A/N: The title of this fic is inspired by The Gaslight Anthem's wonderful song We Did it When We Were Young. I definitely recommend a listen!
Chapter One
He finds her in a diner, in a small town in Arizona of all places, wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts that show off her legs and an old apron that covers her t-shirt. She's pouring coffee and laughing and looks like she doesn't have a care in the world.
If he hadn't been looking for her in every girl he's seen for the past three years then he might not have recognised her. Her hair is blonde now and pulled back in a messy bun, a pencil stuck through it. There are stains on the back of her shirt and the converse sneakers on her feet look like they've seen better days.
The girl he once knew never had a hair out of place, never looked less than perfect even when she was being beaten into submission. He could easily have missed her if he hadn't known where to look.
He wonders who he thinks he's kidding, he'd fucking well know her anywhere.
At the sound of the bell above the door she turns and sees him, and that is that. She stands in place as if frozen for a moment, and he sees something that looks like it could almost be joy cross her features. She recognises him, no matter how many years have passed.
How could she not, when his face is just the same as it ever was?
She recognises him and neither screams, nor runs, nor flinches. Instead she stands there and looks at him as if maybe this is what she'd been expecting all along.
He wonders what it was that he had expected. Not for her to run into his arms, not that. He had expected something other than this though, some reaction at least.
"Why don't you take a seat?" she asks him when she finally speaks, her voice not shaking once, no trace of surprise or recognition within it.
He chooses a booth at the back, the better to watch the entrance, and waits.
She takes her time serving one order before she gets to him, sets the coffee pot on the table and pulls the pencil out of her hair.
Takes her time, nonchalant and without a care in the world, before leaning down towards him with pad and pencil as if to take his order. "Can I get something for you?" she asks him, the ghost of a sad smile on her lips before she lowers her voice, suddenly hesitant. "What have you come here for?"
He knows then that it's all an act.
"I'll let you know it before too long." He rasps, eyes locked on hers. "For now bring me a burger, medium rare." She writes it down and pours his coffee. This time there is a slight spark in her eyes when she smiles.
The next time she comes back it's with his burger and she places it on the table before bending down as if to tie a shoelace. He has no idea what to say to her now that she's in front of him at last. He's thought about it on the way here, thought about it and come up blank.
I've come to save you.
I'll keep you safe.
I won't let anybody hurt you.
It's years too late for all that now.
"Heard you were dead." she says to him before he can choose his own sentence, looking up from her position crouched on the floor, hands hovering near one shoe.
Once it was he who had crouched, to look up at her.
"Almost was," he rasps, "Heard you were married to the Imp."
She makes a movement suspiciously like a shrug and stands up. "It was hardly by my choice." She retorts before continuing, "Heard you went on a killing spree out East while you were dead."
"Wasn't me." he clarifies, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Heard you helped kill your husband's shit of a nephew then ran away, leaving him to take the rap."
She laughs suddenly then, "Maybe I did." She tells him with a trace of bitterness, then turns and walks away.
He sits there until her shift is done, drinking cups of black coffee, eating fries and watching her. She flirts with her customers, swats away hands when they get too friendly and gossips with the other waitresses in between serving. She wears a mask now, just as he had once advised her to. Plays a role for the world to see and he can't help wondering who she really is inside these days.
He doesn't know what he expected when he came here, but probably not this. Either she's grown to be a much better actress since he last saw her or she's genuinely unconcerned that he's come to get her. Come to... The devil only knows what he's come to do.
What can he tell her after all, that he's come to rescue her? Rescue her from what, life as a waitress in a rundown diner? She's already rescued herself and he's too late after the fact.
He watches her and sees as her gaze occasionally darts in his direction, only every so often. She's careful, avoiding any suspicion that could come from giving him too much attention, but she watches him all the same. She's grown smarter and stronger over the years, while he's only grown weaker and is just as big a fool as ever when it comes to her.
"I'll be off my shift soon," she tells him as the light begins to fade. "Anything else you want?"
He looks her up and down measuringly, taking in the long legs and the tight t-shirt, the curve of her neck as she tilts her head to one side.
She watches him as his eyes rake her and raises one eyebrow. The girl she used to be would have lowered her head, blushed deep red and avoided his gaze. This girl meets his eyes and challenges him to do more than just look.
He sits back against the booth then and looks at her once more, really looks at her honestly this time, with no hint of pretense or flirtation, searches her face for something he can't define.
She finds it more difficult to meet his eyes now.
"Wait for me around the corner." She tells him in an undertone, then laughs as if he's told her a joke, gathers his payment for the food and walks back towards the counter.
He walks outside to his motorcycle, waits until she appears fifteen minutes later. The apron is gone and her hair is in a ponytail now. She looks ordinary here, as if she belongs. He wonders just where it is that he fits into this picture.
She walks over, shoes scuffing on the pavement, and smiles the first genuine smile he's seen all day.
"You still have this old thing?" she asks, pointing to the bike.
"Never let me down yet." He comments and passing her a helmet, turns to climb on. He doesn't need to tell her anything because she's already climbed up behind him and is wrapping her arms around his waist, tighter than he'd expected. He's suddenly reminded of the day of the riot, of the way she had clung to him then, scared and trembling and his to save.
She tells him where to go, then unexpectedly rests her head against his shoulder.
"I thought you were dead." She whispers. He almost doesn't hear her, she says it so quietly.
"Yeah, well, I heard you were married to the fucking Imp." Is the only reply he can give her as he starts the engine.
He wonders if she'll guess just how related those two statements really are.