A/N: I wrote this about two weeks after the season two finale aired and as we have seen in the season 3 promos, this didn't happened LOL I still wanted to post it though because I liked the theme of it :)

For the third time since Lizzie turned off the bedside lamp she looked at the round, silver Tiffany clock that sat on the bedside table. 1:44am. The clock, like everything in the room, was lovely and very expensive.

It had been a little over forty-two hours since Red had met her at that park bench and took her away. Forty-two hours since she walked away from Tom, her career at the FBI, her friends and what little family she had left.

Forty-two hours since she shot and killed Tom Connolly.

Her surroundings should have put her at complete ease. They would put anyone at ease! After the unmarked white van pulled up to the curb to collect them, it drove straight to a deserted airstrip in Delaware where Red's private jet sat waiting. Within minutes they were airborne and when she asked Red were they were going, he told her "paradise".

After a twelve hour flight, Lizzie had found out that "paradise" was Hvar, Croatia. Turns out Red owned a stunning six bedroom, eight bath home that sat on a remote cliff overlooking the Adriatic Sea.

When they first arrived he had told her to pick any room she would like and to make it a good choice since they would be staying there for awhile. She had chosen the one that not only had a complete view of the sea but also the pool and deck area and the side courtyard if you looked over the balcony railing.

Lizzie had left the sliding balcony doors opened before she got into bed because she had hoped the sounds of the sea would help relax her. Plus she found she enjoyed the combination of smells coming from the water and the flowers in the courtyard.

To anyone else this house would be heaven on earth but to Lizzie it was a reminder of why she here in the first place. She was a wanted fugitive. Now on the FBI's most wanted list for the murder of the newly appointed Attorney General. Her name and face now appeared next to the criminals she was suppose to track down. The very same people she worked with to track those kinds of people were now tracking her and her own partner was leading the team.

The scene of her, Cooper and Connolly standing in that room ran like a movie reel through her mind. Words that were said and threats that had been made. She wasn't sorry she had pulled the trigger. She should have been but she wasn't. She was sorry for where she did it. In a room full of witnesses. That's where she screwed up.

Lizzie sighed and rubbed her eyes as she laid in the queen size bed. This was useless. She wasn't going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon.

The spine of the old book was what had caught her eye. 101 Famous Poems. Having pulled it off the shelf, she had seen that the only words printed on the cover was the title. No author, no front cover picture and no other writing, just the title on what was originally a green desk jacket but had over time faded, cracked and yellowed.

She had gotten just under halfway through the book when she had decided to try and get some sleep. So far she had read Shakespeare's The Time of Year, Edgar Allen Poe's Nevermore, Percy Bysshe Shelley's Ode to the West Wind, Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Propping herself up against the pillows, she opened the book to the last page she had stopped at. Emily Dickinson's Hope is a Thing with Feathers.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest sea,

Yet never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

Over the next hour Lizzie continued to read. Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty, Waiting by John Burroughs, The Song at Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I Carry Your Love With Me by E.E. Cummings, When Winchester Races by Jane Austen, Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman, William Butler Yeats' A Prayer for my Daughter and Thomas Hardy's How Great my Grief, John Keats' Ode to A Nightingale.

Page after page of timeless writings by the most famous writers in history. Lizzie had always loved poetry. She remembered when she was in the eleventh grade and half of an English semester had been on poetry. Most of her friends had grumbled and groaned when they walked to the classroom three times a week but Lizzie had loved it. Mrs. Bransom had been the teacher's name and Lizzie never missed one of her classes.

The next poem in the book was one by Bonnie Parker, one half of the famous American outlaw duo Bonnie and Clyde.

The Story of Bonnie and Clyde

You've read the story of Jesse James

Of how he lived and died;

If you're still in need

Of something to read,

Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang,

I'm sure you all have read

How they rob and steal

And those who squeal

Are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;

They're not so ruthless as that;

Their nature is raw;

They hate all the law

The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;

They say they are heartless and mean;

But I say this with pride,

That I once knew Clyde

When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around,

Kept taking him down

And locking him up in a cell,

Till he said to me,

"I'll never be free,

So I'll meet a few of them in hell."

The road was so dimly lighted;

There were no highway signs to guide;

But they made up their minds

If all roads were blind,

They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;

Sometimes you can hardly see;

But it's fight, man to man,

And do all you can,

For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;

From weariness some people have died;

But take it all in all,

Our troubles are small

Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,

And they have no clue or guide;

If they can't find a fiend,

They just wipe their slate clean

And hand it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America

Not accredited to the Barrow mob;

They had no hand

In the kidnap demand,

Nor the Kansas City depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy;

"I wish old Clyde would get jumped;

In these awful hard times

We'd make a few dimes

If five or six cops would get bumped.

The police haven't got the report yet,

But Clyde called me up today;

He said, "Don't start any fights

We aren't working nights

We're joining the NRA.

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct

Is known as the Great Divide,

Where the women are kin,

And the men are men,

And they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens

And rent them a nice little flat,

About the third night

They're invited to fight

By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too tough or desperate,

They know that the law always wins;

They've been shot at before,

But they do not ignore

That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;

And they'll bury them side by side;

To few it'll be grief

To the law a relief

But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

Lizzie read the last line and slowly lowered the book down. The poem had hit a little too close to home. Her and Red were Bonnie and Clyde. Sure some of the facts were different. They weren't lovers, Red had far more money and resources then Clyde ever did and they weren't driving across country robbing gas stations, killing cops and staying in cheap motels but they were outlaws on the run and if you looked at the history books; all outlaws get caught sooner or later.

Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, Lizzie picked up the book once again and turned the page. Next up was How Do I Love Thee by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Lizzie smiled a sad smile. Once upon a time that's all Lizzie had wanted. A love so deep and true that nothing could destroy it. An unconditional and passionate love. Someone who she could build a home and raise a family with. Someone she could depend on when times were hard. Someone to laugh with. A soulmate. That one person who was made for her. Completed her. Made her happy.

As things were now she wasn't going to get any of that. No husband, no home, no children, nothing. She was looking at a future of daily traveling, moving from one safe house to the next, new passports and new names every few days.

She knew she could do it. Hell Red had done it for over twenty years now. She knew Red would do everything in his power to make her life as easy and stress free as possible while also keeping her safe. He would take her to the best restaurants and clothed her in designer fashions. He would show her the world.

Lizzie couldn't help but feel sad though. What she wanted was Elizabeth Barrett Browning and what she was going to get was Bonnie Parker.

And really, what were the odds that she could have both at the same time?

The End!

A/N: I do in fact have the book 101 Famous Poems that belonged to my grandma. It's so old now that it's just falling apart but it's one of my favorites! Amazon does have several of the same kinds of books and I totally recommend researching and buying one for yourself :)