Redemption (boyxboy) (18+)

Chapter Sixteen

It may seem like just a vacation from the outside, and it has even begun to feel more and more like one, but the truth is that every day is a test.

A test of Nate's resolve, of his ability to leave his family and the power and the money - good god, the money - behind him. A test of Reid's ability to read their environment, to instinctively know when someone watches them a second too long or whether the bulge under a jacket is a gun or just a gut. Of both their stamina to keep running, to wake up in different states and eat fast food all the time, to not let their nerves fray with the stress and the close quarters.

But all those tests pale in comparison to this one, to Nathaniel's deposition, something they've started not-so-affectionately referring to as D-Day. For Nate, the nickname is just a shortened form of Deposition Day; for Reid, it signifies the fact that getting Nate there and back safely feels about as daunting as storming a beach filled with enemy soldiers.

The day after Disney they leave the Camaro in long-term parking at the Orlando airport, Reid giving his hood one last loving stroke before walking away. They'll retrieve her after the deposition if all goes well, but they can't risk taking her any farther. They're headed into enemy territory; if someone links the Camaro to them it will never be safe again.

Of course, they can't make it through security at any major airports either, so they start the long and exhausting process of hopscotching haphazardly around the entire eastern seaboard by bus and train. It takes days, switching names at every stop, wearing hats and sunglasses in public, staying holed up behind drawn curtains in out-of-the-way motel rooms when they're not on the move. They absolutely cannot afford to leave a trail, to leave a memorable impression on anyone they see. Any traces could be used to track them, to learn about their methods and aliases.

Even with all their precautions, it'll be nearly impossible to disappear after the deposition. They'll be starting over from scratch, because the Angelevs know exactly where Nate will be at a specific time: Where to start tracking him, who he's with, what he looks like now...there might as well be a spotlight shining on them both, with bold, black crosshairs tattooed onto Nate's forehead.

And the more they think about it the more impossible it seems, the pressure tightening like a screw that compresses them both down until there's only this stress, this seemingly insurmountable goal. And with every passing hour, every threadbare bus seat or grinding screech of the train wheels beneath them, entertaining the remote possibility of a romantic relationship seems more and more unrealistic, all hope quickly fading far into the distance. By the second day it's so small that it's just a speck on the horizon, nothing more than a deluded daydream.

This is the only thing that's real. The fear and impossible odds, the ghosts of Nate's past suffocating any hope for their future.

*******

They wake long before the sun on D-Day in a run-down motel in Richmond, forgoing any coffee or small talk. They're running on nothing but adrenaline now.

And it's still dark when they board a small, private plane for the last leg of their maze-like journey. Ben hired it on the side to take them from Virginia to Connecticut, where Ben and Andy will pick them up to drive into New York City. But Reid can't even enjoy the soft leather seats, the well-stocked bar or the well-stacked flight attendant. All he can see are Nate's knees bouncing, his fingers twisting together and picking at the cuticles until they bleed.

Reid reaches over to take Nate's hand, warm and hard and strong, and squeezes it tightly. It's the first time they've touched since they left Florida.

Nate looks up and they lock eyes for a long moment. Reid can see the edge of the tension begin to ebb, the lines around his eyes slowly smoothing out. And eventually, he lets out a long breath and squeezes Reid's hand in return.

Neither of them notice when a tiny ribbon of blood runs from Nathaniel's torn thumbnail across the ridge of Reid's knuckles.

*******

Miraculously, (and, in Reid's opinion, suspiciously) the worst thing that happens during the drive into the city is that Ben hits a pot hole big enough to bend a rim.

And nothing unusual occurs as they make their way up to the eighteenth floor of the supposedly neutral location where the deposition will be held.

In fact, for something they've spent so much time fearing, the deposition just looks like some sort of boring corporate meeting. There will only be three other people there, in a luxurious but soulless conference room that's all plush carpeting and slightly dusty bookshelves, a dozen leather rolling chairs lined up around a long table of polished oak.

Nathaniel has chosen a seat at the far end, wearing a slightly wrinkled blue suit they picked up at Goodwill along with a worn white shirt and scuffed black wingtips. He purposely omitted a tie, the scar on his neck plainly visible behind the open collar of his shirt. He hasn't bothered to cover it for weeks now. Somehow, it doesn't feel like a flaw anymore; it actually makes him feel strong. Makes him a survivor.

So he's ready, he's determined...but he's growing more anxious as they wait.

He just wants to get this over with.

And it does nothing to help his nerves when the defense attorney arrives - Karl, one of the many lawyers the Angelevs keep on retainer. From his position hovering over Nate's left shoulder, Reid writes the lawyer off before he's even seated - just a pudgy balding man in an ugly suit, unarmed and non-threatening.

But Reid doesn't look him in the eyes like Nate does, doesn't see that they are as cold and sharp as glass. And he doesn't know that Karl's heart is just as frigid; it's a feature Nathaniel appreciated the few times he had reason to call on Karl back when he was in the family business.

It's far less appealing from the other side of the table.

The prosecutor, a small brunette named Christine Mills, takes a seat at Nate's side. Nathaniel hasn't had much contact with her before today, but she seems smart and capable. She'd been the one to grant him the deal for immunity in exchange for his testimony, and she happily obliged Nathaniel's request to use his type-to-talk app in lieu of an ASL interpreter, seeming to inherently understand Nate's need to ensure that his words would be recorded as precisely that - his.

Besides, Reid seems to trust her.

But Reid doesn't trust anyone enough to leave Nate in there alone. He pulls a chair into the far corner of the room behind Nate - strategically chosen because he can see everyone at the table as well as the only door - and refuses to move until the deposition is over. His holster is unsnapped and his fingers twitch a centimeter from the gun, his gaze watchful and guarded.

He knows that Ben and Andy and over a dozen other marshals and police officers are stationed in the lobby, as well as throughout the building and on the streets outside. The entire block is covered.

It doesn't really make him feel any better.

The court reporter sets up her small typewriter and nods to the attorneys. Nate dries his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants, takes a deep breath.

And it begins.