Redemption (boyxboy) (18+)

Chapter Twenty-seven

Reid sits at the tiny table in their motel room with his boots kicked up on the edge, the chair rocked back on two legs. He's eating mostly-burned microwave popcorn and chucking the blackest pieces across the room at Nate, who's sitting cross-legged on the hideous floral bedspread. Reid misses with his first few shots, the stray pieces bouncing off the worn carpet, and smiles to himself when he finally gets a kernel to stick in Nate's messy, twisting hair.

Nate doesn't look up when the popcorn starts pelting him in the side of the face. He's trying to engross himself in the only thing in the room that's still in like-new condition - the Gideon Bible he pulled out of the bedside table.

They're bored. The room's TV doesn't work and they're running low on money, so they've got nothing better to do while they wait for nightfall and the bars to be crowded enough for Reid to "earn" some more.

It takes twelve pieces - one of which smacks only a centimeter from his eye - but Nate finally gets irritated enough to look up, catching an incoming kernel midair and popping it in his mouth. He frowns when he tastes the ashy, burnt flavor, swallowing quickly.

"Your terrible microwaving skills and annoying habits aside, I think it's actually going well so far. Don't you?"

Reid shoves another handful into his mouth, little popcorn fragments flying as he chews and talks. "It's going fucking amazing, Nate. I mean, that thing you can do with your tongue alone would be enough to-"

"No, not us, Reid. I mean the trial - getting there, testifying, the whole grand plan. We've evaded detection by my family for far longer than I had anticipated. I've even begun to entertain the still highly improbable idea that I may actually survive to see next year."

"Damn, Nate, that's downright optimistic of you."

"Yes, well...I just want to know what happens. If I make it to the trial and beyond. What happens then?"

Reid's been thinking about this more and more and he finally knows what his answer should be.

We stay together.

He realized it last Sunday, slouched on one end of a scratchy couch with Nate's feet in his lap and a can of PBR in his hand. They were in a different motel room - one where they had cable - and watching his beloved Chiefs play.

Football is alien territory for Nate; he never even saw a game before meeting Reid. So his reactions are always a half-second too slow, waiting and watching Reid out of the corner of his eye to see whether he should cheer or boo. Reid tries not to laugh, because he gets that sports weren't exactly a priority in the Angelev house, so he just smiles and rests one hand on the top of Nate's feet, appreciating the effort.

But Reid can't help but miss - deeply, painfully miss - Ben, Andy, Jill, Janie, and everyone else he left back home. He thinks about the weekends he spent at Ben and Janie's house, watching the game on their big screen, drinking Ben's pretentious microbrew and devouring those fucking delicious wings Janie makes. They'd usually all get so wrapped up in the game that they'd watch the last quarter standing, lunging toward the TV and shouting any time either team was in the red zone. Reid would have so much to drink that he'd always wind up crashing in the guest room, feeling safe and at home under his best friend's roof.

And that's when it hits him, on that stupid itchy couch with Nate while his favorite team loses terribly: Whether or not they pull this whole crazy plan of his off, he will probably never watch a game with Ben again.

Because Reid already knows - Nate is his life now. Whether he dies defending him or has to follow him deep into Witness Protection, Reid won't leave his side.