Early the next morning…

d2: + 2 years, 9 months

d3: − 3 months

Part XX: If…

Nick glanced at the houses and buildings they were passing, recognizing some of them. If he wasn't mistaken, the airport was only a few minutes away now.

He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache he had woken up with and that seemed determined to stay with him until he either got some painkillers or some serious rest. He had barely slept the night, lying awake for hours with all kinds of thoughts running through his mind. It had already been light outside when he had finally drifted off – only to jolt awake again shortly after, only more disturbed and confused.

He stole a glance at Nina, sitting on the driver's seat, steering the car through the hectic morning traffic. They seemed to have hit rush hour.

I knew you would despise me if I'd told you.

He couldn't forget what she had said the night before. He had expected her to mock him for being so weak, to display one of those mocking smiles and maybe give him a last little speech about how she couldn't understand why he was so shocked at finding out she was still active. Instead she had been sincere. He hadn't seen it coming.

I don't know what you saw in me, but I didn't want you to stop seeing it. Because whatever it is, you're the only one who can see it.

He still wasn't sure which part was causing his head to hurt more - the question what it actually was that he saw in her that had made him stick around or the silent though sad admission that even she couldn't see it.

What did he see in her? Or as she had pointed out - what had he seen in her before finding out that she had been lying to him all this time? He didn't know. He had thought about it so many times but he still couldn't put it in words, couldn't make it intelligible even to himself.

He had told her that she was the only thing that made him feel alive, that figuring her out and trying to fix her somehow gave a meaning to his life. He had accepted that a while ago but he had still wondered: why this obsession with just her of all people, why that fixation? Why couldn't he go and find someone else to understand and help become a better person, someone who… Someone who deserves it.

One answer was that he was fascinated by the way her mind worked, the way she quickly evaluated situations and made her moves, always letting her ratio steer. Because no matter how sick or twisted her actions might seem from a moral point of view, from a rational perspective they made perfect sense. It was frightening and appalling on the one hand but the psychologist and theorist he was he couldn't deny that it was just as fascinating on another level.

But even on the moral level – yes, a part of him was still appalled, even more so now that he knew she was still walking around killing, betraying, selling out information and people alike, doing anything that could further her objective, regardless of the consequences for the rest of the world. But he also knew that objective now, and it changed everything. Not that she wanted to live or even that she wanted to get out - the first one nothing new, the latter one a precondition that made it possible for him to look at her or be in the same room with her. No, it was something else, something he had thought to have discovered a long time ago, he didn't know exactly when.

Every time you remember what I am, every time you feel guilty about it, I do too.

That was why she needed him, that was what she got out of being with him. Being reminded of who she was and feeling sick about it. And wanting to be something else.

He had assumed it at first, doubted it then, dismissed it last night before she had opened up, but in the end he had been right all along. And again he couldn't help but understand why she had never been able to voice that fact before: because she was afraid that it was too late. She had indicated it once. I can't be fixed. Back in the cabin. A little late to make amends.

He closed his eyes, blinking against the throbbing pain in his head. But is that enough? He didn't know. Was it enough to justify that he didn't turn his back on her, didn't turn her in, didn't despise her? Could it ever justify that…if he wanted to be with her?

If?

He knew he would probably keep struggling with the moral dilemma of his situation for the rest of his life, no matter what would happen from now on. But he also knew a part of him had already made a decision.

It had been the same dream again that had made him jolt awake. Summer, a warm and sunny day, his parents' garden, all those people there that he knew from different periods of his life. Nina shooting that same faceless, nameless guy, Davis reminding him that it was simply in her nature, his parents telling him they just wanted him to be happy. Him and Nina dancing until Jack showed up.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but she just shook her head, letting go of him, standing, faltering, staggering back. "Nina," he tried again. "What's wrong?" But again, she just shook her head, still clutching her chest, obviously not able to breathe, stumbling, falling, sinking to the ground. He stared at her, but noticed something at the periphery of his field of vision, and turning his head, he caught sight of a single man, standing in the distance, his arms hanging down at his sides, his eyes riveted on Nina. Hating eyes, revengeful eyes. Eyes he was going to kill her with, as if his look was choking her. And she had noticed him as well, lying on the grass, almost peaceful now, holding Jack's stare, not struggling anymore, and then, when the color started leaving her face, looking up into the sky, as if trying to catch a last glimpse of it before her eyes would fall shut.

He couldn't tell how many times he had had that same dream, how many times he had woken up at that point. But this time, the dream hadn't been over yet.

And finally he snapped out of his paralysis. Hesitant at first but then more determined, he jumped forward and was by her side, kneeling down, pulling her into his arms, holding her. And jerking his head up, he looked at Jack again, who had taken his eyes off of Nina, and was staring at him now instead, not with hate but reproachful, burdening guilt on Nick's shoulders. But one more glimpse at Nina's face and he was sure. "I'm sorry," he whispered, mimicked towards Jack, and then turned around with Nina in his arms, positioning himself between her and Jack, blocking, shielding her from those murderous eyes.

If he was a different person, maybe he could tell himself it was just a dream? That it didn't mean anything…

¤¤¤

A cab had just dropped its passengers off and Nina quickly pulled into the parking space in front of the terminal and turned the engine off. She was waiting for him to say something or just get out of the car and leave but he didn't move.

She folded her hands in her lap and let her gaze wander around, feeling nervous and uncomfortable. She had no idea what to do. This was not how she had imagined it would end.

"There should be a flight within the next few hours," she said, really just to say anything. And finally, he looked up, apparently only now noticing they had reached their destination.

A patrol car drove by slowly, and she caught sight of two officers stepping out of the terminal, one of them briefly waving towards his colleagues and then turning back to his partner. Engaged in what seemed like small talk, the two cops came walking towards them, and Nina couldn't but watch them closely, her eyes following them and the glances they occasionally darted at parked cars and early morning travelers. Finally they were walking past them.

"Is this what you want?"

She turned her head around, catching Nick's inquiring gaze.

What? Always having to turn around, always being a bit on the run? She had a last look at the two officers who were continuing their stroll down the sidewalk. She thought she had explained it to him.

Following her gaze, he shook his head.

"I'm not talking about them. I mean this."

She frowned but understood when he motioned towards the sliding doors of the terminal just a few meters away. He meant him leaving, he meant this being it. If he walked away now…there was no coming back.

If you let him walk, a voice inside her qualified.

She turned away and sighed.

"Nina," he insisted next to her, the tone of his voice more intruding than if he had grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Is this what you want?"

Was it?

She rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself for not having an answer. Not true. She just couldn't say it.

"It doesn't matter what I want," she explained instead. "It stopped mattering a long time ago." And there was no one else to blame but herself.

"Bullshit," he retorted agitated. "You want to be able to look in the mirror again, you want to get out? You're waiting for your chance? Then it does matter what you want. So tell me – is this part of it?"

Again she felt the urge to avoid him, to look away, but the piercing look of his eyes made it impossible.

She swallowed, struggling with too many thoughts running through her head all at once.

Let him go. Things would be much less complicated when he was out of the picture, and she could finally focus on what was lying ahead again.

What's the alternative? He would just get in the way. And whatever he was thinking right now, nothing had changed. There was still no way he would be able to handle knowing she was still working. He hadn't changed.

Even if he did, even if it works out – it's a risk. Someone could find out. Her employer could find out. Jack could find out. She didn't even know which would be worse.

And what's going to happen once you're out? Would he really be willing to give up everything and be on the run with her? Because even with enough money to disappear for good she wouldn't be able to ever go back and if he was with her neither would he. Was he really prepared for that? Did he have any idea what he was getting himself into?

No, he doesn't.

She really couldn't think of one sound reason to stop him but when he abruptly turned away and reached for the door handle all of that suddenly disappeared.

"Wait."

He hesitated, his hand still on the handle though, and she clenched her teeth.

"It's not." It wasn't what she wanted. Maybe there was no sound reason but she still didn't want him to leave.

Slowly, he leaned back in his seat again, trying to hide his relief but without much success. Not looking at her but staring straight ahead, he gave them both a moment before moving on.

"What's next then?"