A/N: Final chapter but there is an epilogue as well as an alternative chapter 15 and alternative epilogue!
warnings: graphic depictions murder, lots of angst
***
By the time you and Tom dry off, you're so exhausted you're falling asleep on his shoulder as he helps you dress.
"We should find a hotel to stay at for the night," Tom suggests, helping you into the car.
"Can we just sleep here, Holland?" You whine, buckling your seatbelt as Tom turns the car on.
"No, because we might get killed by an ax murderer or something," Tom murmurs, moving his hand to rest on top of yours.
"An ax murderer? Oooo, what a way to go," you tease.
"Shhh, rest your eyes, I'll find us a nice hotel," Tom says and before you could respond, you find yourself drifting to sleep.
By the time Tom pulls into a hotel parking lot, you're fast asleep, so he carries you inside.
For a moment, he thinks the two of you could run away together, screw Idaho, screw going back to killing people to right some wrongs in the world.
That is, until he starts to carry you inside and as you snuggle closer into his arms, he gets a text message alert.
When he checks his phone he sees that it's an Amber Alert. Normally Tom ignores them, knows that eventually the police and FBI will eventually catch whoever took the kid.
But as he clicks on the picture of the child who was taken, his heart nearly falls out of his chest.
The kid looks just like Harry, a younger version of him, red curly hair and a silly smile, one that Harry would get every time they passed a puppy walking with its owner.
He doesn't think twice before turning around and buckling you back into the car. You stay sound asleep on the ride back to Idaho, Tom carries you into a small motel right outside the town, only two away from yours, where the young boy went missing.
He wakes you up after placing you on the stiff mattress.
"What's up? What's wrong?" You ask, instinctively resting one hand on your stomach and hoping you didn't give anything away with your movement.
"There's an Amber Alert, this kid, James Hugh, he was abducted a block away-,"
"Stop! Tom, where are we?"
"Like fifteen minutes from home, anyway, he was abducted in a grocery store parking lot right down the road-,"
"Tom," you say sharply, sitting up and resting a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you.
"What?" Tom says, finally looking you in the eye.
"This isn't what I meant when I said I wanted you to show me you care, show me you aren't like Jake or anyone else," you look down, dropping your hand to his shoulder.
"But, come on, we could find out what happened to the kid-,"
"Tom, we aren't detectives, this isn't an episode of Scooby Doo, we won't capture a monster and find out he's an ordinary man after all."
"Y/N! Come on! Are you seriously going to sit here and not help this kid? I mean, you and I both know the police are completely useless!" Tom walks away, starting to pace as you roll your eyes.
"Tom, this isn't, this is spur of the moment, I don't do this, I need careful planning and-, this is work for the police, Tom. Have you ever tried chasing after a kidnapper? Someone in the midst of probably really trying to hurt a child? The risk is too high, I'm not going to do it."
"Then I will!" Tom shouts.
Both of you freeze, your baby kicking you almost in fear.
When you look at Tom and realize you and him have completely different priorities, it's in that moment you realize that you and him will never work. You know what you have to do, even though your heart and baby kick at you in protest.
Tom freezes again, looking at you with those wide doe eyes that you wonder if your child would have the same big brown eyes.
"Nevermind, it's stupid, I'm stupid," Tom chuckles, closing his eyes as he tries to ground himself. That kid isn't Harry, the police can handle it. This isn't his usual business, therefore he should stay out of it.
"It's just, I wanted something different," you say quietly.
"What do you want? I mean, seriously, you can't expect me to read your mind."
"I want you to take me out," you say decidedly.
"On a date or with a sniper?"
The joke falls flat, but you laugh anyway, swinging your legs off the bed.
"You decide."
***
Graham sighs as he watches the SWAT team prep, "Montgomery, let's prep for Y/N's apartment, Tom hasn't been to his much since three and a half months ago. Surely, if they're going anywhere, they'll be heading to her place."
"Boss, you sure we shouldn't put resources on both places?" Montgomery asks skeptically as he tightens his bulletproof vest.
"No, we have a single SWAT team and us, we need to throw all our weight behind this, this is the day we finally catch them. I can feel it," Graham smiles.
"It's a beautiful day to capture serial killers," Montgomery jokes, feeling the cold stare of Graham dead on the back of his head.
"Son, you need to stop binge watching Grey's Anatomy."
***
Tom calls you when it's getting close to eight, he's already dressed, ready, waiting. There's a nervous energy to him because he feels like something just isn't right. He wants to push that feeling down, and he knows the only way to do that is to hear your voice.
"I'm finishing my hair, Holland, chill out."
"How long does it take you to do your hair?" Tom whines slightly, bouncing on one foot.
"I know, I'm sorry I promised I'd meet you at your place but it's just taking me longer to get ready than I thought. And I want to get there on time so I just figured you could pick me up here."
"Course, I'll see you at 8 then darling," Tom smiles, eyes crinkling as he adjusts his tie in the mirror. It was the same one he wore the first time you ever worked together. As he ran his hand over the silk material he smiled at the memories the tie bubbled up from his subconscious.
***
"Go ahead Holland, put me in my place," your voice is venomous as you buck your hips up against him, "you're pathetic," you spit out, hands tugging at his hair.
"Shut the fuck up," he grunts, undoing his tie and grabbing your hands in his own, slamming them above your head.
"Make me dumbass," you watch as he wraps the blue silk tie around your wrists, tying it expertly and he watches you stare at him in wonder. A smirk passes his lips before he presses them against your own.
Your knee collides with the side of his groin and he groans, sitting up.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Don't kiss me," you get out, arms straining against the tie that held them together.
"Do you still-,"
"Fuck me Tom, just don't fucking kiss me."
***
"I can't wait, see you then."
"Bye, love you," Tom says as he hangs up. He doesn't even realize what he's said until it hits him like a brick a moment later.
"Holy fuck," he leans against his dresser, taking in what he said.
He set his phone down and wrung his hands out, they were slightly clammy as he picked up the envelope. Four tickets sat waiting, they were paper thin but it felt like he was picking up a sniper, the weight of what they were was exhausting. He checked the contents once, then twice, then a third time, just to be sure. Two plane tickets to Malibu, then two from Malibu to the Marshall Islands on a private plane.
***
"We should run away together," Tom says, running his hand through your hair.
"What do you mean? The cops on our tail?" You huff out a laugh, it makes his entire body vibrate from your position on top of him, head on his bare chest, one hand intertwined with his own.
"No, I just think it'd be nice, to get away from everything."
"Everything? Like what? Jake?" You squeeze Tom's hand and he flinches at Jake's name.
"Jake doesn't matter right now."
"He has all of our assets," you remind him. Needing him to believe this until you could get to Jake. It was a ridiculous dream of someone who somehow still didn't understand the cruel way the world just took and took and took without a care for the half empty people she left in her wake.
"We can make more money."
"What about Harry?"
Tom sucked in a harsh breath and your body moved with his, up as his lungs filled and down as he exhaled, "it's been 8 years since the accident."
"He's your brother."
"He's been in a coma for 8 years."
"Tom."
"I'd still visit him from time to time."
"That'll get expensive."
"Where would we go?"
"Where's one place you've always wanted to go?"
"My history teacher in high school, she told us about how she went to the Marshall Islands for a semester in college. Said the papaya there was the best she's ever had. She couldn't eat papaya here anymore, it doesn't compare."
"So we'll go to the Marshall Islands, have the best damn papaya in the world then," Tom runs his hand down your back, resting on your hip and squeezing slightly.
"How're we supposed to make money?"
"I-,"
"The only way I've ever made money is very, very illegal Tom. And you didn't have any plans before your accident. Neither of us could earn an honest living."
"Don't tear this down before it's a possibility. There's a lot to plan."
You sigh and your body feels cold against his. Your fingers once warm and interconnected with his on the cool bed sheets now gone. You try to roll off of him and he can feel your frustration. He holds onto your hips with both hands.
You know that this is exactly what you want, for him to try to move on from Harry. To get away with you from this mess.
So why are you trying to sabotage yourself?
"Don't you want that? Wouldn't you want to get away from all of this? From Jake?"
"He-,"
Tom snaps, "Jake tricked us! He manipulated us! He fucking killed the rest of the team. He made us do horrible horrible things. And he's going to kill us too if we don't do anything about it."
And there was that disconnect. Between Tom's relationship with Jake and your relationship with Jake. Between Tom's reality and yours. Between his brain chemistry and yours. Maybe he knew that you did this willingly and for no other reason than it was fun, Jake only made sure you worked with him so you wouldn't kill him. His subconscious willed it away. He only saw the portion of you that he wanted to, the blood that stained your glasses was a soft pink rose color on his.
***
In his other hand was a single black hollyhock flower. He wondered for a moment if he should've gotten you a bouquet of them. He wanted to fill the room with them, fill his heart and soul with each and every black flower he came across because they reminded him of you. But he was smart, he wasn't going to because he knew that you hated them, just grateful he was able to find this one in time for tonight.
Grateful that no matter what you thought you hid from him, he manages to stay a strong ahead of you. You wouldn't expect this.
***
Tom laughs breathily as you wiggle in his arms, sending shivers down his spine as you brushed against him.
You turn to face him, he slung his arm over your waist and he loved the way you instinctively moved closer until your shoulder bumped against his.
"I wanna do something for you," he mumbles, breath ghosting over your cheek, kissing your skin gently.
"And what's that Holland?" You furrow your eyebrows but there's a hint of a smile on your lips.
"Something romantic," His foot taps at your calf and you lift your leg up and let him slide his leg between your own, he wanted to intertwine every part of his body with yours.
"You made me pasta and you made alfredo sauce even though you prefer marinara. I think that's pretty romantic," your eyes are soft now and you smile as his lips brush against your own.
"That's hardly romantic," Tom mumbles, the words leaving his lips and he watches as you swallow them, your tongue darting out to swipe at his bottom lip.
"Okay, what type of romance are you talking about?" Your hand rests against his chest and he's overjoyed and painfully embarrassed at the same time. Overjoyed of another piece of yourself you let touch him, you allowed to reach out and intertwine with him. Embarrassed at how fucking fast his heart was beating, almost like it wanted to leap out of his chest and into your hand. He'd tear open his chest for you and let you cradle his still beating heart in your cold hands. He'd do anything for you. The warmth of your hand seemed to spread through his core, as if you plucked a poisonous seed from him and crushed it. What he didn't know was that as you crushed the seeds that made him who he thought he hated, you were still taking a part of him he could never get back.
"I want to buy you roses, and I want to take you out to dinner, because let's be honest, I overcooked that pasta."
Your lips twitch into the slightest frown and it causes Tom's lips to downturn as well.
"What? You can't seriously tell me you'd rather have my pasta than a five star restaurant."
You shake your head, your teeth easily tug your bottom lip in as you search for something to say.
"I don't like roses."
"Oh yeah?" Tom let's out another laugh, it's nervous and his lip trembles as he breathes out.
"No, they smell terrible, seriously, a lady at the mall sprayed perfume at me the other day, I smelled like fucking roses Holland, I've never wanted to kill someone in public and go to jail for the rest of my life for manslaughter more."
They're cheap words coming from a serial killer, but Tom really isn't one to talk.
"Anything but, really. Oh! I've got a proposition for you, if you can find a flower that perfectly describes me, then and only then you can buy me them. But not like a dozen or whatever, just one. I can press it into glass or something."
Tom smiles as you talked excitedly and your fingers thrum against his chest.
"What about dinner?"
"What're trying to wine and dine me for Holland?" You ask, fingers stilling on his chest.
"I just, Jake's gone-,"
"Right, you killed him."
Tom grunts, nodding, "Jake's gone and we're free. And I guess I feel like I owe it to Harry. To do something more. Because I fucked up plenty enough as it is."
"Hey, I'm sure, I'm positive that he would've understood. He would've known the immense and fucked up pressure you were under to pay his medical bills, hell, the pressure you were under to survive."
"I could've done everything different."
"That's in the past."
"But then I wouldn't have you," He says in the same breath as you.
"I guess I wouldn't have you either then, so I won't complain too much," you hum against his lips and he smiles before kissing you.
***
Tom slips the man 100 dollars, giving him directions to your house. He's almost the spitting image of Tom although he's slightly older and he sells weed to high schoolers. He's perfect for what Tom needs.
"Okay, this is her address, take this flower, knock on her door," Tom says, handing him the single flower.
"Great, and I'll get the other 100 once I'm finished?" the man asks.
Tom swallows the lump in his throat, "yes, remember, knock three times. Then tap your hand against your thigh three times."
"Whatever you say, my dude," the man nods, leaving Tom in the alley as he rounds the corner towards your townhouse. Tom doesn't have it in him to wait around, walking through the brisk air to where he parked his car, driving a little further down before parking in a Starbucks parking lot. He taps his hand against his steering wheel three times, a tear falling from his eye as he presses the scar on his palm.
***
You suck in a shaky breath as you get ready. Settling your hair high on your head into a ponytail, slipping on your gloves, instinctively tightening your kit around you, hiking your duffel bag further up your shoulder and swiping into the hotel room you took out in Jake's name. You slip on your gloves before opening your bag and pulling out everything you needed for tonight, piecing it all together like a puzzle you got familiar with months ago, you ensured every piece was where it needed to be before you pushed open the window that faced your townhouse. You watched as Tom looked gorgeous as ever, his curls bouncing on his head, took the steps to your place two at a time. He rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment before knocking on your door, once, twice, three times. He twirled a flower in his hand as he did a breath check, which made you laugh lightly before you focused on what you were actually doing here. He taps his hand on his thigh, once, twice, three times.
Out of everything you wanted to say to Tom in this moment, even if it was a whisper from across a street that he wouldn't hear, you knew what you needed to say.
You watched his shoulders rise like he was saying something as the door to your townhouse slowly opened.
"I'm sorry," you whisper as your finger simply twitches. A tear rolls down your cheek but you ignore it because you have to. There isn't time to process the implication of what you just did because you hear sirens and you slip out of your spot in the window. In movies everything happens in slow motion, the simple beating of a heart slows down, the pace is sluggish while the world moves at a faster pace around them. This wasn't the case, your heart beat so loud you're positive that's what would get you caught.
You shut the door calmly behind you and pull the fire alarm located next to your door before slipping off your gloves and sliding them into your kit. You join the mass of hotel guests looking confused and upset as you squeeze through the group of people moving quickly down the stairs at the implication of a fire. As you stumble out the front door you see half a dozen dark SUVs surrounding the door to your townhouse. You're grateful you don't have to see him like that. See what you did. You push through the crowd and slip into the side street by the hotel, each step you took echoed in your ears, your heart was rattling in your chest and it ached, you've never quite felt anything like it. You locked away your heart a long time ago, you shoved the drawer shut so hard the sound still echoed in the space between your brain and skull. You swallowed the key for good measure.
You stumble over your feet, leaning against the cool brick wall and heaving as you feel your stomach leap into your throat. You throw up, with your baby kicking against your stomach, reminding you that 'hey you just killed my dad!' You throw up the granola bar that was the only food you ate today. You throw up until acid burns the backs of your teeth and your hand shakes as you wipe the back of your mouth.
You walk towards your rental car, pulling the keys out and slipping into the front seat, resting your hands on the wheel, resting your sweaty forehead on them as you take a deep breath.
You need to be gone, you have maybe five minutes before the FBI team chasing you set up roadblocks, effectively trapping you like a mouse under a painful metal trap. The key turns easily in the ignition, you pull out of the small side street and set your sights on the open road of the highway as tears blur your vision.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You slam your hand against the steering wheel before you accelerate smoothly onto the highway. You couldn't look back, you didn't want to, you know if you stayed even a moment longer that pesky Graham would have you in a cell before you could blink. That didn't mean you didn't wish you were the last thing he saw before he died. It wasn't a sinister wish. You didn't get off on the person you killed staring into your eyes as they died like Jake. It was a selfish wish really, you wanted him to know it was you that was protecting him from a life behind bars or a lethal injection. You wanted to say three words and watch him repeat them back to you three times before he choked out a final gasp.
***
Graham swears as he hears the backfire of a weapon and the telltale sound of a body hitting the ground. He opens the door from the inside of your apartment with his gun trained on where he heard the gunshot. A man he doesn't recognize lay bleeding on the ground in front of him, a flower in one limp hand, face twitching in pain as life drained from his eyes quickly.
"Find her! Fucking find her!" Graham shouts, kneeling next to him.
He checks the pulse in the man's neck, it's gone and he grunts out a breath of frustration.
Black SUVs surrounded the townhouse as a fire alarm was set off across the street.
"Nobody gets out of that crowd without being questioned!" Graham feels like his orders are being ignored as he watches his team scramble to contain the crowd of people exiting the hotel, thoroughly confused.
He glances up at the windows in search of where the shot could have come from. He catches the sniper in an open window, sitting precariously on the ledge.
"We need to process everything on this guy, he's gotta look like Holland for a reason; Jacobson and Montgomery, go, find out what room that is, process it, don't let anyone touch anything until we've got crime scene techs here," he orders, pulling out a pair of blue latex gloves and holding the flower from Tom's hand.
"What is this?" Reese kneels beside Graham, staring at the black flower.
"A black hollyhock," Graham notes, staring at it as he stands up.
"What's it mean?"
"Don't know, let's bag it," he hands it to a crime scene tech who proceeds to take pictures of the scene, the man's body as blood pools around it.
"We have to fucking find her," Graham spits out, knowing you were good as gone, knowing his mission would be as difficult as catching a ghost. In the instant you thought you took Tom's life, you destroyed a part of your own, and you are going to vanish into thin air as the hole in your chest made it harder and harder for you to breathe.
***
You drive until the car runs out of gas, you fill up at a station after wiping the tears from your eyes and using eye drops to obscure the redness of them.
You keep your head down as you pay for enough gas to get to where you are heading, the attendant gives you a look as you tossed him a hundred dollar bill but you just roll your eyes. You pile some food and caffeine onto your bill as well, your stomach rumbling as you push open the door to the station, the bell that rings echoes in your ear as you walk past an old green station wagon.
You squeeze your eyes shut as memories of cherry ice pops and car sickness floods your brain.
You pull out your phone, because right now there's only one person you can think of other than him. Tom is dead. He's no longer your safety island, no longer your paradise.
You dial a number, unsure of why you're calling him, but when he picks up, you're unable to speak.
"Y/N? Is that you?" Harrison's voice cracks and you sob, immediately covering your mouth.
"Haz?" You pause, sucking in a deep breath, "I uh, I need you, I made a big mistake."
All of a sudden arms wrap around your middle and drag you behind the station as your phone clatters to the ground. One hand covers your mouth, the other holding down your fighting arms. You swear in about thirty seconds you'll feel the cool metal of handcuffs around your wrists. What you see when you're slammed against the brick wall, pain radiating through your cheek, is so much worse.
"Tom?"
He shaved his head, but the brown eyes and scar above his eyebrow are a clear sign of who it is. Ghosts are not fucking real. So why is someone you killed hours ago pressing you against a brick wall of a gas station?
"I won't hurt you," he mutters, ironically twisting your arm harder behind your back.
"How are you- you're- Tom you're supposed to be dead," you gasp as he lets go of your hand, turning you to face him.
Your back digs into the brick wall and it hurts but you can only focus on Tom even as tears sting your vision.
"Decidedly not dead, I'd say we're pretty even now," Tom says, cupping your cheek. You lean away from his touch, still unsure if your mind decided now was a great time to play tricks on you.
"How'd you know?"
"You forgot that I know you," Tom whispers as you lean back into his touch, opting for the warmth of his hand even if you're scared of what he might do next.
"Not as well as you think," you sigh as his lips brush against your own.
"What's that mean?" Tom asks, he's too afraid of your answer, so instead he kisses you.
You kiss him back through blurry vision and your own fear of the next words on the tip of your tongue.
You pull back, head resting against the cool brick, "Tom?"
"We should probably get going, I don't know if the FBI knows what your car looks like, or mine, but I got a new one and we can drive, drive as far as we need to."
"Tom-,"
"Drive until we hit the border, maybe we can get into Canada, start fresh there-,"
"Tom! I'm- I'm pregnant."