effective. Anything you want to know about anything or anyone, illegal or whatsoever, you will get at a reasonable cost of money.

Arthur uploaded a picture, and a request of "find where this man is now".

Two minutes later, there was a response with a number. 5000.

After Arthur transferred the required money, a line of address popped up on the screen, followed by a link. Arthur clicked on that link.

It was a live surveillance footage, which showed a filthy back alley in the pitch-black night. In the footage, Arthur recognized some figures that surely were a gang of bullies, beating a man curling on the ground beside some dumpsters. The image was so of poor quality that he could not see the victim clearly, but Arthur recognized the ridiculous hat and the ragged jacket. The beaten man was trying to fight back, struggling vainly. He seemed to be in a lot of pain. Of course, a slight concussion and some fractured ribs were guaranteed by standing near massive explosions.

Arthur could not stand any more of it. He shut the laptop and picked up the keys. Arthur stopped the moment he stood up and turned. He glanced at the keys in his hand, frowning, contemplating. Finally, he put keys back down, picked up the cell and dialled.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"There is a fight in the alley. I saw a man get beaten up."

"Can you tell me where the fight is, please?"

"Yes…"

When Steve woke up, he felt like his brain was about to explode, and so were his lungs. He was so weak that blinking cost almost all his strength. He let out a groan involuntarily as he tried to adjust his back a little bit. The nurse heard him as she was there, checking his infusion tube.

She leaned closer and said to Steve, "Hi, Mr. Mckenna. Welcome back. Don't move. There are no serious damages, but you will hurt if you do. If you feel nausea or want something, just move your right index finger, push the button beneath. And someone will come in to help. Okay? Just blink if you understand."

Steve blinked thankfully, and managed to ask, "where am I?"

"You are in hospital. Someone found you being bullied in an alley and called the emergency. Just go back to sleep. Everything is okay now." the nurse replied with a tired but kind smile. Steve blinked again, and fell back to darkness before he even noticed.

The next time Steve woke up, it was already the next late afternoon. A warm reddish gold veil of sunshine caressed the white cold room. Although Steve felt sore everywhere, and every time he breathed it felt like someone was stabbing him on his ribs, he felt restored enough to be able to think. Steve started recalling what had happened.

He remembered the van exploded at the gas station with Bishop on board. He went back to the lake house and started the vinyl, got into the garage, and took off the cover on the Jaguar. And then he saw the note on the seat and picked it up. Reading what was on it, Steve wanted to laugh. But a chill ran down his spine, and on a whim he got out of the garage and glanced at the house. He saw the flames blooming out of the windows. He ran, and was thrown into the lake before he got away far enough.

Everything happened afterwards was just a blur. Steve had impressions of some jerks beating him, the deafening siren and the flashing lights of an ambulance. Steve's head started to hurt again, and he pushed the button beneath his finger.

A nurse entered the room. Steve didn't know if she was the one who was here the first time he woke up. He heard the nurse saying, "Hi, Mr. Mckenna. How are you feeling now?"

"Better. Thank you." Steve murmured.

"Do you need anything?" the nurse asked politely.

"How did I get here? Who called the emergency? And…how did you get my name?" Steve felt his throat was rubbed by a piece of sand paper when he spoke.

"Oh, We found your Driver's License in your wallet. And it was an anonymous call." the nurse said, "you must be thirsty, I will bring you some water. It will be supper time in ten minutes. If you are hungry I can bring you something now."

"Water is fine, thank you." Steve nodded gratefully and closed his eyes.

Steve stayed in the hospital for five days. He was able to walk around on the third day's morning, and the first thing he did was go to the patients' cafeteria and use his charm to borrow a computer from a young lady fellow patient. He searched the internet and found the news about the explosion at the gas station. Steve read that there were no casualty in the explosion. He didn't feel much reading the words.

Killing Bishop was just something Steve felt he had to do at that moment after he found his father's gun. After all, Bishop killed his father. Even though Steve himself had a torn feeling about it.

Ever since he was informed of his father's death, he couldn't believe it. A carjack? Seriously? How could his father die of such a trivial cause, after living in so many legends, and fighting for his dignity in a wheelchair against getting old and severe diseases? But then he reminded himself of being outcasted and left behind by Harry McKenna. So at some point he just let go of the grief and made himself blame his father for what he could have done when he was still alive. It gave him some peace of mind.

And then he was with Arthur Bishop, being a mentee of his father's mentee, learning how to be a Mechanic. During that time one thought in his head started to grow. He started to think that he would prefer his father killed in the hand of a Mechanic. Comparing to a pathetic accident in a carjack, being eliminated by a Mechanic due to the hatred of a rival, or whatever was worth dying for, seemed to be a more honourable death for his father.

Being as naive and single-minded as Steve, he thought that it would be best to be killed by a best of the best Mechanics, which meant it would be Bishop. Then he realized that there were indeed possibilities that Bishop was the one who killed his father. It might not be just his frantic hypothesis. And the more he put his mind to it, it became more and more realistic. Steve was startled. And looking at the man who was omnipotent and everything he had to rely on, Steve shut himself down. He dragged himself from thinking any more of it because he knew what he would have to do if it's true. And that was not long before he found the gun.

Steve remembered his tears when he and Bishop had that conversation in the van. It was at that moment he felt his heart torn apart. Also at that moment he realized that Arthur Bishop meant much more than just his trainer and an indifferent friend. He had to kill him, for his father, for being deceived the whole time, but how could he kill him? Bishop gave him a new life, saved his life more than once, and was there with him at the worst and best times. Steve was even planning a future with Bishop-where they could go, how to lay low, and what to do to restart their career-after he killed the hitmen in the lake house.

And right there, everything was gone. He would have nothing left if he killed Bishop. But he could not persuade himself to stay with the man who killed his father. So Steve made up his mind. He put the gun under his jacket on purpose, so that Bishop could see. And he asked Bishop one last time at the gas station, not for what he wanted from the convenient shop, but for the truth. But Bishop said no. Bishop should know what he meant, but he refused confrontation. If he had told him the truth, Steve would not kill him. He would have driven himself to get around. That was his plan. But still, Bishop said no.

As Steve picked up the nozzle, he felt betrayed, desperate and furious. And the second after he pulled the trigger, Steve understood what Bishop had told him. He felt nothing at the moment, for killing someone he knew.

It was not the last two days Steve stayed at the hospital when he got around and decided he got it even and done. The moment he pulled that trigger he knew everything was over. He finished his revenge for his father. Whether Bishop was dead or alive it made no difference for him. But it was the last two days he stayed at the hospital when Steve realized how lost and pointless his life would become afterwards. He was alone again, left behind by everyone whom he admired and cared for.

No matter how bad and depressed Steve felt for his life, he didn't have a lot of time for it.

It was a sunny day when Steve got out of the hospital. Everyone seemed to be having a great day showering in the warm sunshine, except for Steve. Everything around him looked annoying, and the sun was so damn bright that he could not even open his eyes without tears pouring out. And when Steve got on the street, waiting for the first traffic light, a car stopped in front of him. Before he could even say a word, two men in suit got out, covered his head in a black bag, and pulled him in.

Three hours later, Arthur Bishop arrived at Rio de Janeiro–Galeão International Airport with a new identity of a man named Frank Wild. As he passed the arrival entrance, a slender boy came to him and handed him a cellphone. Before Arthur could grab the boy and asked him anything, he turned and dodged into the crowd. Arthur looked at the cell in his hand, and slid the screen unlocked. There was only one number in the Contacts, apparently waiting for his call.

"Hi, Arthur! Long time no see." A man's voice full of delight came through the receiver.

"Who is this?" Arthur asked, indifferent and uninterested.

"Oh, you don't remember your old pal Derek? It hurts me so bad!" the man named Derek sounded exaggeratingly painful.

"Derek Wickus. What do you want?" Arthur said. It actually was a surprise receiving a greeting from his old rival competitor whom he always beat. Arthur thought Derek should be the last one who would want to reach out to him at the time, because his fake death should loose the competition for him.

"You know, being a dead man you were too sentimental for your fellow human being. Aren't you supposed to wait seven days then rise up again to save anyone?" after a quick chuckle, Derek continued, "anyways, Arthur you made a big mistake killing your employer. And now the bigger boss is pissed off and he hired me to finish the mess. This looks bad for you, Arthur." Derek sounded worried but also a note of joy.

"So, what do you want?" Arthur asked again with the rest of his patience.

"I want your head, Arthur." Derek said in a lulling whisper, and then he spoke in a happy tone again, "you see, I personally would not want to have anything to do with you any more. However, I have a generous employer to entertain, and you know, it's only business. And speaking of business, I have your ex-business partner here. And oh my god, he is such a cute boy! Way to go Arthur, training your target's son into a monster like yourself."

There was a fake laugh, and Arthur felt himself clenching his fist.

"Here you go. You might want to have a word with your… what should I call him? Friend? trainee? Lover boy?" Derek's voice faded into distance.

"Bishop."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm hungry."

"I know."

"Bishop?"

"Yeah."

"Don't…don't come."

Before Arthur was able to reply, he heard the sound of fists landing on flesh. And Derek's voice came back in, "Such a naughty boy! You should have known he would be a bad student, and everything you did with him was a bad move. But thank for that, now I have a good load on my side of the lever. You would come here for the boy, right Arthur?"

"If you are so capable, why not just kill me right here and now? Let him go. He had nothing to do with this." Arthur relied, feeling angrier than he had ever felt, which made him even more furious.

"I am not a butcher, Arthur. A mechanic does the assignment as a work of art. Besides, what would be more fun than manipulating you, defeating you, and finally killing you? And by the way, I should tell you my plan if you don't comply, Arthur. If you don't come here, I would cut your little boy, put him in a blender pound by pound, make glasses of smoothie, and mail each to your front door no matter where you go."

"Where are you?" Arthur asked emotionlessly.

"Where it all started, Arthur. Where you murdered the little boy's father and broke his little heart. Come on, Arthur, join the party. You have 24 hours."

Being bounded to a chair and surrounded by a room of guards didn't seem to be a proper activity for an out-of-hospital celebration, especially when this was also a death trap set for Arthur Bishop using him as the bait. After hearing that motherfucker Derek told Bishop on the phone what it was all about, Steve seriously contemplated suicide so that Bishop wouldn't come for him. But then he wasn't even sure whether Bishop cared that much about him at all, so he didn't fuss. However, Steve heard Bishop asking where they were, and he was petrified by realizing what was going to happen.

Steve had not confidence but faith believing that Arthur Bishop would be able to not only survive but also win every catastrophe. But there still lied peril that he could not make it out alive. Also, it was completely different knowing nothing or them being in the same situation than being the risk that would cost Bishop's life. Above all, knowing that Bishop, the man who sees men as irrelevant objects, threats, or targets, would want to risk his life for him, Well, that alone had much more impact than a brainwash on Steve.

It was the longest 22 hours in Steve's life. Most of the time he remained blank-minded, not being able to comprehend anything. The fucker Derek seemed to be a good mood for telling tales, pouring out all his acid hatred for Arthur Bishop. Steve didn't get much of what he said, and did not even bother to feel pity for him.

When Steve finally glanced at the watch on the nearest guard's wrist and saw that there were only two hours left, the fucker Derek's phone started buzzing. He looked down at the caller ID and frowned. He went out to pick up the phone.

Ten minutes later, Steve had a black bag on his head again, and was carried out by two guards. He was pushed into a vehicle. After what seemed to be half an hour, they finally stopped. Steve was again carried rudely out of the car, which he really started to get sick of. As he was dragged to walk, he heard nothing but wind scraping the bag near his ears, and his own rapid breaths. As a result of Bishop's training, he caught an eye on the ground, and automatically registered that they were at an airfield, and by the sound of steps, there were another ten guards apart from the fucker Derek and himself.

Not too far off they stopped, and suddenly the black bag was taken off of him. After adjusting to the glaring sunlight, Steve saw Bishop. He was about 10 yards away, carrying an old man with a gun pointed to his temple. The old man was holding a cane for support. He seemed to be calm and uninterested in what was happening. Steve assumed he must be the reason why they came here.

"Hi, Arthur." The fucker Derek greeted coldly. "What are you doing?"

"Make sure you still care about your paycheque." Bishop said with a shrug, not directing an eye to Steve at all.

"Yes, I do. So now what? You want me to give the boy back to you?" The fucker Derek said as he pulled Steve close to him and pointed a gun at his forehead, "you know what, Arthur? Comparing to the money, I think I want you dead more. So if you think I would give a fuck about the old sucker in your hand, shoot him as you like. But I'm fucking sure you can't give up this little shit, can you?"

Just right at that moment, Steve shot a glimpse at Bishop, and caught his eyes. Bishop looked at him, and down at the ground.

He heard Bishop saying, "No, I can't."

Upon hearing the words, Steve flung himself down on the ground and closed his eyes. In a split second, he heard gunshots, and the thuds of men falling down beside him. Precisely, it was eleven cracks of shooting, followed by eleven men dying without a chance of scream.

It was all so surreal that Steve could not make himself open his eyes to see what just happened, until he heard foot steps coming toward him. When the sound of steps stopped, Steve finally opened his eyes only to see that Bishop was staring down at him, having that pissed-off, frowning expression on his face as usual. Then, he saw Bishop reached out his hand to him.

Bishop pulled Steve up and opened his cuffs, not looking at him the whole time. And Steve himself just could not pry his eyes off of him. When Bishop turned around and looked into the distance, Steve followed him and saw the old man walking away like nothing happened. There was a jet that Steve didn't notice at first apparently waiting to pick him up. Half way through the old man stopped, seemingly considering whether to turn back or not. Finally he started walking again, but raised one hand and waved.

"Let's go." Bishop said, and left without looking back.

They kept driving for hours，miles after miles. Steve had no idea where they were going, and Bishop apparently didn't want to share his plan. All the way they didn't exchange a word. But when there was daylight, it was not so hard sitting next to Bishop driving with a deadly straight face in suffocative silence. There were plenty of distractions, trees, crops, cows, and whatever that can prevent him directing his eyes to Bishop or starting a dumb conversation. But as time dragged on, the night came, everything outside of the car darkened and it seemed that they were isolated in this small compartment.

Steve started to feel that the silence was drowning out the air and the high beams ahead on the road were turning into ropes winding around his neck, strangling him to death. He felt harder and harder to breathe. Eventually, he lost it.

"Pull over." Steve said under his tidal breaths. He looked down upon his hands, and could not stop them shivering.

"That's not a good idea." Bishop replied, eyes fixed on the road.

"PULL OVER." Steve demanded again. He tried his best to tone down his voice, but carelessly failed.

Bishop must notice that there was something wrong with Steve, and eventually he gave in and pulled the car over to the shoulder. The second the car stopped, Steve stormed out, strode a few steps away, and took a deep breath. He stooped and had to support himself with his hand perching on his knees. Steve had always hated himself for being a disappointment, for knowing nothing, for being week, and right now he felt he was going to be crushed by self-loathing.

"Are you okay?" Bishop asked him a few steps away. He followed him out of the car, and he sounded bit worried.

"Am I okay?" Steve repeated with a hysteric laugh, "Am I okay, Bishop? Why do you ask? Why…why did you save me? I knew it was you who sent me to the hospital. Why? Why bother? You wanted to kill me back with that Jag, right? Why didn't you just leave me rot?" As he asked his questions, fury swelled in his chest and brought him to turn to Bishop. And he was basically yelling to Bishop by the end.

Bishop looked into his eyes, keeping silent for a few seconds. He looked away and back at Steve again, and simply replied, "I couldn't."

"What do you mean you couldn't?" Steve asked. He felt tears streaming down his face, but he was too busy to care.

"I couldn't. You asked me why I didn't leave you dead. I told you my answer. That's it. Now if you don't mind, get back in the car. We need to move." Bishop said firmly, looking at Steve with his death glare.

It was funny how the way Bishop looked at him and what he said to him still worked on Steve with him being so mad. It was like a spell. Anyways, Steve gave up and got back in the car as what Bishop told him to.

When they were back on the road, Steve fell into complete silence. He leaned his head on the window, and looked out into the void, with what Bishop told him lingering in his mind. He couldn't get over with Bishop's "I couldn't". Bishop glanced at him and thought he was calm because he was exhausted.

Eventually around midnight, it seemed that they arrived at Bishop's destination. Bishop drove into an almost empty parking lot and stopped the car. Around the parking lot there scattered a 24-hour diner, a motel, and a supermarket. Steve got out of the car, waited for Bishop to pick up his duffle bag, and followed him walking toward the motel.

The receptionist in the lobby looked bored and sleepy. She was playing sudoku to keep herself awake. Seeing Bishop and Steve walking in, she greeted them with a numb expression on her face.

"A room for two, please." Bishop told her.

The receptionist typed a few words into the computer, and looked into the screen. "Sorry, but we only have a couple suite left you can fit in." She replied, not even pretending to be apologetic. Looking up and seeing Bishop's reluctant face, she said, "it's a king bed." Her last and only attempt to make them stay.

"We'll take the suite." Bishop nodded plainly.

The suite was for couples for sure, with all the condoms and lube displaying. But the bed was definitely not king size. It looked more like a full size, queen at most. Looking at the over-advertised bed, Bishop let out a frustrated sigh. He turned and looked at Steve. He was staring down at his feet. Bishop didn't want to brought up anything between them again at the moment, so he put down his bag and went to the bathroom for toilet, leaving Steve be.

After Bishop got out, Steve was already lying on one side of the bed with his clothes on, facing the other side of the room. Bishop looked at his back for a moment, and suggested tentatively, "you should take a shower, Steve. Lose some stress."

"My dad used to call me a disappointment. I'm sure he told you that." Steve said as if he was talking to himself, not paying attention to Bishop's offer, "maybe you should have let me die, Bishop."

Bishop didn't say anything to that. He sat down on his side of the bed, and rubbed his head with his hand, trying to fight back the headache. "Listen, Steve." Arthur started, "I'm not good at talking. And I know lot have been going on most recently… Ah, why am I doing this?" Arthur sighed and bowed his head, defeated. After a pause, he continued, "You just have to know you are not a disappointment to me. And I could never just let you die." He turned back, and saw that Steve had turned to look at him, propping himself up on his elbow. It was dark in the room, but Arthur saw the pools of tears glittering in his eyes, and the dried blood stains and wounds on his lips.

Just right there, everything stopped, the time, the air, the earth. Everything stopped there as Arthur leaned in and kissed Steve on the lips. He didn't know why he did it. He had never done such a thing before. But at that moment, seeing Steve like this, it felt like the right thing to do, just as him taking Steve in at the beginning, not abandoning him when he made mistakes, and doing everything he could to save his life. Maybe down the road somewhere, he had failed to be a cold killing machine, and had fallen for Steve, the person who made him change.

Arthur was shocked by himself, paralyzed by coming to terms with what he was doing. But the copper taste of Steve's blood in his mouth and the shock in Steve's eyes when he looked at him, they drew Arthur back to his senses. He tried to pull himself away. But before he moved away even 1 inch, Steve reached out his hand and grabbed Arthur's collar, pulling him back. Arthur watched Steve close his eyes, and part his lips as an invitation. Feeling the warmth of Steve's tongue and the firm grip of his hand, Arthur closed his eyes himself, and let his heart and body took control from his burnt-out brain.

In the morning, Arthur woke up automatically at 7 o'clock. It seemed that sleeping getting up late was never an option in his biological system, no matter how late he stayed up the night before. Arthur squinted at the digital clock on the bedside table, and closed his eyes with a frustrated groan. He wanted to go back to sleep. He felt exhausted and sore, and could not think of one thing that would drive him out of bed. However, no matter how hard he tried, his head grew clearer and clearer until it began to hurt.

Arthur sat up wearily and massaged his temples with his right hand. Eyes creased, he looked around the room and eventually got used to the darkness. The room was not too dark as the morning sunshine had started leaking golden glitters through the drawn curtains.

Suddenly, Arthur heard a creak beneath the mattress, and felt something flip beside him with noises like moaning. He turned his head with a jolt. After Arthur recognized what was in front of his eyes, his eyes grew wide open, and the expression on his face turned into a perfect combination of surprise and panic, which were two things he hadn't been feeling for such a long time that had become very hard for him to register.

It was Steve slumbering right on the other side of the bed. He was lying on his stomach, two arms spreading over his head, and his face turned to the opposite side to Arthur. Seeing another man sleeping next to him was not the cause that made him panic. He had even slept next to a corpse in the "good old days". What feared him was seeing Steve sleeping naked next to him, with what were on his naked body. The duvet was drawn down as Arthur sat up, revealing all Steve's back down to his hips. There were hickeys covering Steve's nape and back, and bruises on both of his hips caused by Arthur's own grips.

Staring at Steve's back full of branded trophies, Arthur started to remember what happened last night bit by bit, piece by piece. He remembered Steve's furrowed brows under his lips, Steve's crushed moans and whimpers in his ears following the rhythm of his body, and the burning puffs of Steve's breath on the side of his neck. Arthur recalled the tight grip of Steve's legs around his waist, and Steve's hair feeling so soft under his palms and on his shoulder. He also remembered how it just felt belonging and right have Steve's skin against his, and how excruciatingly hot and satisfying he felt being inside of him. The feeling of complete bliss and ecstasy of their synchronized climax still shocked Arthur now when he relived the moment.

Remembering what happened last night and everything had happened before, and watching Steve sleep right beside him, Arthur felt it impossible to comprehend the situation, let alone plan for the next moves. Although he already had plans, he decided to set them a set for now. With a blank mind, Arthur stepped out of bed and started to get dressed.

As Arthur pulled the T-shirt over his head, he heard a moan behind his back. He turned around rigidly, and saw Steve stir on his back, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. He tried to sit up as he opened his eyes, but failed and fell back in bed, grimacing and hissing as if something hurt him really bad. Finally he focused his gaze at Arthur and spent one second recognizing who he was. His crinkled nose and the confused look in his eyes showed that he was trying to figure out what happened, where he was, and why on earth his back and ass hurt that much. It didn't take long.

Arthur held his breath as he watched Steve go all wide-eyed with a "what the fuck" look on his face. Then the next second, Steve flopped himself into the mattress, and buried his face in the pillows, muffling his laugh and involuntary groans. Suddenly he craned his head up, stared at Arthur and said, "where are you going, Bishop?"

"Getting breakfast." Arthur found himself replying with a stiff voice.

Hearing Arthur's respond, Steve let out a breath and looked quite relieved. Arthur didn't want to know where else Steve thought he was going.

"I'm coming with you. I'm starving." Steve said and slowly got out of bed, rummaging for his pants, acting natural.

Arthur wanted to say that he didn't have to, and that he probably needed more rest after last night, but Arthur just couldn't bring himself to.

They went to the diner next door. Since it was still quite early, the place was half empty, and the people at presence were all heavy-lidded. They found a booth away from anyone else but not so far that someone would think they were creepy and got suspicious. Finally, the breakfast was served, hot pancakes with fresh blueberries and crispy bacon, dipped in golden syrup. The meal was pretty quiet, not because Arthur sported his "one-more-word-I-Would-burn-you" face. Actually, he looked quite easy. It was just that they were starving.

Sipping the cheap, refillable coffee, Steve looked out the window and saw the parking lot begin to populate. They would have to leave very soon.

"What's the plan, Bishop?" Steve asked easily in between sips of coffee, as if asking "how was the pancakes?".

"Disappear. New identities. New occupations." Bishop answered as he leaned back, eyes idling in the parking lot.

Just two lines ahead of this conversation had already made Steve uncomfortable. It sounded way too familiar and sinister to him. But he knew what he had to ask.

"Together?"

Steve was expecting Bishop to shrug and reply with a careless tone, "it's up to you." Instead, he turned back his head, laid his gaze on Steve for a second, grabbed his mug and took a sip. Buried underneath his grimace, there was a ghost of smirk hanging on his lips.

Just Before that, Steve heard Bishop saying, "yeah" as he stretched out his hand for the coffee mug. It was as low as a whisper, an exhale of a breath. But Steve caught it. And it was all he needed to break out a smile, feeling more than just relived, and knowing that if he looked up at Bishop now, his eyes would be awaiting his.

Hope you had a good time reading it. Sorry if the Steve-got-kidnapped part looked stupid. Never good at conspiracy. But some screen writers did shittier jobs, I think.

Anyways, thank you for reading!