A/N: Welcome back! I want to thank my reviewers: xBelekinax, LabyFan23, BelleinWonderland, dionne dance, peaches, JoJo1812, XantheXV, TinkerbellxO and Leyshla Gisel. You are all wonderful!

Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.

Chapter 9

"There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment."

― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

There are too many clothes scattered about. Miranda looks up and sees the blonde woman, Isabel, just a few feet away. She is leaning against the counter and she is drinking from a bottle of beer.

Miranda frowns and averts her eyes as soon as Isabel spots her looking. Turning her attention back to the freshly washed, but scattered clothes, she leans down and picks up two shirts. She proceeds to fold them and put them in a pile. Picking up a pair of pants, she smiles already knowing to whom they belong.

Isabel rolls her eyes and moves away from the kitchen, taking the stairs that lead to the upper floor with the usual sway of her hips. It's remarkable how the woman can look so stunning even in a simple cotton robe.

Miranda doesn't look up. She needs to occupy her mind with something, anything. Laundry was never her favorite pastime, but it feels like a blessing to do it now. It's something simple, but at the same time it is helpful and these days…These days she feels anything but helpful or useful.

Simple things are the best form of therapy, Miranda. Her therapist's words echo in her mind and she nods to herself.

"What are you doing, Eliza?"

She stills and looks up. Shaw is coming down the stairs. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bright and his mouth twisted into a tiny smirk. In his hand, he is holding an empty glass and as he comes closer, she notices the cigarette he has between his lips.

She tenses up when she realizes what she is holding; John's clothes.

Clearing her throat, she smiles tightly. "What does it look like?" She forces her voice to remain calm, but she can't help but include some frostiness in it. She cannot help it, really. The man, along with Parker, always makes her uncomfortable. Red is another story, but those two…

"Playing house?" Shaw snorts a little and her hands pause.

"Someone has to." She jerks her head towards her right where a pile of dirty clothes are lying on the floor, "Those are yours if I am not mistaken." She mutters and he chuckles as he comes to stand next to her.

"And you decided to play the part?" His breath is warm as it fans over her cheek and she takes a step away from him.

"Your friend is drinking beer and it's only ten in the morning. Sooner or later you'll have to make another unnecessary trip to the town. Think about that and tell her to stop gulping down liquor like it's water." Miranda murmurs the words, but all she gets in response is a loud, deep laugh.

She looks at Shaw and he shakes his head, "You're so tense, love." His fingers connect with her shoulder and as they start to knead, her gaze falls on his hand like a knife.

"Excuse me?" She frowns, but he only squeezes her shoulder again before he releases her. Staring at her, he slips his hand into the pocket of his pants. Pulling out his cigarettes, he offers them to her.

"Loosen up." He is smirking, the twist of his lips a challenge.

"I don't smoke." She wrinkles her nose a little and he laughs again.

"There is a first time for everything."

"You would know." She smiles tightly and he smirks even more, his pale eyes roaming her face with a mixture of curiosity and misplaced intensity.

"True."

She shakes her head, "No, thanks."

"Oh, come on. Looks like you need it."

Miranda stops folding the pair of pants in her hands and turns to face him, head tilted and eyebrow cocked.

"What's your deal?" she asks him softly, "To test me? See if I am bad girl material?"

He grins widely, "You're certainly no Bonnie material."

Miranda purses her lips and reaches out for the cigarettes. She takes one and boldly slips her hand into his pocket. She grabs the lighter and places the cigarette to her lips.

"Thank God for that. I have no interest in getting myself killed any time soon." She murmurs and then lights the cigarette.

Shaw is amused when she doesn't even flinch. She takes a long drag and he blinks in surprise when only the widening of her eyes proves her discomfort.

"One would think otherwise…" he mutters as she thrusts the lighter inside his shirt pocket and leans against the old wooden table.

"I could say the same…" She notices the way he is eyeing her smoke and allows herself a moment of amusement.

"Just because I don't smoke, doesn't mean I have not tried it…Shaw." She informs him and he cocks his eyebrow.

"I can see that." He pats the pile of washed clothes and smirks, "Mind doing something with my dirty clothes too?"

She pulls the cigarette from her lips and tries not to gag at the disgusting taste the smoke leaves in her mouth. There is something strange about it…She just can't tell what.

"That privilege you have to earn." She tells him simply and he stares at her for a long time before he speaks.

"Is Johnny earning it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she mutters, ready to turn back to her mundane, but helpful task.

His hand seizes her arm and she gasps, her body going limp at the feeling of his rough fingers on her skin. She tries to remain calm, but all she can think of is the feeling of confinement that bubbles within her under his hold.

"You don't look like a whore-…"

"Hey!" John's voice is loud when it arrives and Shaw drops his hand from her arm as if burned, "What the fuck are you doing, Eliza?"

His frown is deep as he walks towards them in wide strides. His dark brown pants and pale white shirt are sticking to his lithe form like a glove.

Blinking, Miranda looks at him and then at the cigarette in her hand, "I am just-…"

He snatches the smoke from her hand, smells it and then takes it out by dropping it to the ground and stepping onto it.

"Leave those for your gal, Shaw." He mutters with a grimace as he looks at his partner and Miranda's eyes widen. That is why the cigarette felt odd to her? It's…

Feeling naïve and foolish, she rubs a hand over her lips while John's staring contest with Shaw gets even more intense.

"Hey, hey. She tried it herself, Johnny. No need to get all bitchy on me. She is an adventurer, what can I say?" Shaw snickers and takes a step back.

"Get lost." John mutters and then points at the door, "I told you to do that daily check up of the area for me, did you? No."

Shaw shrugs, "Rough night."

John's eyes narrow, "I don't see you walking." He slips his hands into his pocket and takes out the car keys. He throws them at Shaw and the other man catches them easily, smirking a little.

"Fine, fine. I told you that the cops aren't coming here anyway." Shaw grins, "But of course, you're the boss. Isabel! Let's hit the road, doll." He walks away, slamming a hand on the staircase and John's nostrils flare.

"I am not sending you out for a stroll. You get back here as soon as you're done. Parker's not back and I have no car. If you feel like you'll need to make recreational stops, I'll go myself."

Miranda's eyes are wide as she stares at John's profile. He looks tired and angry. She cannot blame him.

"Relax, Johnny."

"If I do that, sport, then I'll have to rely on you to get us out of a sticky situation. I'd rather not take that risk. Do the check and get back before the sun's set."

Shaw grabs his coat and raises his hands up in surrender just as Isabel appears in a long thick red coat.

"Yes, boss." He winks and with a smirk they are out of the door.

They leave the door open and John curses before he storms over and slams it shut.

Miranda jumps at the sound, her brow furrowed in worry.

He doesn't turn around and she feels stupid enough to apologize.

"I am sorry about the cigarette-…"

"Don't say you're sorry, doll." he mutters and she frowns, "I overreacted."

She abandons the clothes on the table and steps closer to him.

"Why?" Her voice is soft and his shoulders briefly tense up only to roll backwards again.

Running a hand through his hair, he turns around to face her. His eyes fall on her, dark and dull.

"I don't do shit like that. Shaw's a liability. He flaunts himself too much." He mutters and she releases a breath she doesn't know she has been holding.

She clears her throat, "I'm fine. My tongue feels disgusting, but I'm fine." She chuckles a little and turns away from him.

John's eyes followed her, "Are you alright?" His question surprises her.

Briefly looking at him, she nods. "I am fine."

Picking up the pile of clothes, she makes her way towards the stairs. Leaning against the old yellowing wall, she makes her way upstairs. She is mildly surprised when he follows her.

"Listen, doll…About the other day-…"

"Where's Red?" she cuts him off and he pauses behind her, chuckling at her obvious attempt to avoid the conversation.

"He's getting a new car. Shaw's been using the Plymouth too much lately."

Miranda enters their shared bedroom and John places his hand on her waist in an effort to catch her attention. It works and she looks up at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

"In the bag." He motions to the one next to the bed and she frowns.

"You're packing…"

"I'm always packed, doll."

She fidgets before she does as he says. She places the clothes in the bag and ignore the various other items that are inside.

"Packed for two?" she says as she stands up, "I won't bother mentioning the guns and money." She eyes him oddly.

He laughs nervously and rubs the back of his head, looking at his feet. "You're with me, aren't you? Or should I remove the other clothes?" When he looks up he looks as if he is doubting himself.

Miranda's face falls, "I was only kidding. I don't have much choice, do I?"

He winces, "Ouch. That hurt." His eyes narrow.

She is quick to shake her head, "That's not what I meant. I only insinuated that you…are pulling all the strings right now, aren't you?" She looks at the bag, "Where you go, I go…Unless I piss you off or something."

He is serious for a moment and then he shakes his head, the anger leaving to be replaced by amusement.

"Look, doll, if you want out, I can arrange something for you."

Miranda's heartbeat accelerates at the words.

"Do you want me out?"

"No." The reply comes faster than she had expected.

"Oh."

"But if things are going to be…strange between us because I fucked up…" His eyes are searching and she clears her throat.

"Right…You did not do anything. It's me. I…" She rubs her temples and then shakes her head, "Nothing."

"No, go on. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells with you, girl. Talk." He huffs and she looks up.

"I am not one for…open shows of…fondness. I don't…work well with…Look." She looks him in the eye, "I am not angry or frightened. Alright?"

"That's a relief." He smirks a little, "You sure that joint did not mess up with your head?"

She cracks a smile, "You would know. I am always tongue tied."

He only smiles and waits patiently for her to finish.

"I don't trust people, John…"

"No, you don't trust men who try to be men around you." He tilts his head to the side, "There's a difference."

"Maybe…"

"No, not maybe. One kiss and you go off like a disturbed clock."

"Well, things would have been different if you didn't have an incarcerated girlfriend."

Turning away from her, he leans down and zips the bag.

"So that is the problem."

"Everything is the problem." She approaches him from behind as he busies himself with a drawer of the bed side table.

"I see."

She frowns, "Are you angry at me?" she murmurs and he pauses.

"I am not angry." He mutters and she snorts.

"Lie better, Robin." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"I am no Robin, Mira. I hurt people, remember?" He stands up and tucks her Beretta into his belt.

"You are mad at me."

"Yes, I am." he snaps as he raises his eyes to her face, "I fucking am. Satisfied?"

She falters, "Why?"

"'Cause this is fucked up. You…" His eyes roam her form and he sighs, "I promised myself that I wouldn't make a deal out of this; out of you. And here I am fucking up with you."

"So, it's my fault you kissed me?"

"You didn't pull back." He accuses through gritted teeth.

"Well, yes. That is my problem and dilemma too." She snaps and he pauses, his eyes narrowed.

She groans, "I like you, John. I don't…want things to be odd between us. Can we just forget it?" she murmurs, her eyes wide and pleading.

He thoughtfully reaches up and rubs his chin, his eyes unfathomable until he releases a deep breath and nods.

"Fine. If that's what you want." He mutters dismissively as he turns around, ready to walk away.

"I am more trouble than good, you know. I am not normal. I can't be…"

He stops and turns to look at her, intrigued. "You can't be what?"

She sighs, "I cannot stand affection. You'd get tired of me anyway."

"Tired?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"Come on, John." She hugs her abdomen, "I'd not be an easy fuck, would I?"

He flinches at her words and his eyes burn holes on her skin as he allows his gaze to fall on her. He takes a few steps towards her and she forces herself to remain put.

"Maybe that's my thing. Sport." He murmurs as he reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear.

Miranda blinks in confusion as he allows a single finger to brush her jaw.

Then he grins lopsidedly, his eyes sparkling, "I am not known for taking the easy way out."

"I am not interested in love right now." She whispers and his breath is warm on her lips as he chuckles.

He drops his hand and briefly squeezes her side, fingers curling over her waist and warmth spreading onto her skin even through her clothes.

"Too bad, doll, 'cause I already love ya." He murmurs as his lips touch her soft, slightly flushed cheek.

"Friends again?" he murmurs as he finds her hand with his and takes it.

Miranda is barely able to breathe, let alone speak, but his curious, questioning look makes her wake up from her daze.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezes his hand and moves forward. Wrapping her free hand around his back, she presses her face against his neck, her fingers flush against his back through his crisp shirt.

"Of course." She murmurs and his free hand comes up to cradle the back of her head. She cannot see him, but his eyes are fixated upon the wall across from him, his jaw slightly clenched as he holds her. His chest expands, brushing against hers and she shivers when he presses a kiss against her wavy hair.

He pulls back abruptly, turning away from her and fishing another gun from his pocket.

"Come on then. Let's practice." He is out of the door before she can blink.

When he is already down the stairs, she realizes that she never said it back. Because she does. She does. More than anyone in her short life.

Are you sure he is not the only one now? He sure as hell is the only one who cares. She doesn't respond to her inner voice. That'd be admitting too much; way too much. More than she can handle.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

John's hand shoots out and grasps the barrel of the Beretta. His face is set in a scowl.

Miranda releases a nervous laugh, "Hey, I know I am terrible at it, but you said I had one more try-…"

"Shh." He hushes her as his eyes narrow.

She sobers up and looks around as he folds his arm around her, the crook of his elbow just upon her shoulder.

"You hear that?" he mutters and Miranda tenses up.

"Yeah…it's a dog."

"Not one. More than one." He murmurs as he takes the gun from her hand and maneuvers her towards the house, "Let's get inside."

As they turn, they hear the sounds of a car approaching. John pauses and leans to peer at the front of the cottage.

"Is it Shaw?" Miranda murmurs.

He grits his teeth. "No. His friend." He mutters as he spots Isabel getting out of a large truck.

She giggles and waves at the driver who in return smirks at her. John rolls his eyes.

"Get inside and open that goddamn door for her." He mutters and Miranda does as she is told.

When Isabel is in the house, John's gun is pointed right at her.

She yelps and stares at him with wide eyes, her back against the wall. She sure as hell doesn't seem so charmed right now.

"Where's Willie?"

"Out to get liquor." Her English is broken and Miranda feels a little sorry for her. She looks terrified.

"John-…"

"Shut up, Eliza." He hisses at her and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"You an idiot, girl, or what?"

"Sorry?"

"Who was the guy?"

"I needed a ride."

John surges forward and grabs her neck, "You want a ride back? You stick with Shaw. You don't lead random truck drivers here. Did you sweep the area?"

"Yes!" Her reply is fast.

"And?"

"Just a couple of…federal cars…"

"Where?" He narrows his eyes at her.

"Few miles away."

He releases her and steps back. Tucking the gun in his belt, he grabs Miranda's hand, "Come midnight and he's not back with the car, I am sending you out to look for him yourself." He mutters darkly.

With that, he pulls Miranda after him and disappears upstairs.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The shoulder of her nightdress has slipped off. Someone reaches out and slides it back on. The touch is warm and she stirs from her light sleep.

Blinking drowsily, she looks up at the bed from her place upon the mattress.

"Is he back?"

"Nah." John shakes his head at her and takes back his hand, tucking it under a thin pillow he has thrust underneath his chin.

"I fell asleep."

"It's alright…" He rests his chin on the pillow and smirks a little, "Though, I could use the company. Already drank two coffees." He jerks his head towards the nightstand.

Groaning, she sits up, coming up on her hands and knees before she rolls out of the fluffy mattress.

His eyes follow her, "You were talking in your sleep."

She pauses, clutching at her pillow, "Oh."

"It's alright, I didn't get half of it." He turns his head to the left as she sits on the old bed, lying upside down like him, her chin on the pillow.

"Good." She cracks a small smile, "Less things to be embarrassed about." She mutters and he clears his throat.

"I'm gonna kill Shaw for this."

"No car."

"No fucking car…"

"If I'd believe in bad luck…" she trails off and he laughs bitterly.

"I know all about bad luck."

"Yeah, so do I." She nods softly.

He moves and the muscles of his arm and back flex with him under the flannel shirt he has on. His pants are rough against her leg as he shifts and she swallows hard as he turns his body towards her.

"You're half dressed." She notes and he nods his head.

"Hmm. You're not. I suggest you put something on too." He mutters and as he shifts his position again she notices the gun he has tucked under the pillow.

"Red's not back either." Miranda looks out of the window and John sighs.

"Yeah…odd." He licks his lips and turns to rest onto his back, pushing his arm behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

Footsteps echo and Miranda looks at the half open door. Sitting up, she spots Isabel's blond hair.

"John." She gently touches Dillinger's arm and he turns to her.

Sitting up, he watches as the blonde gently pushes the door open.

"What is it?" He frowns as the woman stands under the threshold in her pale pink robe.

"I just came to apologize about earlier-…" The exotic sound of her broken accent is cut off by the shrill shattering of the window.

Miranda screams in surprise and John curses out loud. Looking up they see Isabel dropping to the ground with a bullet firmly lodged in her forehead.

Glass flies everywhere and John leaps to the side as a rain of bullets and broken glass fills the air. Covering Miranda's body with his own, he reaches for his gun. He hisses when a shard of glass slashes the back of his hand.

"Fuck!" His voice is muffled by her mass of dark locks, but he moves again. Catching the gun, he moves abruptly, pushing Miranda forward.

She yelps as she finds herself on the floor on her hands and knees. Glass is everywhere and as John presses her head downwards she cries out.

"The tree. There's one on the tree. Get down!"

"How did they-…"

"Shit!" he screams as more bullets pierce the walls with lightning speed.

Miranda blinks rapidly and turns her gaze on Isabel's body. Gasping, she lurches forward in an attempt to reach her and search for a pulse, but an iron strong hand curls around her ankle and pulls her back.

"Get the fuck down, Mira!"

She falls on her front by his rough pull and then she watches as he aims the gun and fires.

"Get the bag!" he hisses.

"What?" she calls back with wide eyes.

'The bag next to you!"

She looks at the full bag near the foot of the bed and reaching out, she pulls it towards her.

"Put shoes on." He hisses as he manages to slip into his.

Miranda's hands are shaking and when another round of bullets attacks the room, she feels his hand on her shoulder.

"Forget it. Crawl." He pushes her forward, grabbing the bag himself as they try to reach the door.

There are yells and footsteps coming from downstairs. They freeze.

"They have broken down the door." She whispers to him. She can see blood running down his cheek, but it doesn't register like it should. Her blood is pounding in her ears.

Eyes wild, he scans the room and then spots the bathroom.

"Come on." He grabs her arm and drags her behind him. Two shots barely miss their heads and Miranda nearly freezes.

"Come on, doll." There is fierce persuasion in his rather composed voice and it somehow gets to her.

Snapping out of it, she slides forward and he uses his hand to push against her lower back. Once inside the bathroom, he stands up and slams the door shut. There is a low ledged window, just beside the small tub. Miranda had never paid much attention to it.

Narrowing his eyes, he reaches it. Pulling it open with force the shatter dislocates and falls onto the back porch which is strangely abandoned. There is a federal car parked, but it's empty.

Moving quickly, he takes the bag and throws it outside. Tucking the gun in his belt, he grabs her arm.

"Jump."

"What?" she exclaims, taking a step back.

"Jump."

"But-…"

"Just jump, Mira!" He gives her a shove and she doesn't pay much attention to the harshness of the touch. Grabbing onto the ledge, she swings her feet and hesitates for a second. His fingers do the rest of the work, and with a push she is diving for the ground.

She yelps as she falls onto her hands and knees. Pain erupts up and down her legs and her hands burn from the rough collision with the ground. She has no time to fully register the damage because in a flash he is dropping next to her on his feet.

She stares wide eyed at how easily he landed upright, but his fingers are rough when they grab her.

They get caught into her hair as he pulls her up and when they start running, she pauses.

"The car-…"

"Are you insane?" he growls at her and tugs her behind him as they make a run for the scarce trees that expand beyond the cottage, trees that are parallel to the road. She doesn't even realize that he just shoved the bag into her hand until its weight weighs her hand down.

"Fuck!" he hisses when he notices how little coverage the trees provide, but he doesn't stop.

"Ah! Ouch, no shoes!" she cries out as dry leaves and pebbles dig into her soft soles.

"I told you to put fucking shoes on!" He barks as he releases her wrist only to catch her hand in his. Entwining his fingers with hers, he pulls her more sharply along. Frustrated and in pain, she follows without a word, clutching onto his hand even though perspiration is making their skin slick.

His fingers squeeze hers to the point of pain and suddenly he stops behind a large tree. He pulls her in with him. Turning them around, he pushes her against the thick trunk. Bracing himself against it, he peers into the darkness.

"Shit…" He is breathless and momentarily leans his forehead against the tree by her head.

Her own breath is laborious as sweat slides down from the roots of her hair to her neck and temples.

"We have to get moving. We need to walk about a mile. Then we'll get to the road." Moving away from her, he takes the bag. Moving swiftly, Miranda follows him and slips her hand around his forearm. He gathers her closer. She wonders if he is as cold as she is despite his sweat. She can see that his flannel shirt is soaked with perspiration. She doubts her nightdress looks any better.

"Stay quiet. They are behind us." He mutters and Miranda's hair stands on end.

"What is that?" she whispers and John doesn't pause to listen. He has already heard.

"Dogs." he says quietly, "That's why we don't run. If we run, they'll hear." He shoots a glance to her bare feet and winces, but doesn't comment on it.

"We need a car." He hands her the bag after a while and untucks his gun from his belt. Pausing, he starts rummaging through the full bag.

"Hold it."

Voices and barks echo in the distance and Miranda shudders when there is a loud shot.

"John…"

"It's just intimidation, doll." His voice is soothing, but slightly detached. She admires that. She can fear panic swirling in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she is going to gag. She feels like a prey during a hunting trip.

Suddenly, he thrusts the cold Beretta in her hand and she stares at him in the darkness. His glimmering eyes are like torches.

"We need a car and I know how to get it. If I tell you to shoot, you shoot. I don't care if you can hit the target. You'll just do it. If I tell you to fucking run, you run. Got it?" he murmurs hoarsely and she nods her head.

"Good. Time to hit the road." He takes the bag back and walks ahead of her, turning to the left and treading through the trees.

She follows him, wincing every once in a while. She is certain that her feet are all nicked and bloodied. She tries to push the uncomfortable feeling to the back of her mind and she succeeds when they step onto the road.

There are no cars except from some lights in the distance.

John doesn't waste time. Abandoning her near the side of the road with their bag, he comes to stand right in the middle of it.

The lights of the fast approaching car get closer. He raises his arm and cocks the gun.

Miranda tightens her hold on the Beretta and the bag. She feels ridiculous and she almost says it out loud, but then more shots echo behind her, coming from the trees and she tenses up. The sturdy ground of the road feels like molten hot lave beneath her feet. She can feel more sweat gathering on her skin, especially upon her upper lip.

John's fingers flex around the gun and he aims, his finger poised in front of the trigger, applying the slightest of pressures.

The lights are blinding her and even John squints, bracing his gun hand with his free one, his fingers curling around his wrist for security.

The car doesn't horn, but it doesn't stop either. Miranda's heartbeat accelerates. John doesn't move from the road. The feds are getting closer and so is this car.

"John…move."

He simply grits his teeth and finally fires the gun. The bullet is propelled towards the sky, but the shot is loud, deafening in her ears. The car doesn't stop. He fires the gun again, this time to the left and the tires screech as the driver presses onto the brakes.

The dark Ford stops a breath away from John's body and Miranda breathes a sigh of relief.

"What the fuck, man?" The voice is awfully familiar and John smirks. Lowering the gun, he quickly walks around to the passenger's door. Pulling it open, he looks at Miranda expectantly.

Blinking out of her fear induced stupor, she moves, carelessly throwing the Beretta back inside the bag before she allows John to push her into the car. He follows suit, getting to the back with her instead of the front seat.

"I suppose I should turn the other way?" Red peers at them through the rear-view mirror and John sags into the seat, his hand falling lifelessly onto Miranda's quivering lap.

"Yeah."

"You almost shot me." Red mutters as he swivels the car around, the tires screeching again as he forces them to move too quickly, too sharply.

"I guess luck was on your side this time, Red." John mutters, wiping his bloodied cheek with his hand as his wicked gaze finds Miranda's wide one.

Red only snorts.

Miranda releases a shaky breath and without thinking allows her head to rest on the hard planes of John's sweaty chest. His bloodied hand comes to cradle the side of her head as the Ford speeds off into the night.

End of chapter 9

Author's note: Thank you for reading. Comments?

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Until next time!

Xxx Lina :D