#behold...

“We need to talk to Y/N. Or at least let us see that they’re alright. Can you do that for us?”

“Just let me go to the window. They just need to know I’m alive. So we can all work something out.”

“I want you to stop following me. Stop tapping my phone. Stop listening to me, stop watching me. I don’t want to be seen.”

“Okay. Just take me to the window, and we can tell Bill.”

The man went silent behind you. Your heart jumped as he grabbed your arm suddenly, jerking you up. He aimed you towards the window as he remained half-hidden behind you.

The night wind blew in through cracked and busted-out windows. You squinted against the spotlights, the whirling red and blue police lights. Through narrowed eyes, you could pick out a dozen scattered snipers on the ground and rooftops, as well as half a dozen cops and FBI agents silhouetted by blaring headlights. You finally found Bill. He, along with all the others, was gazing straight up at you.

“Tell them what I want,” the man said in your ear.

“No more taps, no more trailing. We’re leaving this man alone.”

“Those are his terms?” Bill called, no longer using the megaphone.

“That’s it.”

“And in return, he meets us at the bottom of the stairs with you?”

“Yes. Okay,” the man said hurriedly. “Just leave me alone.”

“Agreed,” you shouted.

“Tell the snipers to put down their guns,” the man yelled suddenly.

Bill stepped forward, silhouetted in the headlights. “We can’t do that until we know Y/N’s safe.”

Behind you, you heard the man set his gun on the ground.

“We’re coming,” he shouted, “No guns.”

You were heading towards the stairs now, your heart pounding, footsteps scuffling over the broken glass and dust.

“How does this work?” the man said.

“You hand me over. Nothing else happens until I’m safe with them. We go from there.”

He didn’t reply. You heard him directly behind you coming down the stairs, his breathing uneven, raspy. At the door, he put a tense hand on your shoulder.

“Go,” he said.

You opened the door, blinded once more by the lights. Bill stepped forward in the glare. There were less snipers visible, less guns. Everything seemed very silent all of a sudden. You could hear the hum of distant traffic, a train horn wailing far away.

“Just Y/N now.” Bill’s voice resounded in the hushed parking lot.

The hand vanished from your shoulder. You took several steps forward, eyes fixed on Bill. Then, almost unwillingly, you turned around. The man looked normal, as you had learned from months of trailing him. Glasses, dark hair, sweater vests. But there was a strange flatness to his eyes that sent a dark wind shuddering through you.

Bill said your name, calling your attention back to him. Eyes forward, you continued your endless walk towards the police cars. When you were in range, three officers surrounded you, guiding you into one of the patrol cars. Bill glanced through the windshield to see that you were safe.

That was when you heard the shot. Bill jolted backward suddenly, gripping his shoulder. A volley of sniper fire and shouting came after that.

You flew out of the car. Bill leaned against the hood, taking short, pained gasps. The other man was in a heap on the ground, a gun in his limp hand.

“Are you okay?” you said, gripping Bill’s other shoulder.

Bill nodded, but he didn’t look sure. He took his hand off the injured shoulder, coming away with only a little blood.

“Just grazed me,” he breathed. “Stings like a bitch.”

He then reared up on the other agents. “How the fuck did he manage to draw down on us?”

No one dared answer. An ambulance began to wail in the distance. Bill fixed his eyes on you.

“Are you okay?”

You paused, then shook your head. He hooked his free arm around you, pulling you in.

“That was fucking terrifying,” he said in your ear.

You just nodded against his chest. It was all beginning to hit you. You shook all over, cold with shock.

“Get me out of here,” you whispered.

The hotel room door swung open. You followed Bill into the darkness. He shut and locked the door behind you, flipped on the lights, and immediately turned to face you. He took your face in his hands, looking deep into your eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he said.

You were still shaking, unable to speak.

“Come here,” he said, leading you into the bathroom with a hand on your back. You leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, completely weakened.

“Fuck,” you said, head in your hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bill crouched down to your level, slinging off his FBI windbreaker. A cloud of blood had seeped through his white dress shirt, drawing your eyes.

“You could have been killed,” you said, throat tightening.

“We both could have.”

You carefully began to unbutton his shirt, despite your trembling fingers.

“Y/N…”

But you kept going. The shirt hung open, the sweat-dampened tank top beneath. Bill shrugged off the shirt, hissing as it peeled away from his shoulder.

He stood, examining his bloodied shoulder in the mirror. You got to your feet and began to run a washcloth under the faucet.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, but you ignored him. You dabbed the wet cloth on his hot, damp skin as he watched. There was gauze, alcohol, and medical tape in a first aid kit beneath the sink. Bill stood very still as you tended to the wound.

He examined your work in the mirror. The clean white bandage clung to his broad shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said.

You slipped your arms around him from behind and lay your head against his back. His deep, slow breathing steadied you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that close to dying,” you said.

Bill held onto your wrists. “Let’s hope it never happens again.”

“But it will. It could happen any time. We’re lucky we got away without a bullet in the head.”

Bill turned around, taking your hands once more. “You’re right. The truth is, either of us could be killed at any time. That’s the risk.”

He reached up, brushing back your hair with his fingertips.

“But I want to love you for as long as I can. I want to love you when I’m lying in the ground.”

You squeezed his hands, blinking back tears.

“Fuck, Bill…”

“It’s okay.” He wiped your tears with his thumbs, then leaned in and quietly kissed each cheek. You ran your hands through his cropped gray hair, careful to avoid his wound.

“I couldn’t stand to lose you,” you whispered, shaking, trying not to completely fall apart.

“Just move past it the best that you can,” he said, his low voice rumbling against you. “We’re okay for now.”

You sat together on the balcony, on cheap plastic chairs overlooking the pool. No one was out at this hour. You could hear the rush of traffic from the highway, the buzz of the vending machines below. You both smoked silently, staring towards at the haze of clouds that obscured the sky. Bill popped the lid off a Miller on the balcony railing and passed it to you. You felt emptied out from the tears, the adrenaline of the day.

“I’ll say one thing,” Bill said. “Holden probably wouldn’t have got his ass shot today like I did.”

You glanced at Bill, cracking a grin.

“No. Probably not.”

Bill smiled as you passed the beer to him. He took a swig, his tired blue eyes resting on the pool below. The pale aqua glow washed over your faces, silently wavering.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you, either. I wouldn’t survive it.”

He seemed about to say more, then shook his head and tipped the bottle back. You reached over and slipped your hand into his. He held it tightly. You sat like this for a long time, until the beer was drained and the single empty bottle sat between your chairs.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you said after a while.

Bill glanced at you. The white curtains rustled gently across the open balcony door.

“I can think of one place,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb. The feeling sent a warm flush through your entire body. You met his eyes unwaveringly.

“Where would that be?”