It started when Joe was arrested. At first, Ryan thought it was his conscience's way of taunting him, reminding him that he'd had Joe, he'd had Joe, but chosen not to kill him even though nobody would have batted an eye. But even after Ryan convinced himself with some bullshit excuse that the system would take care of him and it wasn't necessary, Joe still kept appearing, mostly in his dreams. Ryan's new hypothesis was that he'd sacrificed so much because of his desperate hunt for Joe that his mind simply didn't know what to do without the motivation of tracking him down. It was pathetic but, unfortunately, the best he could come up with. And it only further convinced him that sparing Joe had been because he really couldn't live without him. He was purposeless. His brain had two priorities: protect the few loved ones he had left and stop Joe for good. The latter had been achieved; Joe was set to be executed. He had no hope of escape or bail. The government had learned their lesson from the first time. At least, Ryan hoped they had.

So, in theory, that should mean he had no excuse but to focus on the former. Perhaps, he should even allow new loved ones to come into his life and stop being so afraid that he was a harbinger of death to everyone he met since Joe was also largely to blame for that. That was what Gwen was supposed to be: his way of moving on and living a normal life. Marriage, kids, all the things that people usually do. The FBI would probably take any excuse to get rid of him now. He was a loose canon. They all knew that but had had no choice but to keep him around for the sake of catching Joe. He could just take a private security job, a nine-to-five, something where he could say he'd be home for dinner and actually mean it. A job that wouldn't risk his safety and bleed into every aspect of his life. He and Gwen could have dinner dates with Mike and Max.

It could be so simple. He just had to let it happen.

But he couldn't. No matter how much he tried, there was no spark, no flutter in his chest when he looked at Gwen. She was sweet and kind and good for him in every way possible, but he just couldn't picture a future with her. He waited for the day when she realised that whatever fleeting moment of attraction had been between them was gone and left him for someone else. Someone who actually treated her the way she treated others. But for now, he would pretend. He would smile and nod when she talked with so much light in her eyes, starkly contrasting the emptiness of his soul, and go along when she led him to bed, making love in a way that seemed to do the trick for her but didn't have a shred of emotion in it. She was a smart woman. He expected her to catch on to his lack of enthusiasm, but she didn't. It painfully reminded him that most people saw the world with trust and openness and saw the best in people. The opposite of how he saw it. Not even the most seasoned, fucked-up federal agents had as much cynicism as he did.

Ryan looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't remember how long the faucet had been running. Gwen was asleep. He, as usual, wasn't. He didn't think he would ever sleep well so long as Joe was alive.

"But even when I die, I won't leave you," Joe taunted with a smirk, appearing behind him in his reflection. "We both know that. I'm a part of you, Ryan."

He sighed, looking down at the sink, praying it might make Joe disappear, but he doubted it.

"You've been seeing her for what, six months now? And you're still trying to delude yourself into thinking she can fix you?"

"Shut up," He uttered. Most of the time, he trained himself to either ignore Joe or only respond to him in his mind. He didn't need to be caught talking to himself.

"You realise I'm a product of your subconscious, Ryan?" Joe pointed out. "I'm not the reason I'm here; you are."

Ryan's cheek twitched. "What will it take to make you go away?"

"Well, you need to move on, Ryan," he answered simply. "But… that's just not going to happen, by the looks of it, is it? How many hours have you spent thinking of me? How many times have I appeared in your dreams? How many times have you looked over your shoulder wondering if me or one of my followers is watching you?"

Joe was on his mind a lot, even in custody. He wasn't wrong.

"You need me, Ryan."

It was true. God, it was true. Without Joe, he would have to face reality, his emotions, and his grief. Properly. Not with a bottle of Jack Daniels. The thought of that not only seemed impossible and terrifying but also repugnant. He had to admit the thrill of the chase made him feel alive, like he had a purpose on this earth. A part of him — a very small part that he kept deeply buried — admired Joe. He didn't condone his actions, not at all. But he was easily the most intelligent criminal he'd ever pursued, and Ryan didn't want to lose that. The man was fascinating. He was enthralled by him. It was an intellectual attraction. He could acknowledge the man's abilities and expertise without forgiving his sins. That was all it was. Right?

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think about Gwen, trying to think about something, anything in his life that wasn't Joe. Something that he cared enough about to override his feelings. To his relief, Joe disappeared. For now, at least. Usually, when he was distracted enough at work or talking to someone else, he could keep Joe at bay, but his return was inevitable.

He could only pray that this might stop when Joe was dead, but he wouldn't get his hopes up.

He had learned the hard way not to do that.