The Long Road (away from) Home (Open)

[Ginfizz]

Note: Still open for other characters if anybody would like to make a sort of 'verse' out of the area. PM if interested. Basic requests are ability to use paragraph breaks (double-space between) and rudimentary spelling/grammar-checking.

Setting: Modern-day USA, spanning from "Up north" to "Backwoods Missouri"... and who knows where else?

Characters:
Marguerite "Maggie" Jameson, aka "Rosie", a thirtysomething bartender with a gilded past and a precarious future. 'Faced' by Famke Janssen. Bio: http://rpscratchpad.pbworks.com/w/page/64218596/Maggie

Nicholas (Nick) Longthon, hired 'collector' or 'huntsman' of estranged property. His heavily military background training gives him an edge over the competition and he's quite sought-after by wealthy people seeking to make certain problems disappear. Some people, however, are indelible.

Synopsis: Maggie was a backwater-raised naive girl with some smarts, but not enough of a hardened edge to render her impervious to the charms of one Nathan Bauer, mediocre celebrity and wealthy through nefarity businessman. He collected her, cleaned her up, and like so many women before him, sought to fit her where she couldn't belong. When that didn't work, he decided to throw her away, except she was already gone before he decided to. Hunting her down to silence her voice is proving to be more difficult than he thought, even with one of the best weapons-for-hire at his money's disposal.

IC:

Her eyes were open, she was pretty sure of it. The same dotted line on the left, the same strip of solid on the right were still coming at her, but Maggie Jameson could have sworn that there was a chunk of the last couple hours' drive-time just... just missing somehow, the same way a magician could make you believe you saw what he wanted you to see with card tricks and sleight of hand.

Ugh, her eyes. Normally clear green with flecks of gold closer to the irises, they were puffy and red-ringed from the last hundred miles of terrible make-out and break-up fucking country songs on the radio. She'd needed the noise to keep her awake and alert, but now she wasn't so sure that it hadn't just paralyzed her brain into thinking that. When she blinked, it hurt, like running the insides of her eyelids over little mini cheese-graters, and she half expected to hear the sound of drysquish. She needed a shower, dinner, and a lot of sleep, preferably in that order, but she'd take what she could get.

And she'd done her share of taking. In the seat next to her, her lavender jacket lay innocently rumpled, covering the .22 pistol beneath it, and in the bottom of her so-soft designer handbag, there were two fat-ass wads of hundred-dollar-bills, enough to either choke a mule, or buy right outright a half-way decent spot of land in the hills of Missouri, where she was headed. Home. Running away from one home to get to another.

That was something Maggie didn't want to think of. Not yet. Not... ever, but she knew she'd have to eventually. Getting away wouldn't ever be that easy, regardless of how many Bourne movies she'd watched (and Legacy's only redeeming attribute had been Jeremy Renner's insanely gnawable arms). Normal women didn't just walk away without becoming a topix thread or a local news facebook post. Running, however... driving, even... maybe she had a chance.

Her tank had a third left, and she had six hours to go. The "Heartland" of America must have belonged to the heart of a frigid, boring old mother-bitch, for it was flat, windy, and desolate with the distinct reek of animal-shit fertilizer on the rich, dark soil with sprigs of springtime green shooting up in neat little rows, the promise of corn or soybeans maybe. It seemed pretty now, but Maggie had heard tell that July through September could be disgustingly crinkly brown and withered under the unbearably thick, scorching heat of the climate of summer. She didn't care, she was passing through. She wanted lush pastures, rolling hillsides, colorful falls, and the ability to stroll around her own yard barefoot with a plastic tumbler of Manischewitz whenever she wanted. No more Gucci this, dermabrasion that, color glazes or Manolos.

Poor Little Rich Girl was a tired-ass tale, but then, her tail was pretty tired, too. She'd teamed up with Nathan Bauer as a lover, and that relationship had ended in flames as both of them had turned into fighters- against each other. She was seriously outmatched, something she'd found out almost too late, though, and just two days ago, she'd decided she had no choice but to do something about it. Cash could get you a lot of places, and his had gotten her a fake ID, a rental car, and other niceties for her lengthy trip... could it get her another life? She needed one. She'd come "thisclose" to losing her old one.

She'd checked into the American Inn, showered , and checked out the area's "nightlife". Wasn't much going on in small-town-ville, but there was a bar just down the road- walking distance, even- that claimed to serve the best burgers, and it was Ladies' Night. Woohoo, dollar beers.

Maggie picked a pair of jeans and a fitted tee-shirt with a rhinestoned star on the chest of it for her going-out wear, and slid her feet into a pair of heeled sandals that wouldn't hurt too for walking. Pulling her damp hair back, she braided it and put on a little eyeliner and mascara, then checked herself out. The result was dressed-down and comfortable, and in no way "desperate! Fuck me!", to her satisfaction.

The bar smelled of grilled burgers and beer before she even opened the door and found herself a seat at the corner and on the side of the bar, so she could keep an eye on the door. Nobody'd followed her (she'd followed up on her new smartphone), but there was no harm in being safe. What was the point of starting a brand new life, if she was going to be stupid enough to screw it up with one careless mistake, right?

"Jameson, neat, and a..." she glanced at the menu. It *all* looked good. "Ooh. Bacon cheeseburger with relish and onions, plus an order of cheese potato wedges and can I get a water with that, too?"

She hadn't eaten a cheeseburger in a couple years before her trip. Since then, she hadn't gotten enough of the McDonald's Dollar Menu and little dives like this bar. While she waited on her food, she sipped her booze slowly, and decided to play catch-up by browsing through her phone, happy to, for once, be oblivious to being seen, or seeing anyone else.

tag anyone?
Maggie's bio:
http://rpscratchpad.pbworks.com/w/page/64218596/Maggie

 

[Ginfizz]

Truckers, salesmen, and other travelers made up the bulk of those patrons coming and going from the little bar just off the highway in the middle of nowhere. Maggie often wondered how they functioned so well without more solidity in their lives: Constants that kept them anchored in one way or another. Even though the first thing she'd done upon having the chance to do something was flee the 'safe zone' she'd been in (and wasn't that a relative term), she'd immediately flown away to try to put down fragile roots elsewhere, to gather and resume some semblance of steady, regular normalcy in her life again. Not moving, changing, shifting so restlessly.

A month and a half after she'd pulled into the run-down, one-story Mo-Tel at the edge of town, Maggie now worked at the bar she'd first stopped in at for a burger and a beer. The hotel room she'd booked, the spacious one on the end with the remodeled bathroom and brand new mattress was now "hers", for a surprisingly reasonable fee per month- made more reasonable by paying cash, of course. It was a laid-back job most nights. It wasn't your "song and dance" kind of bar, with co-eds ordering fruitinis and belting out Adele karaoke, or doing the sort of vertical fucking people called dancing, nor was it the kind of bar with a reputation for scuffles. People came there to 'get away' for a couple hours, losing themselves in pool, darts, drinks, and finding a dark corner to hide in, slumped over their tables.

News was patchy, and completely off-the-mark. Nathan Bauer's long-term relationship of several years had imploded, sources told E! News, and he was already dating one of the Pussycat Dolls. The hows or whys didn't matter by now. She was pretty happy to have dropped off the radar so successfully that had she known it'd been that easy, she would have done it a lot sooner.

It wasn't "Maggie" however, not per se, manning the bar now. Sure, the DNA matched, but the busty redhead who liked to wear tank-tops and faded Levi's, who could play "The Entertainer" on the bar's busted old upright piano and keep drinks and grilled cheeses comin' wasn't quite the same woman. "Rosie" was all people knew her as, and it suited her fine. Backstory? Who needed one? "Blew into town needin' work" suited the people who knew her just fine, as they weren't the judging sort. Everyone was just happy she kept the drinks comin'.

Everyone except for one person, and people might not even have noticed him, unless they had an eye for "same", for "regular". Out of all the "regulars", this man seemed to somehow blend in and stand out at the same time, in a way "Rosie" was pretty sure she'd never seen anybody else do. His smile wasn't the typical shit-eatin' cowboy grin wannabe suitors spread across their faces like government peanut butter for her benefit, and his eyes seemed to take her all in and overlook her dismissively, all at once. He said little, yet she felt like blurting out her whole story to him. She never saw him come or go- only that he was just "there", then "gone".

There weren't a lot of people the redhead refugee considered friends, missed even, but she'd grown to have an odd appreciation for the quiet, attractive man who took up the same perch and finished his burger and beer without issue every Wednesday and Friday night. He seldom deviated from his routine, and when he did, seemed to be entirely put out about it in a way that had M- er, "Rosie" smiling to herself as she cleared his place away and pocketed the ten-spot he always left for her. Who was he? She wanted to know, but she would have had to ask... and there was that whole quid pro quo kind of thing.

She hadn't regretted the life she'd chosen until moments like that arose, and she realized that, at least for some while yet, there wasn't any way she could get close to somebody- not somebody like that, who seemed to enjoy distance yet adjacence to people in the same way she did. Maybe he was running from someone or something, too? Maybe he was like that bull in Lonesome Dove, and needed something without actually wanting it, fate being gravity and adhesive.

Maybe, the redheaded stranger thought, she thought too damned much, and just needed to keep her own doorstep clean without worrying about anyone else's.

Except for one little thing... hers wasn't exactly spotless. There was the little matter of "theft in the excess of $X" charges still on her head. She'd checked gossip sites and even Nathan's own personal accounts to see if he'd raised any alarm. She even checked for warrants, but she hadn't the access to resources bounty hunters did.

Oblivious to that little hitch in the get-up, the new life of the new person she'd so easily slipped into went on, Rosie laboring under the silly notion that if she tried to be a good person and do the right things now, whatever sketchy business she'd done to get into that position in the past wouldn't count. Flawed logic. Logic hadn't been her friend when she'd met Nathan- it hadn't helped her when she'd used sheer guts and adrenaline to try to right that. Someday, she'd need it- but for the time being, she was just looking for a little peace.

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nicholas (Nick to his friends) Longthon enjoyed his twice-weekly visits to the pub. He'd long since mastered the art of moving without drawing attention to himself. Several years moving in environments where the enemy snipers were looking for targets soon sorted the stealthy from the dead. He'd come back here with his military stipend to settle down and disappear.

He'd done that, dropping off the grid save local utilities. And he'd kept those mostly to keep the folks from gossiping. He'd blended in with them, adopting their speech and habits until most people forgot that he'd been here less than two years. Most folks were called the 'new folk' for at least five years after they'd paid their house off.

His green eyes took in the crowd around him without his needing to look around. When he stood up he was taller than most, but not huge; solidly built but not an obvious bodybuilder. Listening to the conversations swirling around him let him know things were pretty normal. And Rosie was working. Her smile had become one of the bonuses of coming here. The drinks were good, the service pleasant. And now here she was, having just bought some land here. Details were sketchy, but she'd bought it outright, no loan. No small feat, that.

He could do the same, had actually. He'd explained to the realtor that a relative had left him some money and given his retirement from the military he wanted somewhere quiet and inexpensive. Here he was, a short time later. Landowner, accepted as a local. No one would guess his real source of income. He'd set his cover pretty well, after all.

Retirement had turned out to be pretty boring. He'd enjoyed the quiet for a couple of months. It got old after that. So he'd reached out to a former teammate who put him in touch with someone that could use his talents. He'd developed a knack for hunting people down without drawing undue attention to himself. Now he'd been trained to find their trail not just in the real world, but in the world of computer records as well. He'd taken a few jobs already, and had a nice bank account to show for it.

His clients? People with more money than sense, usually. His quarry? A trophy spouse run off with the jewels, or a boyfriend who'd gotten a daughter pregnant. Maybe a mistress who was trying to blackmail a husband. Whatever the target, Nick found them and brought them to the client. Or the police. Once to some hitters Nick was sure worked for the Mafia. Nick didn't kill anyone himself unless it was self-defense. But he traced the runner and made sure they faced their due.

Now Nick was on another job. He'd just gotten an email from his contact. A client had tried another resource to track his girlfriend who'd disappeared with an ungodly amount of money. The client wanted her delivered preferably alive. The amount being offered looked suspicious, it was so high. Nearly what the girl had taken in the first place. Nick shook his head. That was just throwing money away to him, but that would pay his bills for a year.

Nick smiled at Rosie as she came by, left his usual tenner on the counter nice to his plate and left. He had some records to filter through. If the runner was really that far gone, might need to ask Mouse what he thought. Time to get on the case.

 

[Ginfizz]

Although it'd be a month or more to go before her customized "manufactured home" would be completed to her specifications, Rosie frequently thumbed through the photo gallery on her new phone and glanced at the picture of it to give her a little motivation on particularly long nights, like the one at hand.

A fireplace, full kitchen with island, Kenmore appliances, she'd gone all out before she even realized she'd done so, but didn't have any regrets. She would be living there alone until she found a suitable cat and or horse. It was the first such 'grown-up' purchase she'd ever made in her life, really, unless you counted her first car, which had been a busted old VW Rabbit that had been a total lemon. Her dad had loved to lord that one over her when he needed failure fodder at holiday dinners. Ah, the beauty of one's own place: The guest-list was all hers to control.

Rosie had slipped into her life walking to and fro between the hotel room she occupied for now and the bar pretty comfortably, so much so that she almost regretted that now she'd have to drive (she'd bought a chevy Tracker third-or-fourth-hand from one of her customers just last week that ran like a top) out into the country a little ways to her peace and quiet there. She'd gotten the land because of its lack of neighbors- unless you counted horses and cattle in their pastures, but also because the hillsides, valleys, and scenery had been so beautiful that it seemed to beg for a large deck and a comfortable chair, lest it somehow go to waste. She'd miss the short trip, but she wouldn't miss people who knew right where she lived right now, as some did. It was a small town- it was basically their obligation to dig around and find out things like that, whether she liked it or not.

Any given night, she knew at least the first or last name of her customers, current or previous significant other, and occupation- either from their own mouths, or those around them, as people really didn't give much regard to who could overhear their conversations in a bar. Of all the people she knew bits and pieces about, though, the green-eyed man who moved with such quiet precision eluded her. She couldn't have told anyone his name or anything, only that he was polite and tipped well.

In a way, she liked that, but on another level, it had started to worry her with an increasing fervor. Why was he here? Why didn't he mingle with anybody else? What made him so careful and deliberate about what he said, did, even ordered? Thinking about it made her uneasy as she glanced down at the tip on his unoccupied spot, and she glanced toward the door that had just closed behind him.

The empty spot left by the stranger was quickly muddied by the swarm of bodies and elbows, of laughs and voices ordering more liquor and fried food, jabbing numbers on a jukebox, and gesturing to mimic one event or another. The patrons might not even have noticed one of the number missing, but Rosie couldn't forget it, throughout the rest of the night as she kept a wary glance around the place for something that just didn't seem quite right. Not then, not even at closing-time, when there was nobody in the bar but herself, and her boss's wife, a friendly older woman who let her keep her tips and told her 'see you next week!' as she sauntered out the back door to her big 4x4.

Then it was just Rosie, just her creeping doubts and worries, and something poignant, woeful, and slowdanceworthy under any other circumstances, in any other environment, in that little bar by the side of the road.

<tag - fast forward as needed, or whatever, I'll roll with it!>

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick spent the next three weeks working this new case. He first figured this would be easy. Most girlfriends were pretty dumb and held onto their cards until the limit maxed. This one hadn't. She'd used one up the first day, but everything else might as well have been thrown away. She'd taken a bunch of cash from the client, but the client was still reluctant to say how much she'd gotten away with. Lack of data made for a longer search, but this particular client apparently didn't care.

Another oddity. The client was playing this one close. Most clients were tight-lipped at first. Embarassment made for quiet people at first. Usually they'd loosen up once they realized he wasn't shocked or annoyed or otherwise off-put by their situation. And he'd explain yet again that holding back information would hinder the search and the clients would start sharing details. Not this one, though. Nick shrugged as he worked. To each his own.

It was starting to look like the quarry had gotten a new ID. Not impossible, but expensive. He'd run into one or two exes that had disappeared like that. He didn't want to think about that, though. They'd been fleeing abusive boyfriends or husbands. His first case was one of those, and he'd brought the woman back as requested. She'd died two weeks later. "Domestic accident" read the death certificate, but Nick'd learned through his sources that the husband was a suspect still in that case.

He worked his contacts diligently, searching for any sign of the target. And three weeks in he'd gotten a break. One of his contacts had seen a lady matching the description talking with someone known for making false papers. Problem was, that was in New York. Nick would have to go there to talk to the man. Some things didn't translate well over Skype, after all.

He sighed, then called his travel agent. He'd head for New York tomorrow. The client would be the one paying the fare, of course. He shut down his computer and went to bed, thinking how nice it would be to be able to chat Rosie up with nothing more on his mind than getting lucky. Agents didn't do that, of course, so he didn't. His bags were already packed, someone would meet him in New York to get him a weapon and then he'd talk with Mr. Papers. The quarry was close, he could smell it.

 

[Khadaji2002]

Coming off the plane in New York was always an experience. The smell of an urban center with too many people and cars per square mile hit his nose as he entered the concourse. Conversations spilled around him in several languages, as did the repetitive warnings and announcements. Nearly every known hue of skin and cloth lay in view as travelers from around the globe met here at this waypoint of their travels. Seeming indifferent he kept an eye out for trouble as he went to claim his bag. He'd learned early on that a single man traveling without checked luggage always drew more attention. Once he'd gotten his bag he met up with the person who slipped a small pistol into his carryon. Then he went outside and hailed a cab. The honking of horns and motors revving joined all the other sounds, the exhaust from hundreds of vehicles added to the mixture from the terminal. He got in the first cab and gave the name and address of his motel.

Once there, Nick showered quickly, then dressed for his meeting. His leather bomber jacket had a layer of armored weave sandwiched between the leather and lining. Would stop a bullet outright, but would slow it down. The .22 pistol went into a slim holster under his left arm where it disappeared once the jacket was zipped up partway. Steel-toed boots and jeans finished off his wardrobe. Then he called for another cab and headed over to Mr. Papers office. No point in calling ahead.

Arriving 30 minutes later (god, he already missed Missouri) he paid his fare, tipped the cabbie and walked inside. Two hours later he reemerged, right hand bloodied a bit, looking troubled. He had his quarry's name, but he didn't like it. Rosie hadn't struck him as the typical golddigger. She worked too hard, was too friendly. But she'd stood off from the crowd, and she'd blown into town with nothing to her name. He headed for the airport after picking up his bags, thinking the whole time.

True was, he'd found her. There was a large bonus in this for him if he turned her in. Normally he'd alert the client and have them on hand for the confrontation. This one bothered him on several levels and he hated loose threads. They usually led to a tripwire somewhere just waiting to blow a man into the hereafter.

The whole flight back he worked over what he was going to do. She'd broken the law and he worked to uphold the law, though he worked from the underside of society. Images from his first case haunted him, reminding him that not every client was the true victim. He finally decided to confront "Rosie" tonight as she left work. Her reaction would tell him most of what he needed. The client could wait for twelve hours just fine, after all.

He got back to his ranch just as the sky was growing dark. He waited until about 45 minutes before the bar closed then drove into town, jacket and pistol in their places. He never took chances if he didn't have to. He waited for the last patron to leave, then positioned himself where he knew she'd pass him as she walked to the motel where she was staying. Then he waited.

Being invisible wasn't really a matter of camoflauge. Blending in with your surroundings was more an art of finding the rhythyms around you and fitting yourself to them. Nick was good at that. Even so, when she appeared he could tell something had alerted her. She was alert and looking around, as though she could feel the hunter closing in. And truth was, the hunt was nearly over. He waited until she was in arm's reach before he spoke.

"You did a good job, Maggie. Mind telling me why you ran here of all places?"

 

[Ginfizz]

It wasn't underpinned (decorative gray blocks) yet, but the double-wide was perched atop a concrete slab and chained down well in case some of that Heartland weather decided to sweep through some spring and bat it around like a cat-toy. Rosie had gone there today to check out the progress, make a few sketches on her iPad of where she wanted certain things, and had seen that the deck was out back but not yet attached. It wouldn't be long until she would be freckled from head to toe from sunning herself in the privacy of her own back yard with nobody around for at least a couple miles. The critters wouldn't mind to see a naked redhead sprawled on a deck sipping Schlafly and eating those peanut-butter-filled pretzels off her own stomach while she listened to Creedence.

The front yard was still dunes of Missouri clay, and she could see between the concrete blocks underneath the trailer clear out to the row of trees that separated the back yard from the woods, but Rosie had grinned proudly at the place that was shaping up to be all hers. Had she really done it? It was too early to tell- always would be, if she never let herself get relaxed or complacent, but she wanted to think so- otherwise, she couldn't have enjoyed it. She'd talked herself into believing she deserved to be happy, even if it was on someone else's dime, and even if he was a really shifty bastard. Guys like him would never have to pay for anything. She'd laid out a lot of money for the new life she'd bought over the span of several months, and she planned not to take it for granted. She couldn't afford to.

Although Rosie continued to sling drinks for the rest of the evening, and politely chat off flirty advances, her mind wasn't on the bar, burger toppings, or when Sam Adams seasonal would be available. It was on flower boxes and a little garden, on the three deer she'd seen creeping around the old apple tree in the front yard, and of the little orange-and-white cat who'd crept from the old horse-barn into the utility shed, hoping to be unseen.

Equally unseen was the person watching Maggie on her way home. She hadn't noticed something 'off' at first- she was still going over nesting ideas while checking out where the nearest CoinStar was on her phone, but then she realized that it was too quiet. People took for granted that even on pre-summer nights, there was noise: Animals and insects, foliage moving in a faint breeze, all inhuman transients going about their nocturnal lives. It was when she heard none that she glanced up, then tried not to let her body language give her suspicion away. So far, she'd been followed once by someone who tried to blame alcohol for their indiscretion, but hadn't been back to the bar after having had a .22 pistol whipped from nowhere and shoved into their face. She hadn't fired- just the flash of chrome and mother-of-pearl had been enough to discourage the potential jackass. People around here were astonishingly complacent. It suited her fine. Meant they believed what she told them, and couldn't bother to 'fire up' a computer to do any googling for their own. Preachers found the habitat rich with fish in barrel for their agendas.

There wasn't any motion, but she heard him draw breath, just before he spoke and froze, the rustle giving his twenty away.

<"You did a good job, Maggie. Mind telling me why you ran here of all places?">

Whatever expression he'd been expecting, perhaps the one of crushed defeat similar to a child whose pony had just been sold wasn't expected. In her mind, already the image of the happy little double-wide on a few acres with cats and horses faded and ran like a kid's artwork in chalk on a sidewalk during a thunderstorm. Although Rosie's shoulders were square, she felt deflated, only the deep breath she'd taken supporting her.

"It's Rosie now, thanks. And I liked the topography," she shrugged with a sad upslant of one corner of her mouth. The little bus-stop kiosk had plexi-glass windows, but they were plastered with day-glo flyers advertising vacation bible school, junior rodeo, and lost brindle pit-bulls named Whiskey or Rebel (because rednecks couldn't be original *or* spell anything but those two names, something Sarah McPhleghmlan didn't quite get to in her guiltomercials). She hadn't been able to see through them, but now, there her Irish Tenner was, standing at the ready in plain sight. Hindsight more like, she thought ruefully.

"So what's next?" she asked, putting her hands into her back-pockets in a nothing-to-hide stance that made it a little easier to reach for her piece if she had to. The initial sting of defeat was gone, and one of oddly comfortable readiness had replaced itself on her tall frame. Even if she hadn't a gun, she'd picked up a thing or two at her self-defense class, and she half-wondered if he'd be expecting a jab. Unlike a lot of people though, Rosie wouldn't hurt somebody unless they had it coming, and she wasn't the judge in that situation- yet.

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick had to give the woman credit. She'd sagged just a bit at the mention of her original name, yet hadn't slumped. He almost drew on her when she moved her hands but all she'd done was put them in her back pockets. Closer to whatever she carried, of course, but still... She carried herself as though she knew a bit of self-defense. Smart on her part to take the classes, smarter not to have tried anything. He might have been several years away from his intense practices but stopping her would be pretty easy.

He studied her. Green eyes, red hair, freckles. Beautiful but not snobby about it. She wasn't your normal East Coast girl. He studied her body language. Scared or nervous of course, hurt she'd been found...but not defiant, or crushed. She'd try to stop him if he moved on her. He knew that. He'd heard the story about the guy that tried to follow her home. So...what now? Her comment gave nothing away about her plans. Time for him to take the lead in this dance.

"Alright...Rosie. We'll play this your way for a bit. I'm going to ask you one question you already know I'm going to ask. You are going to tell me everything you can answering that question. Any bullshit on your part and I call your fiancee and his private jet is here four hours later. So. The question is...why?"

 

[Ginfizz]

Why? The obvious question was why *not*, as far as Rosie was concerned, but there wasn't any way to make him see that, whoever he was. He was on Nathan's payroll, sure, but in what capacity? Enforcer, collector, or just observer? He was built too well to be something lightweight. Whatever Nathan booked him for required muscle, and maybe brains, too.

"It's an easy question to ask, but it's a harder one to answer," she replied. "I can tell you my side of the story all night long, and won't be able to make you understand. I assume, however," she leaned a shoulder against the edge of the booth in a casual stance that made her appear relaxed to anyone not quite that observant, "You already have an idea what kind of person he is, though, or I'd be waking up in a little while tasting chloroform- if that's what all the cool kids still use."

There was another reason for not going all Oprah on him. Sure, 'he hit me' or 'he tried to kill me, and I found the papers indicating he'd done that to three other women' or ... other stuff... but saying so aloud indicated she had a very important role in all of it- of acceptance, of subversion. Of being the weak one who told someone it was okay to be that way as long as the money kept coming- not that she'd *ever* have done that, but she'd stayed with Nathan a couple years too long, and 'he tried to change' wouldn't cut it, now that she'd watched Dr. Phil too many times to believe her own bullshit.

"I'll explain it to you when I can organize it in my own head. In the interim, whatever he's paying you, I'll match it tonight, you can tell him mission accomplished, and you don't have to see me again, but I'm not sure it'll do any good. Do you really think your bonus is waiting for you in whatever briefcase you take from him and bring into your car with you after all this? You already know the answer to your question, if you can put it all together, without asking me to rip it open and poke around in it- that would be for your pleasure."

This guy was probably the best Nathan could find- and Nathan's money and far-reaching influence could buy quite a lot. That made the man before her a loose end.

<tag>

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick's brow furrowed. This wasn't quite where he thought she'd go. She had all the signs of someone badly abused in her past. Question was...recent past or not? And she was tense, that was certain. She hid it well, but he had years of experience reading the small clues a person gave off. So why was she nervous? Was she part of whatever his client had going? Something didn't fit here.

He stared at her for a moment, eye-to-eye. Most people would look away or flinch and she didn't. He tried to read her, then decided to lay another card or two on the table.

"Look, Maggie/Rosie. I may do jobs for some not-so-nice people, but that doesn't mean I am one of those people myself. I work hard when I work and I get paid for keeping my efforts below the radar. But I've learned over the last few years that some things aren't quite what they appear. I'll give you twenty-four hours. Skip town and you'll be back with Nathan, my word on it. Convince me you aren't just another cut-and-run golddigger, you might be surprised what happens. Think it over. If you're here tomorrow night we can go wherever you'd like to talk. I'll buy the drinks, even."

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

Anger brought back the first flush of color across her fright-pale cheeks and her green eyes narrowed. He was the equivalent of a no-kill hit-squad... and he was expecting *her* to sell her case to him?

"That's the thing," she said tightly. "To me, it's actually *worse*. Whether or not you're one of the type of high-class low-lifes who throw money at other people to play janitor-with-a-gun, you *enable* them to continue to treat people the way they do by taking their money. I'm tired of spending my life convincing people that I'm worth something when until recently, I didn't even believe that myself. I don't sleep with you, and you don't pay my wages. You're just another asshole I have to dodge for the rest of my life," she growled and shoved off the kiosk.

She might not have been that bright when it came to guys, but a lot had changed since "Ooh, he's nice to me and buys me things after he's mean to me- that makes it okay" back when. She could read people now, the way she'd read her neighbor's pony growing up, and could tell if approaching would get a friendly hand-snuffle, or two tiny metal-shod hooves to the ribcage. The guy wasn't going to kill her. Hell, he likely wouldn't even hand her over. If he'd planned on making it that easy, he'd have just knocked her out, and she'd have woken up by now in a trunk. If at all. If he thought he wasn't going to get 'terminated' when he filled his requirements, he was just whistlin' Dixie.

Rosie didn't know why, but she actually felt compelled to tell him, to use that chance to set the record straight, but something kept her from spilling it all to a complete stranger, especially one who could use the information in any number of wrong ways. Feeling him out was typical of the hard-headed bartender, and she decided to try that. "You already know I'm not a gold-digger, or you'd have gotten your bonus by now. If you want to talk, you had any number of chances, knowing where I wor-"

Her head swiveled quickly, the eye-contact broken. A firetruck flipped on its lights and sirens as it roared out of the small station three blocks down. Then two more. They couldn't say anything for the noise as the convoy roared past, and Rosie's gaze followed them to try to make out the location, as if a big smoky sign in the air would point to where they were going.

And that was when that uneasy knot of worry turned over and kicked in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry, and she felt suddenly like something was very, very wrong. She wasn't paying attention to the passers-by jogging up the street to get a front-row gawker's perch, or she wouldn't have been knocked aside, head-first into her would-be-collector.

"... the bar? Holy shit!" someone was saying into a cell-phone.

With an 'oof', she face-planted his chest, then mumbled "Guess you'll want a raincheck on those drinks, then..." She wasn't about to let him into her room and what, perch on the edge of the bed while drinking Arbor Mist out of plastic cups? Maybe that was better than floating up on the banks of the Mississippi, unless she would sooner or later anyway.

<tag>

 

[Khadaji2002]

"...the bar?!? Holy shit" Nick heard as someone ran past, knocking Rosie into him. He automatically put his left arm around her to shield her from anyone else bumping into him. He scanned the area around them carefully in case the fire was a distraction for something else.

"Alright, we now have a mutual problem, I believe. It would seem the person who hired me has hired others as well. I don't like that professionally or personally as it suggests he wants more than whatever you stole from him back."

Nick tilts her chin to make eye contact again. "I don't think going back to your room is a good idea right now. Maybe not even back to my place. I know a guy who's out of town and his 'hunting cabin' isn't too far from here, next county over. Should have some basics stocked in and we can pick up what we next fresh as we go. That is, if you accept that I'm not the bad guy here." He looked her in the eyes.

"Either way, I'm heading out. I need to find out who did this and make sure they can't do it again. In our line of work collateral damage isn't kosher, so whoever did this needs a lesson in manners. Coming?"

Nick let her go and starting for his truck down and around the corner. He didn't run, but he did move rather fast. He hoped she'd take his advice and shelter. Someone was running around tonight willing to inflict a lot of damage on innocents. Hurting their target might actually be in their contract. But Rosie was a big girl. She'd come or not, and he'd deal with the circumstances either way.

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

Well, hell, Rosie thought. She hadn't been stoked to go back to her hotel room after finding out someone knew where she was- having no interest in testing the strength of the absent hotel security, after all... but this was a far worse predicament. Shacking up with the guy who was after her?

The arm around her wasn't possessive, strangling, as it could have been. It seemed deferential, protective, but nothing more, and it made her still so that she could actually breathe and assess the situation. His eyes were a different shade than hers, and she could see faint lines around them from where he might have laughed and smiled in days past. She wondered if he did that anymore? His eyes didn't have that cold, distant look of calculation, but they weren't stupid, either. He'd sized *her* up, after all.

"I think he means to scare me in particular, but it wouldn't be anything for him to send you a 'friendly warning' that he's watching," she mused as she righted herself and tugged down her top over the back-holster for the little .22.

But he was leaving. Reverse psychology on flight animals was a right bitch, wasn't it? Rosie thought that ruefully as she glanced at her hotel apartment on the corner, the little vehicle she'd just bought outright, and thought again of her doublewide near the woods. Like watercolors, they were now blurry, indistinct, trickling away.

"I need to get a bag," she said, swallowing hard, like the time her dad had pried her fingers off the chain-link fence around the swimming-pool, when she knew he would toss her right in and stand there until she literally sank or swam. She'd sank like a rock. Just like she was certain she was about to do again.

<tag>

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick nodded. She was scared, he could feel her heartbeat accelerate. No hesitation though. He was beginning to like this girl and wondered what exactly had led to her being here. She was really nervous about trying for her bag, and that showed how smart she was. So...time to take a chance.

"Alright, let's go get your bag. I can provide overwatch while you're packing, then we can leave. I'll check your car for signs of tampering. If it looks clean you can take it out to my place so you have a getaway if you need it. You know where the McLarren ranch is? I'm the next driveway on the left, about a mile from their place. We can make sure we've got our basics and split for a while. We can discuss from there, but your ex has some explaining to do."

He smiled, let her go and nodded toward the hotel, pulling out the 9mm Beretta he'd tucked under his jacket.

"Go in, I'm right behind you. I'll clear your room, then check your car. Meet me there."

 

[Ginfizz]

Acquiescently, Rosie nodded, and began taking purposeful strides toward the turn-in of the hotel's parking-lot, not even flinching when he pulled out his piece. It was a powerful thing in a small, pretty package, a nine. She'd had one pointed at her head many times over the past few years, and no matter how often it wasn't fired, she never ceased to shudder inwardly at its sight.

At the room, she waited until it was cleared, mildly embarrassed that some of her things were carelessly scattered about, but she already had her running mental list of things she needed- in fact, when she was good to go, she simply walked in, tugged aside the thick folds of sickly green curtain, and reached underneath the wall unit for heating and air. Withdrawing a same-colored duffel bag, she hoisted it onto a hip, flicked the strap over her shoulder, and nodded. "Okay, ready."

She'd had to run once before, a long time ago- had to just pick up and leave everything, starting over with only the clothes on her back, her whole collection of memories and things dear to her behind in her little room at the top of the stairs in her parents old farmhouse. She'd had friends, but she'd also made some gullible beginner mistakes and paid dearly for them before she'd thought she'd gotten her life right. She promised herself that if she ever had to do so again, she was landing on her feet, hitting the ground running. She never anticipated that it'd be literally.

"All good?" she prompted, looking at... at... she'd never gotten his name. Seemed stupid to ask now, but she couldn't keep calling him Tenspot or Tenner. In an odd way, he'd already done more for her in fifteen minutes than anyone had in years, even if she was pretty sure he still wanted to sell her to the highest bidder. Stockholm Syndrome, maybe, she chalked it up as. Her fingers were white as they gripped the bag and her purse-strap together- she hadn't gone walking with it, so she'd picked it up off her bed, too. She just had to survive long enough to find an out and take it.

<tag>

 

[Khadaji2002]

Damn, this lady is prepared. The thought bounced around Nick's head even as he headed back out to check Rosie's car. You know the signs, Nick my boy. She's had to do this often enough to know the little things. Nick quickly scanned the inside of her car, then slid underneath. She'd moved the car often enough that a bomb would have to go in a few spots. He didn't see anything suspicious.

"You're good to go. My truck's a block and a half over. Drive yourself or come with me, either way. We'll meet at the ranch if you drive. I'll need about ten minutes there to grab what we're taking, you decide which vehicle we're driving and where our first stop is. I'll pick the stop after that. Back and forth until we settle in for a few days. Time to go."

He jogged off to his truck, confident that she'd drive her car. He shook his head as he moved. Of all the times to turn white knight. He kept seeing flashes of Natasha's face. Her scared, resigned eyes hollowed out with too little sleep as he dropped her off at the mansion. How she'd disappeared so thouroughly a short time later, despite all his efforts. Knowing that she'd likely been killed, and Nick was not into killing women. Oh, if a woman aimed a gun at him he'd deal with the threat, lethally if needed. But for fun? Or to silence her? No, there were always other ways.

And to top off the flashes, now he had the memory or Rosie's body pressed against his. She hadn't exactly fled his embrace. Her hip and breast pressed against him very pleasantly, truth be told. And part of him wanted to take her. Whether she was interested or not. Down boy. She's in trouble, and you're her one lifeline at this point. Don't scare her into her ex's arms. You'll never forgive yourself.

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

Once behind the wheel of her own vehicle, two things occurred to Rosie. One- she had the ludicrous, wild notion that she could outmaneuver him, that she knew all the backroads and could make it someplace up into the hills safely, and scramble from there.

No... no, she likely didn't. Not if he'd scenthounded her from half a continent away down to his own backyard (and just what did he think he was doing *here*, of all the backwaters in all the world?). She'd practically fallen right into his lap, or maybe Nathan had known her better than she'd thought he had, and she'd tried hard there. She'd told him she was from a middle-class Tennesseean family- the accents were close enough, and hers had left pretty quickly once she'd gotten to the city, and he didn't care, so long as she walked the walk right.

Two, though... How had this gotten so sideways that her bar was up in flames? Thankfully, it was closing time. Nobody would have been there but her. Wait- did whoever lit it up think she was dead now? Had there been eyes on them while they were at the hotel, and were there now? Nathan wasn't terribly smart, but once in awhile, even stupid people could be dangerous. Her sensei had once said that he'd rather have sparred with a giant black-belt than with a brand-new student with just enough knowledge and the power of youtube instructional videos to be dangerous. The point was sometimes stupidity was more dangerous because of its random, unmeasured nature. It just landed where it would.

His tail-lights disappeared ahead, and she followed him into the drive, wondering if it'd been another trap he'd set up for her. By then, it didn't seem to matter. Her mistake had been being so stupid so many years ago, and not thinking she could leave when she could have. She almost had herself convinced that she deserved this, and had to fight to keep that thought out of her head. Deserving meant accepting, and accepting meant defeat, then certain demise. Of all the things about herself Rosie had lost along the way, stubbornness hadn't been one of them.

Or was it stupidity? She'd been attracted to everything she was forbidden growing up- freedom, being one thing she valued most, and had thought that Nathan would have granted her that just as lavishly as he had all his other resources, but she'd realized eventually that with all the gold and silver chains and rings and bracelets came their bondage, and he had her wrapped up in a designer coccoon, only to be put on display for all his friends, then stuffed quickly back away for someone else to deal with. He'd never been hands-on, and in fact, that she could recall, he seldom looked into her eyes- especially not the way her... augh, Tenner... had done, every single instance of their meeting for the past few months. Nathan's hands had never made an accommodation for her body the way his had, holding her there steadyingly, safely.

She hadn't realized she'd been parked there for at least two minutes by the time she admitted to herself that she'd enjoyed that, in some twisted way, given the situation. Was she that starved? Pathetic.

Turning it off and parking it, she left the tracker and brought her bag along, glancing around into the night before joining the man who could be alpha or omega to the whole damned thing.

<tag>

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick surprised himself with how relieved he was to see her headlights pull into the drive behind him. He'd half-expected her to rabbit. If she'd done that, he'd have assumed she was guilty, and let the other party after her collect. But...here she was. Sitting behind the wheel of her four-by. For a long time. Nick nodded to himself. This girl had been hurt badly, and now didn't know who or what to trust. So, he waited. And the moment she climbed out of the car he headed inside, leaving the door open for her. Now was a time to offer some space. Let her come to him. Acknowledge that she needed his help.

Once she came inside he offered her a seat on the couch by the door. It had been placed so that anyone coming in would have the door between them and the person on the couch. That allowed the sitter a chance to decide whether the person coming in was welcome or not. Once she was in the living room he went to the kitchen and started coffee, then came back with two beers, caps still on the bottles. Offering one to her he popped the cap on the other and had a swig.

"We should have some time here. I'm planning on being on the road yet tonight, just in case someone saw us by your hotel. I thought you'd like some information about me first.

"I'm a Marine, former Force Recon. Sniper/scout division. Tracker in Afganistan and Iraq. Got pretty good at finding targets who were staying off the grid. Once I got out, a friend turned me on to finding runners for people who...wanted to keep a low profile. The pay's been very good and the hours are better for the most part. Most of the people I've tracked down have been thieves, scam artists, cold boyfriends, and the like. But there was this one girl..." He broke off, shaking his head. "My gut told me she wasn't the problem, the client was. I ignored that, and brought her in."

He sighed, eyes far away, remembering. "I tried to keep tabs on her, but she dropped off the grid. Permanently. I had a friend keep a flag on everything she might have accessed to get a new life. Nothing ever tripped. So...I don't actually know what happened to her. But the news reports claimed that she went missing again. The client made a couple of nice sound-bytes for the newsies and had a new girlfriend the day after the last news van pulled out."

He looked at her again, back in the here and now. "I don't want that to happen to you. You're attractive, smart on most things, and ready to keep punching even when the odds are so far against you you can't see your side. I'm...very attracted to you, as well. So, I want to find out who lit the bar up, and send your ex a message to back off. If he does, fine. We can come back here and settle down, my on my ranch and you...wherever you were thinking off. If he doesn't.... Well, I'm going to have to show him that money can't stop a bullet."

He watched her face as he said all that, trying to see what she was thinking. He knew where she'd been building the double-wide of course, but no reason to bring that up. She probably knew it as well, but this way they could pretend there might be some distance available if they came back here. He'd let her tell him if she was okay with this, then he'd get his runaway bag. The rifles were in the safe in the bedroom, along with the duffel bag full of exchangables and IDs. Nice to have choices, after all. Clients paid well and on time in his line of work. Now to find out if Rosie was in.

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

Power-plays generally only worked when two people played for the power. Mag- *Rosie*, she reminded herself irritably- got the unusual feeling, though, that this wasn't his trying to cow her, so much as he was offering her the chance to make it her call. On one hand, it was a surprisingly charitable gesture. On the other, now she couldn't claim he "made" her do anything. A- she wouldn't have done that, but B- nobody would believe a nobody anyway.

That was what she was, had tried so hard to become for three or so months, and she almost had herself believing it. Lord knew she'd wanted to be a nobody, just a normal local gal with an ordinary job and home, she didn't even care if she ever found herself a fella again. If she let herself be tagged and bagged by Bauer, however, she didn't stand a chance. She wasn't even sure of that with her current choice, but it bought her some time.

The inside of his home gave little away about his personality or character... Or maybe it did. Her green eyes took in simple, strong furnishings with a more utilitarian comfort rather than ostentation. She'd have picked many elements of the place for herself, she realized... No, *had*. Now, though, she realized as she sank onto his couch, she would probably never see the home she'd assembled with stolen money, borrowed time, hadn't even spent a night in it, again.

She didn't open her beer immediately when she took it mutely from him, but did offer him a nod of thanks. It wasn't until he was partway through telling her something of his background that she let her mind wander a little into the way shadow and line shifted on his face, or the sound of his voice changed. Taking a drink, she realized it was only too esy to envision him fighting for something he thought was right, that mattered. And how damaging it must have been for him when he fed someone to a wolf in human clothing.

"Lucky for me my looks are passable then, she managed quietly, her eyes flicking to his for just the fraction of a heartbeat and away again, before he could see it was deadpan, perhaps. "I cover all the expenses I can- in case you do like a lot of 'em do, and find green more attractive than red... That, and," she took a slow series of quiet chugs on her icy-cold bottle, "It's my fault you're in this deeper than you needed to be." That was apologetic, the same quiet voice.

By nature, the original Maggie had been similarly quiet, but with a stiffer, more formal reserve stemming from her upbringing. It had quickly faded into laughter and smiles when the chains of double helix had been shed by distance. Almost overnight, however, a pall of silence had swooped down, keeping her from joking, disturbing a hangover, hitting a nerve, or ruining some instance crucial to climax. Even her sleeping habits had altered themselves so that she faded, was inevitably eclipsed by the man who'd remade her.

Exhaling softly, she clasped the beer bottle with both hands between her knees and allowed herself the luxury of lowering her head, rolling her neck and shoulders around to unknot some of the tension that came from good posture mixed with stress and fatigue. "I started out not wanting much. I just wanted 'away'. I guess I got greedy, when I thought I had a right to get a life, too."

Drawing in another breath, she met his gaze, holding it with steady calm this time. "I done wrong by takin' what wasn't mine and I know it. If I return it, I can't pay you, you take it outta my ass, so will he. I run with it, you get yours, and... I should turn myself in, but I been in jail for the past few years. I want a little sun before I have to go back to it." It was as much his right to weigh it as it was hers, after all.

Tag

 

[Khadaji2002]

Nick listened as she talked, his frown growing with every sentence. He let her finish, then finished the last sip of beer in the bottle and put it down on the counter before he finally answered.

"Well, you got some things dead right, and some dead wrong. And the ones you got wrong make me pretty angry. Who the hell do you think you are that your money means anything at all to me? And who do you think I am that I'd take something from you without clear and present cause?!?" He slammed his hand down on the counter. Then walked to the other end of the kitchen and back, clearly reining himself back in.

"Now, you're right that taking what you took has complicated things...but I'm guessing that without those resources you'd not be here. So." He took a deep breath, calming himself more. "I'm not asking for anything from you in payment. Getting you out from under Nathan is paying forward my debt to Natasha. Anything you give me will be a freely given gift or I'm not taking it. Are. We. Clear?"

He stood there, breathing hard, shocked at how angry he'd gotten. This woman could push buttons he'd thought were long-buried. A part of him wanted nothing more than to stalk over to the couch and rip her clothes off and have her. Hard. Make her pay for insulting him like that. .....And that would just prove how right she was. Dammit, Nick, get your brains out of your pants and on the job.

"We should be going. Everything I need is in that locker." He nodded at the half-concealed door to her right. "You choose which car we take, I drive the first leg and choose where we sleep tonight. You choose for tomorrow night. We'll talk about how to keep moving after that. We'll need to set up base here and there, but the rules for that are pretty easy. You need to hit the head before we go?"

 

[Ginfizz]

It was her first instinct, perhaps, to choose indignant butt-hurt over the heated venom of his rebuttal. He took *money* from people to pluck others from their lives...

But as he continued, she felt the cold slap of his disappointment in her... And that somehow sat much worse in the bartender's craw than anything else could have at the time. Rosie wanted to reach out, to protest that she misspoke, anything to calm his ire, but only her eyes betrayed what the rest of her wouldn't.

And that was how it always started, she remembered bitterly. Something going wrong? Throw on the brakes, the boy pouts, give in, give them what they want, anything, just so they'd change their mind, she could show him, or Nathan, her father, anybody that she deserved them. She could prove it... Except thinking like that had only proved to Maggie that it was never enough. *she* was never enough.

"We're very clear, she mumbled. You're balancing your karma, and I'm not to compensate you for assisting me, but I will still feel inclined to, she didn't say. Her head bobbed once, and she wondered just exactly how that would work. How would she lay her head down at night knowing someone risked his neck and went rogue for her didn't want her gratitude, the only way she cou-okay, *would*- express it?

She drained her beer bottle and she stood, picking her way quietly toward the kitchen, but paused when he spoke next, the aroma of coffee not quite as compelling as the man's voice.

"Your truck. I haven't changed my oil yet, and the front tires are bald," she replied. She'd have much preferred her own horse, but while it was fine for a getaround buggy, it would seriously disappoint in the event of needing to call on reserves the little import didn't possess.

"I don't need anything, but some of that coffee I can smell." The adrenaline was truly gone, and the slight rounding of her shoulders was fatigue's manifesting itself- under her eyes, too. She still couldn't believe she was trusting him, but it was long-lost Maggie, the girl stuffed away in the attic, that was curious about the haunted man who would help his prey in a wrong to find his own right. Somehow, it was both selfish and gallant at the same time. Maggie had sworn upon the "death" of her birth identity that she would never again fall for a man she felt like rationalizing, and she was a long way from the edge, but she glanced over her shoulder at the first guy who'd not only made her stumble, but actually offered to catch her... In quite some time.

Tag

 

[Khadaji2002]

"There's a couple of Thermos bottles in the cupboard above the coffeemaker. Sugar's in the same cupboard, cream's in the fridge. Help yourself, make it how you like it. I'll get my gear stowed in the truck and come back and do the same." He unlocked the wall locker, pulling out two duffel bags. The green one looked lumpy and was shorter than the camo one. The camo bag definitely held at least two long-guns.

He disappeared outside and she could hear the door to the truck open, then close. His footsteps sounded on the porch and then he was back inside. He entered the kitchen with her, grabbing the other Thermos and pouring coffee. He stirred in a generous dollop of both sugar and cream. He pulled out a paper sack and loaded a few snack-type foods into it.

"I'm not a big one for junk food, but we'll both need something to eat before we stop for the night I'd think. And I'm adding something to our driving arrangements. Whoever drives gets to pick where we stop next, but the passenger gets to pick the basic direction of travel. So, pick a compass point."

He watched her as they finished up and left. Her shoulders were almost slumped at this point. She'd had a long day, and now this on top? He'd be tired too. He was starting to see why she got into the trouble she had. Someone had beaten her before. Physically or mentally, didn't really matter. That shaped a person. Marked them. So predators like this Bauer guy could step in and be a 'hero'. Save the damsel, shower her with gifts. And beat her as well. Hook 'em and hit 'em.

Which pissed Nick offed even more. He wanted to save her, to give her what she needed and deserved. And that would show her he really was just like all the rest. No matter what he did after that she'd be waiting for the fist. Or the cruelty. Or both.

As they got in the truck, Nick started it up. It purred to life, engine telling anyone with an ear that it was regularly maintained and cared for. The cab was clean and uncluttered save for their bags. The camo one was missing, but there was a toolbox in the bed of the truck. He pulled out of the driveway and onto the macadam road, still thinking. He'd just have to give her space. Let her cover some of the costs they'd incur. He'd have to let her be the first to offer a gift, if she ever did. Nick would have to keep a tight rein on himself. This job was going to be hard.

Already he was hoping he'd get the chance to met Nathan face-to-face. He curled his left hand into a fist unconsciously at the thought.

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

Coffee. She could do that, she thought, as she reached for the two go-mugs, and took a deep, steadying breath of the rich, earthy-dark liquid brewing warmly before her. Coffee might have been a stimulant, but the memories attached to it served to calm and center her. Her parents always had the worst howling, brawling, knock-down, drag-out battles, but come Sunday morning, they had what she called Church-Face on, and there they'd be in the dining room, Sunday best, bible between them, piously sipping coffee before going off to fake out a congregation of more fakes.

Sure, the memory was truly warped, but it comforted her in the same manner a pet rat does a homeless child: they really wanted a teddy bear, but the scraping and sniffing of any presence of familiarity would suffice. Purely biologically, her body responded to a known quantity of much-needed caffeine.

Her redhead tilted to the side in thought as she considered where to go. "I guess it's pretty pathetic that I don't have any direction, she said slowly, her brow creasing in thought. "You mentioned a cabin... Maybe that should be the first stop, so I can think. This place *was* my endpoint. I'd planned on stopping here. Now, though..." Her voice, as well as her gaze, faded into thought.

The truck's seats were warm, roomy, and comfortable, and the vibrating hum of the big, quiet engine lulled the wary edge off of the woman beside the man who'd just brought the whole world down round their ears. "I never got your name, if you said it already," she finally said, more to help keep her eyes open than anything. "I'm guessing Clyde is off the table..." She wasn't feeling very Bonnie.

Tag. OOC: I clicked "report" instead of "reply" in error the first time. Sorry!

 

[Khadaji2002]

"So you're choosing south, just across the border in Arkansas. I've got a cabin there we should be able to sleep the night. It's comfortable, indoor plumbing and running water, with a pump out back in case of storm. It only has the one bathroom and one bed, but I can sleep on the sofa."

He drove in silence for a while after that, keeping an eye on the rearviews and the road ahead. She got so quiet he thought she'd drifted off. She had certainly relaxed. Then she asked her question. He chuckled.

"No, Clyde's not on the table. You'd make a lousy Bonnie, and I'd make a worse Clyde. I don't casually hurt people. Or rob them for that matter. This little affair is going to hurt my rep....but that's fine." He lasped into quiet, wondering how many cases he'd get after this little escapade. The money wasn't an issue like it had been in the beginning, but the action...the hunt...that he would miss. And he hadn't answered her question yet.

"My name? You want my birth name or the one on the wallet in my pocket? The latter reads Bryan Sullivan. My parents named me Nicholas. Nick for short." He snuck yet another glance at her. She was beautiful in a way that went beyond the physical. She'd made hard decisions and done so quickly. True, more deer-like than cougar...but the deer were tough in their own way. He looked back outside, letting the miles roll under their tires.

<tag>

 

[Ginfizz]

When one lived with another who thrived on domestic combat, a person like Maggie learned quickly how to choose her battles. It would have done little good to insist the couch would be fine that early on, so she pocketed that for after her... Escort? Companion? Guard? Had ended that leg of the drive and the edge was worn off from travel and fatigue. She didn't think of it as sneaky, so much as careful. Or not, though, she reminded herself, as she knew firsthand how unpredictable weariness could make someone, and the man she was traveling with had more physical- maybe even more psychological- combat experience than Nathan.

Some time later, the coffee and its effects were gone, but many questions remained. He had two names as well, she found out, along with a bit more in not what he said, but how he said, and even did, things. A resorceful planner, ruthless survivalist, and she felt like his head was totally into the current task of hauling her to some semblance of safety.

"So we know each others' names *and* 'other-names'," she said after he'd finished. "That still leaves us with the question of what we call each other," she pointed out, a trace of chuckle in her quiet voice. "I left to try to get back the person I was before, and turned into someone else. Not sure I can go back, but I'm not that original where nomenclature is involved, now that it's pretty clear that 'Rosie' is supposed to be dead."

She didn't want to 'like' him. He wasn't a 'friend', and the lines were pretty clear, partitioning them off into 'accomplices'. With boundary lines came protocol, and finding the same man she'd thought was attractive and quietly good-natured who'd started to grow on her before she knew the real story blurred and tangled those lines for her. In the person behind the wheel was the same man who had a smile she wanted to be able to put and keep on his face, who made a bad week brighter. In tandem, though, was something darker. It made her wonder what was inside herself, and how he saw it.

The miles raced by in a dry, gritty blur, and more than once, she caught herself nodding before she jerked her head up nd sheepishly glanced at him to see if he noticed. Of course he did, but she fought sleep hard. She had questions still, but coffee lingered with a stale bitterness in her mouth. Things would gradually fall into place... Or just plain fall, without her prodding.

Tag