Netflix isn't renewing the Punisher! ugh, why are they trying to ruin our lives?! I guess we'll just have to keep reading fanfics for our fix :)

THREE

"This is it?" Bellamy asked about 30 minutes later. They'd pulled up to a small trailer in back of an old car yard. He wasn't kidding when he said it was off the grid. No one could find this place, even with a map.

He said nothing but shut the truck off and pushed his door open. Miya had fallen asleep in the seat between them. She watched through the windshield as his hulking form made its way around the hood and to her door.

"Let's go." His voice sounded exhausted, and she was sure it mimicked her own. But there was something more. Not only did he sound tired, he looked like he could collapse at any second. She noticed his ashen face and how he leaned against the open door for support as she crawled out of the truck. He ushered her and the now fully awake four year old towards the trailer, keeping a good two feet behind them. When she reached the door, she stood aside, allowing him to pick the key from his pocket. To her surprise, he handed her the key.

Inside was exactly what she'd pictured. A small simple camper. Old and worn couch against the wall, a rinky sink embedded into a tiny countertop, and a small round table with two chairs. Down the hall, if it could be called that, she could see the corner of a bed through a door of hanging beads. The only other door in the trailer she imagined as a bathroom.

As if reading her mind, Miya yanked hard on her hand and beconded for her to bend down. The child whispered something into her ear, cautious eyes flickering over the man still in the doorway behind them. Bellamy stood up and faced him.

"She needs to use the bathroom." she announced, refusing to ask permission for her niece to do what she needed to do. He nodded in the direction of the closed door down the hall and bellamy hurried the girl towards it.

As soon as she shut the door, her hand instinctively went for the lock. But there was none. That mild inconvenience was the tipping point, the straw that broke the camel's back. She leaned her forehead against the wood and closed her eyes, fighting the sting of the tears. She heard Miya moving around, no doubt getting herself up on the toilet.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at the door with her fists and rip the shower curtain down, and break the mirror and destroy everything else within her reach. But the little hiccup behind her was a reminder that she had to stay calm.

Silently, she assessed her options again.

She couldn't run, not with Miya. It was winter in New York City and she hadn't the faintest idea where they were. Without a jacket, Miya would freeze, and Bellamy couldn't be sure that she'd take them in the right direction. What if they ended up in an alley filled with criminals or on the peer with nothing in sight except far off ships. The city at night was dangerous. Especially for someone with an apparent price on their head.

She couldn't call for help. Even if she had her phone, or could manage to steal his, she had no one. After her sister died Miya had come to stay with Bellamy, not because she was the best family member to raise her, but because she was the ONLY family she had. After Jimmy, her sister had been the last contact in her phone. Her last life line. Her last connection. For the past year, it had just been Bellamy and Miya. And he had made it obvious that the police couldn't be trusted.

She couldn't fight. Plain and simple. Unless she got her hands on a weapon, she had no chance against him. He could crush her her with minimal effort. With a weapon, maybe she could give herself time to get away, but getting the weapon would be the hard part. She remembered the feel of the gun against her hip when he'd walked her to his truck. It was tucked safely between his belt and his own hip.

"Aunt Belly." Miya's small voice pulled her from her thoughts. "All done." she happily announced before flushing the toilet. Bellamy helped her wash her hands, though there was no soap. She wished they could just stay there, in the tiny bathroom with the warm water rinsing over their hands, until help arrived. Until this was all over. But they couldn't.

With a deep breath to steel herself, Bellamy turned the knob and stuck her head out of the bathroom. He was in the "kitchen", bodyweight leaning on the counter, arm bent at an awkward angle as if he were trying to see the back of his elbow. She realized with horror that he had taken off his sweatshirt and whatever he'd had on underneath, leaving him bare from the jeans up.

Seeing the muscles that rippled with every move sent a shudder of terror down her spine. Her earlier thoughts fighting him, even with a weapon, evaporated. She could never win. The man was like a fucking statue. Hard and cut.

Dark blood oozed from his shoulder, leaving red trails over his forearm and bicep to form a puddle on the counter. His other hand worked to sew the flesh together, the sharp needle working its way in and out of his skin.

It's mine. His earlier words ran through her mind again. He'd been hit with one of the bullets in her apartment. It seemed like hours ago, though it couldn't have been more than 45 minutes. How had she not noticed? Bellamy felt her breath catch as she watched the needle slide through his flesh again. He must have heard her, causing his head to snap up in her direction. He didn't stay trained on her long, only a second or two, before focusing back on his work. Bellamy pushed Miya back in the bathroom when the little girl tried to get past her. She didn't need to see that.

"I have to go too." she told the girl, closing the door for a second time. She took her time, praying that he'd be done when they finally left the safety of the bathroom. And he was. Fully clothed and looking as intimidating as ever, he was waiting for them right outside the door.

"Get some sleep." he inclined his head to the far room where she'd caught a glimpse of the bed. "There's clothes in the drawers for you to…"

"We're not changing out of our clothes." Bellamy folded her arms over her chest. Did he think she was stupid? Like she was going to let Miya and herself get naked with him only feet away. In a room with beads serving as a door? Hell no. His eyes glanced down to her chest and middle, causing blood to flood her cheeks, then he shrugged.

"Suit yourself." he turned and headed for the couch. Without taking his boots off, he threw his legs up over the one arm and used the other to support his head. He looked absolutely ridiculous. His body was way too long and wide for that sorry excuse of furniture. But of course, Bellamy wasn't about to voice that thought aloud. Instead, she let her own eyes wander down to her stomach. Her shirt was splattered with blood that she realized could only be his since neither her nor Miya were bleeding. She tried to think of how it got there. When she'd held Miya? When she'd cut his arm with the glass?

Regardless of how the blood go there, it was there. And it was in Miya's shirt too. This experience was traumatic enough for the kid, she wasn't going to make her sleep in bloody clothes all night. Back in the bedroom, Bellamy fumbled through the neatly filled drawers. The crisp folds of the shirts, jeans and sweats gave her the impression that her new "friend" was military.

She pulled a T-shirt for Miya, it would probably hang to her toes anyway. For a long moment she debated about her own shirt. She could handle the blood, but could Miya?

"Look Aunt Bell!" Miya giggled and held her arms out. She was swimming the black shirt Bellamy had given her. "Where's yours?" She peered into the drawer on tip toe. "There all the same." She added with disappointment when she realized each shirt was a different shade of black.

"They are, aren't they." Bellamy tussled the girls hair and picked out a shirt for herself. Leaving her bra and jeans, she tugged it over her head. It was big, but it did the job. She ushered her into the bed, deciding it was too cold to not slip under the blankets herself. Plus, she wanted to hold Miya, needed to have her close.

"I'm hungry." Miya whispered after they had both settled in. In all the chaos, Bellamy hadn't even thought about feeding her, or herself for that matter. She thought about the chicken she'd had thawing in the microwave of her apartment. That should have been their dinner.

"We'll have breakfast as soon as we wake up." she promised, unsure of how she'd keep her word. He was human, right? There had to be something to eat in this goddamn trailer.

She knew sleep wasn't going to come. Not with him sleeping in the other room, gun still tucked in his waistband. Not with every dangerous criminal in the city looking for her. Not with the coppery stench of blood in her nostrils. His blood. Bellamy focused on Miya's breaths, each one slow and deep as she was taken under by sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid that she'd open them to find the girl gone. Instinctively, her arms pulled Miya closer. If she was quiet enough, Bellamy could just make out the movements in the next room. She heard him toss, and turn, and… whimper.

He was having a nightmare.

She listened carefully, half lifting herself up on an elbow to hear more. But the small cry only came once more. Bellamy fell asleep wondering what the hell a man like that was afraid of.