Redemption (boyxboy) (18+)

Chapter Three

"Fuck!"

Reid spins and shoots, wildly, but he's not that focused on actually hitting the prick shooting at them. He only cares about covering Nate, so his shots pierce the drywall a foot away from the shooter's head.

But they kick up a cloud of dust and sound that provides a tiny distraction, one that buys Reid just enough time to press his free hand flat to Nate's chest and shove him back. Reid slides behind the bedroom door with him and throws the lock a fraction of a second before the handle shakes, their attacker trying to force his way in.

It won't hold forever, but they can take a small moment to breathe. The first thing Ben does when they set up a witness in a new location is make one of the rooms a "safe" room, a habit that Reid has never been more grateful for. Because it means that the bedroom door has been replaced with a stronger exterior one made of solid wood, complete with deadbolts and a chain.

Reid's left hand is still resting on Nate's chest, his thumb sliding across his collarbone unconsciously as he leaves it there longer than he really should. Nate's heart thuds strong and steady under his palm, and Reid lets the solid warmth reassure him enough that he can regain some focus. He takes a deep breath and swallows, hard, before finally sliding back to look Nate over, checking for blood or bullet holes.

But Nate looks the same as he did when Reid left him fifteen minutes ago- messy hair and those stupid holey jeans, fraying at the hem where they drag across the floor, and that blue shirt, wrinkled now, that makes Nate's eyes so striking that it's like looking at a goddamn Disney prince.

Reid's heart starts racing again, this time for an entirely different reason.

And then there's more gunfire from the hallway, splintering the wood around the lock, and he remembers that he's got a job to do.

Dammit.

He grabs Nate by the back of the neck and drags him to the far side of the room so he can shove him down to take cover behind the bed. Reid crouches beside him, hissing in his ear.

"How many times have I told you that you can't just open the goddamn door like that, Nate?"

His answering signs are jerky and sharp. "You'd be in pieces by now if I hadn't."

"Bullshit. I totally could've taken that guy."

"Then why didn't you?"

Shots ring out again, this time blasting holes in the bedroom door large enough for Reid to see through. The air is filling with gunsmoke and dust and debris, but there's just enough moonlight to fumble his way to the head of the bed. He gropes along the back of the headboard for a moment before his fingers find the extra gun he'd duct-taped there for just this kind of emergency. He rips it free, balls up the duct tape, and shoves the slightly-sticky grip into Nate's unwilling hands. "Take this,"  he says, trying to avoid Nate's eyes.

And, true to form, Nate's glaring, the gun waving around crazily as he signs. "Damn it, I told you I didn't want any guns around here. I'm not shooting anyone, ever again, even if they're trying to shoot me." He somehow manages to look both furious and heartbroken at the same time, his mouth firm, his eyes haunted. "I'm done with killing, Reid."

Reid gets it, Nate's reasons for this whole Gandhi-esque non-violence thing - sort of, anyway - but right now he mostly just wants to strangle him. Because he's sure, having grown up an Angelev, that Nate has had a gun in his hand from the time he could walk. He's probably a better shot than Reid, and definitely better able to anticipate how his family will come after him, but he's so damn passive about it that Reid has lain awake on more than one night, staring at the ceiling and worrying that this is all just some elaborate suicide scheme on Nate's part.