Echoes of Another Life

He had lost count of how many days he had been trapped there. The first days - a week? A month? He had no way to know - were a haze of pain and fever and questions. He had rallied a bit then and felt a little fight return. He was pissed that he was trapped and, yes, he was pissed at her. Part of him knew she was doing her job in the best way she knew how. Her friend had died, her boss likely had as well, and she blamed him for it all. If it was his fault or not.

She had loved him. She had trusted him. He had betrayed her.

He was pissed, and he thought he had a right to be, but so did she. Maybe this would be what he needed to break free of her. Maybe he could finally banish that knot in his chest that formed whenever he thought about the last few months and how the false life they'd built together had shattered at their feet.

They went back and forth. Questions were met with obstinence, obstinence was met with a barrage of questions followed by silence. Utter, terrible silence in which Tom was left to shiver alone in the boat, curled into the ratty mattress with only his thoughts to keep him. Infection had set in and he had dreamt that Liz had come into the room and helped him choke down food, all the while speaking more gently than he deserved. He'd sunk into the delusion, clinging to it, but it hadn't been real. Couldn't have been real. The man she loved was dead and he was paying the price for the murder.

Tom leaned back, shoving his hands into his pockets to try to keep them warm. The wounds were closed and the infection beat, but he still felt sick. Sometimes he felt angry, sometimes regretful, but most of the time he just felt bitter. He had just been doing his job. It wasn't like he was new to it, some amateur that would get caught up in his emotions and fall for his mark. That wasn't him. That had never been him. Why did this have to be the one job that had made him understand why people wanted that stupid, simple life they all seemed to look for? All he had wanted to do was finish the job and get paid so he could move on to the next one.

Then Liz had changed everything.

His finger scraped against something small and smooth and latched on, pulling the item into view. His breath caught in a humorless laugh at the site of his wedding ring that he'd worn on a chain between the time that he had left his wife cuffed to the stairs in their home and just before he'd been shot. The delusion of finding her after this was all over was just like the one that she'd nursed him through the worst of it all. She didn't love him. He had failed and now all that was left were the shattered pieces of the person she had been that were left behind as a haunting reminder.

Maybe. Or maybe she was hiding behind her anger for the same reason he refused to give her a straight answer: they were afraid of what would happen once she had Berlin.

She could kill him, but he didn't think she had sunk quite that far yet. They were more alike than Liz likely wanted to admit, but not that much, and that was a good thing.

She could let him go, but then what? He wouldn't turn her in. Even he knew that. She blamed him for everything, though, as if he were Berlin. Maybe once she had the man some of her hatred would subside.

This wasn't helping.

Tom glared at the ring like it was the offender in the situation. He'd never had a problem before putting aside distraction and finding a way out of the situation. Not until Elizabeth Scott.

He sighed, leaning back, the ache spreading through him deeper than physical. Love wasn't something he could just shake off. It wasn't a choice. He loved her, and no matter how hard he fought it, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get her out of his head.

Not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been easier if she had let him bleed out on the floor after putting three bullets through him.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, lighter than the bumbling body guard she kept. Tom grimaced and latched the chain around his neck, shoving the ring under his t-shirt. He wasn't going to give her everything all at once - he still couldn't trust that she knew what she was going to do with him when she had what she needed for her job - but he could give her something personal. He could give her something that meant something to her.

The door creaked open and he swallowed hard, the ring weighing heavy against his chest.

"You look like hell," she said icily.

He bit back the retort that nearly tumbled out. Snark would negate the careful attempt to reestablish at least the barest thread of trust. "Jacob."

That wasn't the response she'd expected, from the look she wore. "Who?" she asked sharply, taking a step forward. "Is that a link to Berlin? Who is it? Someone who can help me find him?"

Tom snorted and his lips quirked very slightly at the corners. "A few days ago you asked me my real name. Jacob. My name is Jacob Phelps. At least it was when I was born."

She blinked at him for a moment, processing. Then, just like that, she was closed off again. "I asked that a month ago."

"Yeah? I have trouble keeping time for some reason."

They watched each other for a long moment before Liz simply turned around and walked out, leaving Tom alone again. He sighed and let himself fall to one side, curling up on the mattress and toying with the ring around his neck that belonged to the man Liz had loved. He knew he should want to get out of the place and find a way to put that man behind him. He should want to get rid of the ring. It was an echo of a life a man like him didn't have a right to want, but that didn't stop him from wanting it. It didn't stop him from needing it. She had changed him, somehow, and all Tom could think was how much easier his life had been before and how he wouldn't give up one memory of his time with Lizzy, not even if it would stop the pain.

Notes: This little story comes from a conversation with faultyhoneytrapping over on Tumblr. She did a lovely little piece of artwork with Tom holding up various faces in the form of masks as if he were switching identities (go see it if you haven't!) and he has his wedding ring around his neck. That started me thinking (and the conversation going) about how he didn't have a necklace on when Liz shot him, but he does some ways into his capture. It's not like he just popped out to go collect his belongings, so whatever was on that chain must mean something to him, or why bother? We do see Tom wearing his wedding ring up until he kidnaps Liz in Berlin: the Conclusion (even when he's in the safe house after he's left), so it makes it at least plausible that he would have it tucked away in a pocket and it would be small enough that Liz might not find it if she were looking for any hidden weapons and whatnot when she chained him up. Just a few thoughts. Hat tip to FaultyHoneyTrapping for this.

Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to see any specific themes and/or plots for these little one-shots! I love getting prompts for them!