Redemption (boyxboy) (18+)

Chapter Two

**Now**

"No offense, Marshal Logan, but I'm beginning to seriously doubt your ability to do your job properly."

Reid can hear the banging sound of someone trying to break down Nathaniel's door through the Skype call. Nate looks fine - maybe unsurprised and vaguely disappointed in him - but fine. Still, Reid's grip tightens so much he nearly cracks his phone's cheap plastic case.

"Goddammit. Are you okay?"

"For the moment."

Nate's hands are signing as precise and controlled as ever, even as another bang sounds, louder and with a sharp crack of wood. Reid is pretty sure that was the door splintering, which means that whatever bastard Nate's family sent this time will be in the apartment before Reid can get there.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as Ben pushes the accelerator to the floorboard, having heard enough of Reid's side of the conversation to know that everything's gone completely pear-shaped, as usual.

"Fuck. Alright, Nate. Lock yourself in your bedroom, wait for me. We're less than a block away."

Nathaniel frowns but nods sharply, looking warily back over his shoulder at the bowing front door.

Reid jams his finger at the stupid screen a half dozen times before the phone disconnects, gripping the door handle hard as Ben takes a corner fast enough to send the ass end of the rental car skidding across the road.

And Ben should know better than to taunt his partner, should have heard the naked fear woven through Reid's voice, but he can't help himself. He cares about Nate, too.

"You just had to go out for the stupid pie, didn't you?" Ben drops his voice low, a frighteningly accurate mockery of Reid's deep timbre."'Oh, it'll be fine, Ben. Everybody needs their daily recommended amount of fruit, and I prefer to eat mine in sweet, delicious pie form. Besides, we'll only be gone for five minutes, tops.' And now, not only are you going to get diabetes, but something worse has happened."

Reid just scowls, too choked with worry to even tell Ben to shut the fuck up. Reid had thought they were finally safe, that this time they'd gotten it right and Nate would be okay, buried so deep in Witness Protection that his own parents would never be able to find him.

Because that's exactly who they're hiding him from.

Reid had known from that moment he met Nate that it would be hard to protect him; incredibly so, which is why he warned Nate from the start. But even he couldn't have imagined it would be - so far, at least - completely fucking impossible.

It's been six weeks of relocations, burning through three complex false identities that took every last resource of the Marshals Service and more than a week each to build, only to come crumbling down when some Angelev lackey inevitably tracked them down within days.

They've been lucky in only two ways: (1) Reid was able (through a combination of lessons from Nate and spending every night watching YouTube tutorials) to pick up enough American Sign Language that Nate could now communicate with him fairly easily through a combination of legitimate signing, facial expressions, and rude gestures; and (2) each time the assassins had struck, Reid and Ben had still been in town monitoring Nathaniel. Which meant that (so far, at least) they'd been able to swoop in and save Nate each time, running away in erratic patterns over hundreds of miles until they were sure no one had followed, then holing up together in some shitty motel in the middle of no-fucking-where and waiting until the agency could construct a new cover for Nate.

It was terrifying and disorienting and stripped away any sense of professional confidence Reid had built over the past eight years of his career as a Marshal. He was frustrated and miserable; they all were.

But the worst thing, the absolute worst goddamn thing in the whole fucking universe, was that Reid had come to care for Nate. Like,care, care. It was dangerous. It was unprofessional as all hell. And it was so much more than the usual, vaguely protective affection he had felt for the other witnesses he'd helped.

It was the way he would catch himself staring at Nate's lips as he slurped lo mein takeout and watched Indiana Jones for the fourth time that week because the motel they were in only got three TV stations. It was how Nate had these ratty jeans that he liked to wear for days on end that had a long tear in the back pocket, and Reid would have to physically restrain himself because all he wanted to do was hook his fingers through the hole and haul Nate in against him, kissing until they were both breathless. It was the almost debilitating pain that twisted in his gut every time another assassin came for Nate.

Every time Reid failed.

Which is why he's now grateful to Ben for pulling so close to Nate's apartment building that when Reid jumps out, the car still rolling behind him, he barely has to take a step before he's at the entry door. It's closed and locked, of course, because nothing related to this job ever goes right, so Reid swears and fumbles to find the newly added keys on his keyring for what feels like forever before wrestling the door open and pounding up the three flights of stairs.

He can't hear anything over his gasping breath when he reaches the landing outside Nate's apartment, straining to see in the dim overhead light. His door is hanging open, the frame splintered and cracked. Across the hall, a neighbor has their door open just an inch, one watchful eye visible in the darkness beyond. Reid waves at them, silently mouthing 'Close the door,' but he doesn't have time to flash the badge that would actually make them comply.

Instead, he's moving through the broken doorway with his gun drawn, the sparsely-furnished apartment disturbingly quiet. Reid is seemingly alone with the dingy, gray-green walls and second-hand sofa,everything exactly as he left it fifteen minutes earlier.

So there wasn't a fight, which means that Nate is either so tired of running that he gave up and let whoever-the-fuck came for him drag him back to his family for some good old-fashioned torture and execution, or he actually listened to Reid and is hiding in the backroom.

Reid's gaze shifts, sees that the bedroom door is closed and apparently undamaged, and that's the only thing keeping him from choking on his own heart. Because it means maybe Nate is still in there. Maybe he's okay.

Reid knows he should sweep the rest of apartment before knocking on the door. He's been trained to be better than this, has years of experience that have left him cautious and smart, but he's also half-mad with worry.

Which is why, plagued with vivid fears of Nate bloody and in pain, Reid can't make himself wait one second longer. He tips the barrel of the gun against the wood, the knock solid as he hisses between his teeth.

"Nate? It's me."

And then two things happen at once - Nathaniel opens the door, and a huge man dressed in black appears in the hallway behind Reid, raising his gun to fire at them both.