They are quiet for the first leg of the trip. Samar drives first, through the rest of the night and into the morning.
"Look at us, riding off into the sunrise," Liz says in a voice so dry it could be sand drifting from her lips. The sky is actually gray and bleak, not at all the charming sort of sunrise that would lift the soul or encourage any sort of hope.
"It's us," Samar answers. "We are together. Doesn't matter in which direction we are driving. Although actually, we are driving west, and will eventually be driving off into the sunset." Samar knows better than to reach for Liz's hand, although it is what she wants to do with every fiber of her being. It's too soon. Her lips are not even tempted to smile as she rotates her shoulder and feels the ache where Liz bit her hours ago. But the two of them are together, driving away into their destiny. Together. For the moment it is enough. It has to be.
"Right," Liz answers and folds her hands over her lap. She looks out the window as New York City starts to grow up on her right. They've driven five hours from DC. They've not been particularly careful about covering their tracks. Afterall, they want to be found.
Neither of them had been able to sleep. It had not taken very long for Samar to realize that the aggressive intimacy they had shared was not make up sex. They did not cuddle or hold one another or even talk after it was over. They had tossed and turned for a couple hours and then Liz had risen from the bed. "I'm going to pack," she had said in an eerily flat voice. Samar had risen and followed suit.
They met about 45 minutes later in the living room, several bags and their guns between them. Liz had picked up the letters from Reddington and placed them in a neat, rectangular pile on the counter of the island. She put her hand on the pile and pushed it down, compressing the air and compacting the sheets together to flatten the ridges where they were folded. Sighing, she removed her hand and they sprang up softly. Samar watched her do this, a curious sheen in her dark eyes.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Liz had said finally, in the same, flat tone.
"What do you mean?" Samar asked her.
"I don't know why I thought I would ever be free of him. Ever since that first day, it's like I've been completely at his mercy. And it's like he used the FBI to courier me straight to him by helicopter. This is going to sound terrible, evil almost. No. Forget it. I can't even say it. . ."
"Say it, Liz. It's okay."
Liz had looked up at Samar, finally making real eye contact with her for the first time since Samar had come home that evening, prepared for their date. Tears sparkled, sharp as shards of glass in her blue eyes as she whispered, "Sometimes, I'm actually glad my baby died. I'm actually thankful that she won't ever have to live in this world like me, to be used as a pawn in someone else's game of insanity, or whatever this is. I don't think I could bear to see her become like me." She had taken a deep breath in and inhaled it in a shaking sob. "What kind of a person does that make me? I always thought Reddington was the monster in this equation, but I'm no better than him. Maybe I'm just like him."
"Oh, Liz," Samar said. She stepped tentatively toward her and opened her arms. Liz took a step and fell softly into Samar's embrace. "It's all right. You are a good person. It is completely understandable that you would feel that way, after everything you have been through. It does not make you a monster. Not by a long shot." She kissed the top of her head and had started to rub her back, but Liz pushed Samar from her.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Liz asked as she straightened herself, cleared her throat, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"
"You still have a chance at a normal life, Samar. If you stay here, the FBI will protect you from Reddington if you need it. He doesn't even know about us yet. He doesn't have to know about us at all. You could tell him I got away from you before you could bring me to him. He'll come after me. He won't know you had a part in it. But if you come with me, there is no turning back for you. He'll know. He'll find out about us and he'll know you helped me. He'll come after us with everything he has. This doesn't have to be your fight. I'm giving you an out, here and now. I won't hold it against you. Those letters, Samar. . . they were intense. I don't think he'll ever let me go."
"Well then he's going to have to come through me because I'm not going to let you go either," Samar had declared, then added, "Unless of course you want me to let go. Then of course I would."
Liz had taken Samar's hand. "I don't want you to let go," she had whispered. "At least not yet."
"Then I won't."
"But I can't promise what I'll want after this is all said and done. I still don't know if I can trust you, let alone forgive you, Samar."
"That's okay. I'm still in. It's the least I can do for you."
With that, they had shouldered their bags and left the apartment.
Driving through the night and into the morning, they find there is surprisingly little to say. The distance grows between them in the silence. They stop at a gas station, sometime after the sun has risen, to get coffee, refuel the car, and use the bathroom. Liz climbs into the driver's seat and Samar looks at the GPS on her phone.
The property they have chosen is in upstate New York. They should be there early in the afternoon. It isn't much of a head start, but they should have time enough to establish themselves before he arrives. They stop for some supplies. Cans of food. Gas. Bullets. They find what they need and continue on.
As they drive through the hills and valleys of rural New York, they are focused on their mission. Liz examines the plans of the house they have chosen and they discuss how they will proceed. The distance between them is bridged by this common goal. And whether it is because they are tired from driving through the night, or because they are so focused on the details of their plan, they are so distracted that they do not see the truck that t-bones into them.