Archive of Our Own ^beta

First time: During 1x08, “Shutdown” in the one month between being closed for business and the girls’ plan to rob Nancy.

Rio pulls into a parking spot, grinning slightly at Marcus wiggling with excitement in the back seat. When he’d suggested a trip to the park, Marcus had nodded eagerly. He loved playing on the monkey bars, runnin’ around with other kids. Loved it even more when he got to play soccer with his dad, somethin’ they’d made a tradition out of on the Saturdays he had Marcus. They hadn’t been able to do this in a while, though. Rio’s work—between the cash, dealing with these suburban bitches, and all his other business dealings—hadn’t given him much time for a break. The shutdown—dealing with Turner sniffin’ around—had given him more free time, so he’d figured why not enjoy it.

“Daddy, come on!”

Rio snaps out of his thoughts, looking in the back seat. Marcus had already gotten out of his booster, pulling at the door handle. Frowning briefly, Rio chides him, “Hang on, Pop. I’ll be around in a second. You know you ain’t supposed to unbuckle yourself, ‘specially when the car’s running.”

Marcus looks briefly apologetic, then pouts slightly. Huffing out a laugh, Rio turns off the car and makes his way around to the back of the car, opening the door to his son’s wide grin and barely contained excitement. Grabbing the soccer ball from the floorboards, he shuts and locks the car while Marcus fidgets at his side.

“Alright, Pop, let’s go.”

With a shout, Marcus runs towards the soccer fields in front of them. Rio, walking behind him, shakes his head and smiles. The park had definitely been a good idea.

He feels a twinge of guilt, remembering how long it’d been since they could do this. Shoves it down, reminding himself that everything he’s doin’ keeps his family safe and secure.

Marcus finds a spot on the fields far enough away from other kids that they can pass the ball without interrupting someone’s game. Rio starts off with short passes, but as time goes on Marcus keeps urging him to “Pass it farther, Daddy”. One particularly firm kick sends the ball sailing past Marcus, who runs after it with a shouted, “I got it!”

Rio smiles, seeing how happy Marcus is. Knowing they both needed somethin’ like this after the past few months of too much work, too little free time. He feels loose and relaxed in a way he only ever really lets himself be around his son.

As if the universe knows he’s finally enjoyin’ himself, his phone buzzes in his pocket as Marcus heads back towards him, soccer ball clasped in his arms. Rio clocks the way his grin dims when he reaches for his phone, another twinge of guilt when he reads the message.

“Hey, Pop, I gotta make a work call real quick. You wanna shoot some goals for a bit? Show me how far you can score from?”

Marcus nods, turning towards the nearest goal. Rio wanders further away, stopping at a safe distance where he can still see Marcus without being overheard. Rocking his jaw in irritation, he punches in the number on his cell.

He’s on the phone for maybe thirty seconds, dealing with a supplier who doesn’t seem to understand the words “shutdown” and “closing costs”, when he turns away from Marcus and catches a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair. He pauses, a more thorough look confirming his suspicion.

Elizabeth’s at the park.

He feels a flicker of surprise, followed by curiosity. This isn’t her normal stomping ground, the park more inner-city families than suburban PTA moms; it’s definitely outside of her neighborhood. Then he notices the woman standing next to her, holding a flyer in one hand and a bag of orange slices in the other, and it clicks. She must be here on a play date.

He can’t see her kids, but she’s closer to the playground side than he is. And with her brood, she’s sure to keep track of them.

At the thought, he glances briefly back at Marcus. Still kicking goals. Good. His supplier’s still going on about the shutdown and Rio rolls his eyes, shoulders tensing in irritation.

He looks back at Elizabeth, intrigued. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been tryin’ to sell him on that side hustle of hers; tryin’ to hide her rotten egg, too. He huffs out a quiet laugh, both at her audacity and naivety. Always plowin’ ahead, not thinking things through. Tryin’ to boss up without accepting the consequences. Not that she didn’t have some good ideas, he thinks wryly. Right before they blew up in her face, of course.

Still, it was somethin’ different. Somethin’ interesting, surprising, and in his line of work Rio didn’t get surprised very often any more. She was a puzzle that he’d thought he’d figured out, only to discover a missing piece that changed the whole picture.

Right now, though, the picture is firmly in suburban mom-mode. He can’t say he’s all that surprised, seein’ her in her sweater and mom jeans, though he is… interested. It’s a different look than the dress she’d worn last time (he’d enjoyed the way it hugged her curves, enjoyed how she’d flustered at his attention even more), not that he don’t appreciate the view. Even this far away, her clothes fail to hide her figure, the neckline just barely dippin’ down to reveal smooth skin and a hint of cleavage. Gives him somethin’ else to think about other than the idiot on the phone. The fool is complaining about having a backlog and nowhere to unload it; that this wasn’t the deal they’d agreed to and he wasn’t so sure it was gonna be worth his time.

Rio opens his mouth to retort, sharp words on the tip of his tongue, when he notices Elizabeth take whatever flyer Playdate Mom is holding. Watches her hold it further away, then bring it up close, face crinkled in annoyance. His mouth quirks, thinkin’ bout how he can get her to do the same around him, get her all flustered and stuttering. Rilin’ her up is just so—

His train of thought stutters to a halt when she reaches into her purse and takes out a case, pulling a pair of glasses on to read the flyer.

He blinks, a feeling in his chest that he can’t quite identify. He’s never seen her wear glasses before. She looks… different. Sharper, just a little more confident, a little more relaxed. He likes it.

He bites his lip briefly, wonderin’ what other little knickknacks she has stored away he might wanna see, when the sound of his supplier cuts through the static in his brain.

Mentally shaking himself, he cuts him off and tells him he can wait until they’re up and running like everyone else to move his product. Unless he wants to find himself replaced with someone more agreeable. That shuts him up right quick, and Rio hangs up the phone not too long after, shooting a quick text to Demon to follow up with this fool.

Looking up from the screen, he sees Elizabeth talking with her youngest—Jane, he thinks. She’s still wearing her glasses and he feels a thrum in his chest as he keeps observing, smirking slightly when she pulls out a wet wipe. He can just make out her pursed lips and headshake, universal signs of a frustrated parent.

He’s pulled out of his musings by that familiar instinct tellin’ him someone’s watchin’. Looking around, he realizes Playdate Mom has clocked him, a slight frown on her face. He turns away just as she starts to get Elizabeth’s attention, jogging back over to Marcus. There are a lot of things he hasn’t shared with her and his son is at the top of the list. Very few people know about Marcus, and just cuz she’s "got four children" as she’s so fond of reminding him don’t mean he trusts her with his kid.

“Hey Pop, you wanna go get some ice cream?”

Marcus pauses in the midst of swinging his leg back, a blindingly bright smile on his face. “Yeah! Ice cream!” And just like that, he’s picking up the ball and trotting over to Rio, talking about what flavors he wants, how many scoops, can he get the gummy bear toppings this time. Rio ruffles his hair, gently nudging him towards the car.

The image of Elizabeth wearing those glasses stays in his mind for the rest of the day.

**********

Second time: Set between the end of 2x02 and beginning of 2x03, after Rio promises to teach Beth but before she almost shoots Baby Tyler.

It’s late when Beth pulls up to the empty warehouse Rio had texted her directions to. Like many others in the Detroit area, the place is deserted, a little worn down, and not in the best part of town. But it’s secluded, and Rio had told her that this was going to be her first lesson.

Getting out of the car, Beth shivers at the slight chill in the air, pulling her coat tighter and adjusting the knitted cap on her head. Part of her still can’t believe she’s here, meeting Rio to learn how to shoot a gun. She’d been so resigned, exhausted beyond all caring when he’d met her on her street that night. Too tired to parse out her own feelings when he’d promised to teach her.

Now, though, she’s had plenty of time to ruminate. And while part of her is screaming that this is a really bad idea, there’s another part of her—a louder part—that’s urging her to take what he’s offering. To learn, to improve, and, a small voice whispers, to impress him again.

He wants me to kill a man, her good sense whispers.

A man who tried to rape your sister, the darker part of her hisses. Who could destroy everything you’ve worked for; everything you’re already fighting not to be taken away.

She pushes the thoughts away, focusing on what’s in front of her. Rio’s car is already parked, but she doesn’t see him. There’s a door not too far from his car, though, and she heads towards it, hand pausing halfway to the door knob. Again, she feels that tug on her conscience saying this is wrong , that she’s not this person. That she can’t kill someone, no matter how horrible.

Briefly, memories of the way Boomer had belittled her, mocked her, threatened her sister, violated her sister flash through her head. Her resolve hardens and she stands up straighter, pushing the door open.

She’s here to learn, whatever Rio’s willing to teach her.

Beth spots him a few feet inside the warehouse, texting on his phone and looking bored. He glances in her direction, motioning her over with a flick of his head before going back to his phone. Beth feels a brief flash of annoyance—after all, he’s the one who said he’d teach her—but she adjusts her purse and walks towards him.

He’s in a black peacoat and dark gray beanie, but she can see the high collar of a navy button up underneath. He looks good. He always looks good, she thinks, a tinge of resentment and something hotter pooling in her stomach.

And just—no. She needs to get it together. She’s here to learn from Rio, nothing else.

Beth stops when she nears him, glancing around the warehouse. Other than being surprisingly well-lit, it’s not that different than what she’d picture an empty warehouse to be. There’s a layer of dust and dirt over most of the floor, some random pieces of rusted metal lying around, and not much else. A few things still hanging from the walls.

She pauses, though, when her gaze settles on a spot behind Rio’s right shoulder. There’s something on the wall, and she can’t quite make it out. The outer edges are white like paper and there’s a black blob in the middle area. Given what Rio’s going to be teaching her, she figures it’s a shooting target, but without her glasses on she can’t be sure.

She glances back at Rio, who’s head comes up from his phone at the same instant. He catches her looking at him and smirks slightly, putting his phone in his pocket. And then he just… waits, not even trying to hide his own staring.

Beth feels herself starting to blush, fidgeting from foot to foot. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, break the awkward silence, Rio pipes up.

“Wasn’t sure you were gonna show, darlin’,” he drawls, voice low.

She ignores the little flutter she gets at the pet name, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” The words come out a little harsher than intended, Beth fighting not to let him see how he’s affected her.

“Mmmhmm,” he nods, briefly sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he takes her in. “You bring it with you?” His gaze flicks to her purse and Beth nods.

“Good.” He straightens up, suddenly all business. Stepping closer, he reaches out his hand. “Give it here.”

Beth tenses slightly, hand tightening around the strap of her purse. “Why?” she asks, the hint of suspicion in the question like a clarion call.

Annoyance flickers across Rio’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he drawls, voice full of faux apology, “didn’t realize you were an expert on usin’ a gun.”

Beth tenses further at the word “gun”, but thankfully doesn’t flinch. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she says, quiet but firm.

Rio sighs, running a hand over the lower half of his face. Then he’s stepping further into her space, close enough she can smell him—something fresh, sharp, with an undertone like cedar. She tries not to inhale too deeply, instead focusing on his words.

“Look. I said I’d teach you, yeah? Well, first thing ‘bout gun safety is knowin’ exactly how your gun works.” He’s speaking softly, words weighted and serious like when he explained how he didn’t get caught. Like when he gave her the speech about dealing with her rotten egg. Like when he told her he was going to teach her. Beth relaxes slightly, leaning into his space. Part of her hates the way his voice soothes her, and the other part—well.

“And I know you ain’t dumb, darlin’,” he murmurs, and she sees the way his eyes flash briefly, knows he catches the shiver that runs through her at his words. She feels it, too, something hot and sharp in her chest knowing that he sees her. “But this ain’t one of your kids’ toy guns that you can wave around robbin’ a grocery store with. When you use it, someone’s gonna get hurt.”

The flicker of surprise she feels is overshadowed by the rest of his words. It makes sense. She’s never used an actual gun before, and it’s not like she has the time to YouTube a tutorial at home (though she’d considered doing just that earlier in the day, but the fear of Dean or the kids finding out kept her off the internet). With a short nod, she slips her purse off her shoulder as Rio steps back, giving her room to pull the gun out.

This time, when he reaches for it, Beth hands it to him. The silencer is still on the barrel, and the first thing Rio does is unscrew it.

“Now this here is a Walther PPK. Small, but packs a powerful punch. Easy to conceal, long as you know what you’re doin’,” he casts a wry glance her way, then motions for her to follow him. They walk closer to the target stuck to the opposite wall.

“Now,” Rio starts, glancing at her to make sure she’s paying attention, “this model holds 7 rounds in a clip. This little black button right here is the release for the magazine.” He taps his index finger against the button, then pushes it in. Beth hears the slide of the clip, and then Rio is putting the magazine in her hand.

“It’s light,” she comments, flushing slightly as she looks back up at Rio. Instead of mocking her, though, he nods, a slight grin on his face.

“That’s right. Even with a full clip, gun like that don’t have a lot of weight to it.” He reaches back over, pointing with his index finger to the holes in the magazine. “Now these numbers right here tell you how many bullets you got. If your mag’s full, each of these’ll have a round. The other side’ll tell you if it’s full or not, but not how many bullets.”

He looks up at her again, making sure she understands before moving on to the next thing. Beth feels a little flutter in her chest at the way he seems almost… excited to explain all this to her. It’s cute, she thinks, instantly trying to keep her face blank at the sheer mortification that runs through her. She never would have thought “Rio” and “cute” could go together if she hadn’t seen the proof herself.

Collecting herself, Beth focuses on listening to the rest of Rio’s lecture. He shows her where the safety is, above the handle and behind the trigger. Flicks it down into the locked position and pulls the trigger so she can see how it won’t fire. Then he flicks it back up, demonstrating how to pull the slide back to see the empty chamber. He spends a lot of time explaining how to tell if the gun’s loaded, the difference between the double-action trigger and the single-action trigger, and how to use the sight to aim the gun.

Each time he demonstrates something with the gun he has her try it on her own. First, individually, then all in one go. He stands beside her, drilling her on features, how to load and unload the magazine, whether the safety is off or on. Then he goes through the entire process again, demonstrating how to hold the gun, how to aim for the target, and how to stand, making Beth repeat each step under his watchful gaze. By the time he actually puts a bullet in the magazine, they’ve been at the warehouse for at least an hour and Beth is getting impatient. She’s anxious to show him that she can do it, that his time hasn’t been wasted. The more he has her practice, the more eager she becomes to apply what she’s learned.

“Thought you were gonna teach me to shoot, not quiz me on gun parts,” she grumbles as Rio places a bullet in the magazine. He glares at her as he loads the magazine but doesn’t say anything else. Just holds out the gun, handle first and safety on, for Beth to take.

It’s heavier in her hand, but still significantly lighter than the golden gun. As soon as she thinks it, Beth is shoving the memory of that awful night away. Focus. It’s smaller, more compact, and easier for her to hold. The metal feels smooth in her hands, leftover warmth from where Rio’d gripped the handle. The barrel gleams in the light, taunting her. Beth reminds herself to breathe, letting out a shaky breath as she turns towards the target.

Once she’s facing it, Rio comes up beside her and maneuvers her until she’s 7 yards away (the standard shooting distance, he’d told her; like a little gun nerd, she thinks with amusement). He adjusts her stance and Beth does her best not to flush when his hands push down on her shoulders, telling her not to raise them near her ears. She can’t help stiffening, though, when he presses his front to her back, his hands coming around to adjust her grip on the gun.

He’s so warm, she thinks, immediately chiding herself. She can’t help but notice that he feels firm, pressed against her back. There’s no give to him, like there is with Dean (and God, now is not the time to make comparisons). His scent is almost surrounding her now, and she makes a conscious effort to take shallow breaths lest she drown in it. 

“Relax, mama,” he murmurs in her ear. Even in her heels, he’s tall enough that his jaw brushes her cheek, the scrape of his stubble making her skin prickle. Beth considers turning to glare at him, but then he’s stepping back out of her space and coming up beside her. She can see the slight smirk on his face, knows he’s enjoying this more than he should. The smirk is gone just as quickly as it appeared when Rio motions his head towards the target.

“Let’s see how your aim is,” he says, firm tone belying the casual way he’s spoken.

Beth takes a breath, lets it out slowly, and fires.

She doesn’t have to walk to the target to know she’s missed it completely.

Pursing her lips, she squints, trying to unblur the lines of the white and black blob in front of her. Mentally, she’s cursing herself for refusing to take the time to put in her contacts after Rio’s last minute text to meet up. Her distance vision has never been the greatest—she’d barely passed her driving test without needing corrective lenses—and getting older had meant new lenses and glasses, both for long distance and now for reading. Annie had teased her relentlessly when she found out, calling her Granny and offering to drive her around now that her vision was starting to go. And while that was typical Annie, Beth had been self-conscious about wearing them unless absolutely necessary after Dean’s off-hand comments that she looked like the school librarian, a woman pushing 75 who smelled like baby powder and Werther’s.

She has her glasses in her purse, but the thought of stopping to put them on, of Rio’s reaction to her wearing them makes her tense. She doesn’t need to give him any more ammunition to tease her with.

You just don’t want him to think you’re old, her subconscious whispers.

The thought is enough to shake her out of her reverie. Rio has stopped typing on his phone, looking up at her, one eyebrow raised. He hasn’t said anything, but she can read the hurry up in his expression.

His impatience makes her straighten, head turning back towards the target. She refuses to fail at this after waiting for an hour to even get here. She just needs to focus, remember what he’s taught her, and aim towards the middle of the black blob in front of her.

Determined, she adjusts her stance, breathes, and fires. Again and again, until the clip is empty and the slide’s pushed back, chamber exposed.

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Rio glances at her, then at the target. He purses his lips, walks over to look at it, then turns back towards her. She can make out the back and forth motion of his jaw as he walks over to her, hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Sooooo,” he drawls, frustration and amusement warring in his voice. “You always been a terrible shot, or is this a recent development? Cuz so far, you ain’t hittin’ nobody.”

Beth glares, lowering the gun, feeling herself flush at his words. Rather than reply, though, she goes over to where she’s dropped her purse, rummaging through it. Picking up her glasses, she puts them on and stands back up, resuming the firing position Rio had shown her. Pointedly not looking at him as she focuses on the target. From here, she can see a few holes, though none of them are within the black outline of the person she’d been aiming for.

Rio comes up behind her again, adjusting her stance and grip slightly, the feeling of him against her breaking her out of her own thoughts. She ignores the little thrill that shoots through her, making sure the red dots on the gun line up in her sight. When he steps back, she fires until the clip is empty.

This time, she can make out seven holes in the paper target, all within the person’s outline. The rush of pride and pleasure is instantaneous, and she doesn’t fight the grin splitting her face. Turning back towards Rio, she starts to joke about needing her glasses to see her hands in front of her face, but the words get stuck in her throat.

He’s staring right at her, gaze practically burning her where she stands. He hasn’t even turned to look at the target. She can see the pride and hunger flashing across his face. Her breath hitches and she flushes from her cheeks to her chest, something hot pooling even lower. Rio’s eyes flick down to her chest, back to her lips, and come to rest on her glasses.

“Good job, mama,” he says, voice a low, husky rasp.

“I had a good teacher,” she quips, the words out of her mouth before her brain’s had time to vet them. He hums low in his throat, nodding and stepping towards her. It feels like she stops breathing for a second, the thrill of anticipation making her freeze, waiting for—something.

But then his hand is reaching for the gun, taking it out of her loose grip, and he’s stepping back slightly. His eyes stay locked on hers as he pulls another magazine from his pocket, ejects the empty clip, and slides it in, the click of the magazine making Beth feel an answering pulse between her legs.

“Let’s see how many rounds you can go before you gotta run back home, hmm? Wanna make sure you up to the task when the time comes.”

It’s like he’s thrown a bucket of cold water on her. Beth stiffens as he heads back to the target, leaving her to collect herself while he swaps out for a new one.

And just—right . She takes a deep breath, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose and the grip of the gun in her hand.

She’s here to learn. So she can kill a man. That’s all.

**********

Third Time: Set during 2x05, right after the scene with Beth and Turner at the gas station.

Rio slides into the driver’s seat of his car, shuts the door, and lets out a sigh. It’s been a long day, puttin’ feelers out with his contacts to track down that body Elizabeth had asked him to handle. He rolls his eyes, remembering her reaction when he’d told her what it’d cost. Like she was surprised that favors didn’t come cheap—or free, knowing her. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, shoulders tensing as he thinks back on their meeting. She’d been the one to ask to meet up, after all. He’d been with Demon when he’d gotten the text, and even though he’d kept the smirk off his face he hadn’t managed to hide the swagger when she asked to meet him at the bar. He’d thought—well, ain’t nobody’s business but his what he thought. Demon hadn’t said anything, just given him a look when he said he had something to take care of and he’d see him tomorrow.

So yeah, maybe he’d thought their lil’ meet up was somethin’ else, maybe he’d dressed for the occasion. What Elizabeth had failed to mention, though, was that she was bringing along her little sister and her friend. She’d also neglected to mention she was gonna ask him for a favor like this, he thinks, his grip on the steering wheel making the leather squeak softly with how hard he clenches his hands.

He exhales a slow breath, shaking his head at all of it and loosening his grip on the wheel as he turns on the car. Try as he might, though, he can’t stop himself from playing their conversation over in his mind while he drives. How she’d paused just a bit too long after he asked about a bathroom break, lips parted and eyes wide. He’d wanted to bite her lip, his hand tight on his glass the only thing keepin’ him still. Hadn’t stopped him from watching her, though, seein’ how flustered he could get her. 

Then he’s thinking about how she’d been in the bathroom, lookin’ at him in the mirror and hiking her dress up above her ass. All that smooth skin begging to be touched. Even now, the memory’s got him biting his lip and shifting in his seat. He’d been distracted the whole next day, remembering the feel of her under his hands, on his tongue, wrapped around him.

He stops that train of thought before he gets too worked up, shifting his attention back to the road. And then curses under his breath when he figures out where he is and where he’s going.

Elizabeth’s neighborhood is two exits up. He ain’t got no business with her, but he still signals as he takes the offramp, the familiar route soothing some of the exhaustion from the long day. Tells himself he’ll drive by and head home once he sees the lights are off. She’s supposed to have his money tomorrow, anyways. No harm done.

Except he can see the lights on in the living room window.

For a long moment, he stays parked down the street, engine idling. He knows her dumbass husband ain’t one to stay up, keepin’ the hours he does. Knows how easy it is to sneak in, too. Imagines the look on her face when he pops up, surprised and annoyed and maybe just a little bit pleased. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s popped in to check on her. ‘Sides, she’d asked him for a favor. Not his fault if she didn’t think he’d come to collect early.

Ignoring the little voice that points out he’d see her tomorrow, Rio turns off the car and gets out. It’s almost habit, now, to head around the side, through the gate, and use the key to open the back door. Even after the first time, Elizabeth hadn’t moved the hidden key from under the flower pot. Hadn’t changed the locks, neither, and he shakes his head at her naivety. Her suburban mama act wasn’t gonna protect her from someone actually trying to break in.

Then again, that same act was what kept allowing him to come and go like this. That and the spare key he’d copied not long after the Canada job. What Elizabeth didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Opening up the back door, Rio steps silently into the house, closing the door soundlessly. As he walks into the living room, he picks up the whir of a machine. Something about the sound jogs a memory from when he was young, his mom sitting at her craft table while she worked on Sola’s quinceañera dress, muttering in Spanish as she placed pins in the fabric. She’d smiled at him when she caught him looking, gesturing for him to come closer as she explained what she was doing, how to get the fabric to lay correctly, which pins to place and which to remove. He’d thought it was magical, then, how she could make something from nothing.

So it’s a familiar sight that greets him, though he’s never seen Elizabeth like this before, when he rounds the corner and sees her bent over a fold-out table. The lamp beside her shines down on the silk and tulle of the outfit she’s working on, the whir of the needle soothing background music as she feeds the fabric through the machine. While she isn’t muttering in Spanish, the red pincushion and laser focus as she works is so like his mother’s that Rio feels somethin’ in him uncoil at the sight.

She hasn’t noticed him yet, so Rio takes his time looking at her. She’s got her glasses on again, and Rio feels that same tug in his chest seeing her like this, briefly overshadowed by lust. He smirks, taking in her old lady pajamas with the floral print, wondering how she can sleep in all that without gettin’ overheated. The thought makes him grin wider, imagining her unbuttoning her top in the middle of the night. Something to file away for later.

He quirks an eyebrow at the slushie she has next to the sewing machine. In all their interactions, he’s never seen her drink anything but bourbon. She’s complained enough about drinking wine that he figured she’d avoid the sweetness of somethin’ like a slushie. Then again, cut with booze they weren’t that bad… for a basic white girl drink.

As if she’s somehow sensed his “basic white girl” comment, the sewing machine stops. Elizabeth mutters a soft curse, pulls the needle up from the fabric, and starts messing with the thread. After a moment, she looks up in his direction and just stares. Instead of saying anything, though, she finishes rethreading the needle and starts up the sewing machine.

Not quite what he’d been expecting. Normally she’d be starting in her seat, maybe whisper-yellin’ bout what he’s doing here. He feels the beginnings of irritation and a flash of unease.

Somethin’s off with her.

She finishes up the part of the costume she’s working on and sits up, reaching for her drink. She takes a sip and looks straight at him, one eyebrow popped up. Rio tilts his head to the side, tryin’ to figure her out. He can’t get a read, though, so he settles for a tried and true method.

“Playin’ dance mom?” Rio asks, tone just the slightest bit mocking.

Elizabeth huffs out a laugh but doesn’t say anything. She’s… closed off to him in a way that she normally isn’t. He knows she thinks she ain’t giving anything away, but he can usually read her like an open book, figure out where her head’s at. Now, though, not so much. There’s nothing in her expression other than the unspoken question of why he’s here.

Rio stays in the shadows, glad for the light that reflects off her face while blinding her to his own. He keeps staring at her glasses, remembering that night in the warehouse. How she’d looked holding the gun; how she’d looked at him afterwards. Confident. Proud. Powerful. He flexes his fingers inside his pockets, fighting the urge to touch her.

Eventually, she sighs, rubbing her face. “I’ve had as many surprises today as I can take. What are you doing here?”

He frowns at the slight slur in her words, the slipping cadence to her speech. His eyes flick to the slushie next to her and back to her face, and he pops a brow and smirks slightly. “I came to check on my investment. Time’s almost up.”

“We’ll get it to you,” Beth says, just the barest hint of irritation in her voice, body tensing as she sits up straighter in her chair.

There she is, Rio thinks.

“Oh yeah? You plannin’ on makin’ dance costumes for the whole state?” he quips, words dripping with faux curiosity. She glowers and opens her mouth to respond, but he keeps going, moving from the entryway to stand next to the crafting table. “Not sure how well they’ll turn out, you keep goin’ with that cup. Might end up more Andy Warhol than Swan Lake.”

She looks briefly surprised at the ballet reference, but flushes in annoyance and… something else, at his words and how close he is. Rio fights to keep the smile from his face, finally getting the reaction he’d been expecting. And then he’s fighting not to touch all over again as Elizabeth’s hand comes up to adjust her glasses, the other grabbing her drink.

“I’m allowed to relax every now and again,” she snaps, the anger in her voice undercut by the almost breathless way she says it. As if to emphasize her point, she takes another sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his. Rio tenses, his tongue slide across his lips before he can stop it. Elizabeth notices—of course she picks up on this and not someone breaking into her home, some part of him thinks wryly—shifting forward in her seat, drink coming to rest against the back of her chair.

Rio leans down, one hand resting on top of the sewing machine as he invades her space. “Oh, I know how you relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and can’t help the flare of lust that hits him at the smell of her so close. He leans in a little further, drawing out the tension, smirking when he hears her sharp inhale.

He thinks of her shutting him down earlier when he’d brought up a bathroom break. Somethin’ inside him goes hot and smug at being right.

“But you’ve got a deadline to meet and I need you sharp,” he says, grabbing her slushie with his free hand. Standing up straight, he’s suddenly all business, ignoring her indignant squawk of outrage. “You do your part, I do mine, everything keeps movin’ smoothly.”

He takes a sip of her drink, grimacing at the taste of cheap vodka. Elizabeth tries to reach for it, but he catches her wrist and she freezes. He can feel her pulse pounding, his thumb rubbing gently against the skin of her wrist. Her pupils are blown wide. Rio doesn’t have to look in a mirror to know his ain’t much better.

“Maybe then, we both get a chance to relax.” His fingers slide across her wrist as he lets her go, and he turns to leave before he does something stupid like let her suck her basic white girl drink off his fingers, full house be damned.

He sets her drink down on the coffee table as he heads for the kitchen. Before he leaves, he turns back one more time, the warning clear beneath his tone, “I expect payment tomorrow, Elizabeth. You need to handle this, or I will.” Then he’s out the door and heading back to where he parked, trying not to think about why he’s no longer the least bit tired.

**********

Fourth Time: Set between 2x07 and 2x08, after Rio has returned the Dubby but before Dean meets with the baby hitmen.

Beth’s in her office at the dealership, looking over something on the computer. She leans back in her desk chair, sighing and rubbing her temples. It’s been a long day and it’s not even halfway done.

She hears a “Good night, Mrs. Boland,” from Katie in financials as she’s heading out the door. The dealership is empty, but Beth still has to make a drop tonight. She glances at the clock, which reads 8:30, and groans. Her stomach growls, reminding her that the last thing she had to eat was a protein bar around 12:30. Deciding to order some takeout, she grabs the menu for Gino’s but goes cross-eyed while trying to read it. Huffing in irritation, she ducks down to her purse and pulls out her glasses case, opening it and putting them on as she rights herself.

“Evenin’, mama.”

Beth starts, the case tumbling from her fingers onto the floor and coming to rest near Rio’s feet. She glances up at him, flushing from surprise and embarrassment.

He’s dressed in his signature black jeans and black button up, and for a brief moment his face lights up with interest. His gaze sweeps from her face to her chest, then down to the case at his feet. His brow quirks and he smirks slightly, seeing the pattern.

It had been a gag gift from Annie when she’d first had to get reading glasses. She’d told Beth the plain black case she’d picked out was boring, and if she had to start wearing “granny glasses” as Annie had taken to calling them, she might as well have fun with it. Beth had rolled her eyes, but secretly enjoyed the gift. Annie and Ruby were the only ones who knew about her secret obsession.

But now, as Rio kneels down to pick up the case and examine it, all Beth feels is mortified. Even dwarfed in Rio’s hand, the red case and white polka dots stand out against his tan skin. And while she can’t see it from this angle, she knows exactly what else is on the case—a drawing of Betty Boop, with big blue eyes, pouty red lips, and a tight red mini dress.

“Figured you’d be more of a flower kinda girl,” Rio teases, lips twitching as he holds the case out toward her, eyes briefly flitting to her sunflower pen cup and the floral calendar on her desk. When she goes to reach for it, though, he moves back slightly. She glares at him, but he just grins wider, turning the case over in his hand.

Annoyed at his obvious enjoyment of her discomfort, Beth pushes back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. His eyes flash briefly, hand stilling its movements, and that’s when Beth remembers what she’s wearing.

Normally when she works at the dealership she’s in pantsuits. Professional, business-like. Confident and in control, with just a touch of femininity that gets families to trust her and buy more cars. Today, though, she’d had to change outfits. Her coffee had spilled on her last clean pair of pants, and in her haste to get out the door on time she’d grabbed the first thing out of her closet that was still business appropriate.

Rio had already clocked the top of the navy-blue dress she wore, zipper pulled to reveal just a hint of cleavage. And while the hemline hit just below her knees when standing, seated as she was, legs crossed at the ankles, her hemline had ridden up to mid-thigh. Paired with her glasses, the way Rio is looking at her makes Beth perk up slightly, something hot blooming in her chest.

He likes it, she thinks, smug and certain. His next words confirm it, as he looks her up and down.

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, voice husky.

She quirks an eyebrow at him, shifting slightly in her seat and adjusting her glasses. Not missing the way Rio clocks her movement, or the way he briefly grips her case tighter. 

Well, she thinks, two can play this game.

Taking her glasses off, Beth folds them and hooks them onto the zipper at the front of her dress. She stands up, coming around to the side of the desk and resting against it. They’re now an arms-length from one another, and Rio’s still staring at her, the intensity of his gaze making Beth shiver slightly.

“What do you want?” she asks, or means to. It comes out a lot less firm than she intended, slightly breathless. She can hear the longing in her own words, and underneath that, a burning desire to know. 

What does he want with her? Why is he here? Was he still seeing that woman? Why did he return the Dubby? What does it mean?

His eyes flick briefly down to her chest, then just as quickly back to her face. He sucks in his lower lip for a moment, then flicks his tongue out. Beth can’t help but follow the movement, and Rio steps closer to her. The hand holding her case moves beside her, placing it on her desk. He’s right in her space again, and this close she can smell him. That combination of sweat and danger and something so uniquely him that makes her head dizzy.

She hates it, the way she reacts to him. Hates even more that he knows how she reacts to him. And yet, part of her craves it, gets off on it, because it means he notices her. Even when he’s upset—yelling at her for going into a drug den, telling her to get her head straight—he sees her.

“I want a lot of things, mama.” He almost growls the words in her ear, they’re said so low. Her eyes flutter shut at the sound as heat shoots through her. Her hands are fisted at her sides to keep from touching him. She’d just had the upper hand. How did he turn the tables so fast?

“But,” he says, sounding almost regretful as he steps back slightly, “right now what our customers want is their delivery. They’ve moved up the drop and I need you to be at this address in 30 minutes.” 

He holds out a piece of paper to her, and she has to give herself a mental shake as she tries to switch gears. Taking it from him, she looks back at her computer, where paperwork still needs to be processed, then mournfully down at the takeout menu.

“I still have to finish this paperwork and lock up,” she protests. “Can’t someone else do it?”

“Oh, you want a break?” Rio’s voice is loaded with false concern and sympathy. “Sure thing. I’ll just take 100%. Seeing as I’m doin' all the work and all.”

Beth bristles at the implication, standing up and preparing to snap that she pulls her own weight, damn it, but pauses when Rio’s eyes widen slightly and lock on her chest.

She looks down and realizes that her glasses have shifted with her sudden movement, pulling the zipper at the front of her dress down slightly. Exposing the top of her breasts and the edge of the cups of her black bra. She freezes and flushes at the same time, almost overcome with mortification. Looking back up at Rio, she’s torn between trying to adjust her zipper and the sheer humiliation of doing so potentially making the situation worse.

His eyes are back on her face, the only indication he’s affected by any of this in the slight rocking of his jaw. 

“Well,” he demands, voice harsh, “what’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” 

Something in his tone rings hollow, though. Beth takes a moment, trying to read his face, but his mask is firmly in place now. She feels a flash of confusion, taking in his barely-too-stiff posture and laser focus on her face. And that’s when it hits her.

He’s embarrassed, she thinks. On the heels of her initial surprise comes an almost perverse sense of glee. She fights to keep the smug smile off her face, instead relaxing her posture as she leans back against the desk.

“I’ll do it,” Beth replies. 

He opens his mouth, probably looking to end the conversation and leave, but closes it with an almost audible click when Beth’s hand moves to where her glasses are still tucked into the front of her dress. Slowly, she pulls them out and unfolds them, not bothering to adjust her zipper. Rio’s eyes follow her as she puts her glasses back on and unfolds the note, reading the address, memorizing it. When she glances back up at him, his eyes are at half-mast, gaze burning. “But I’m gonna need something in return.”

A raised eyebrow and the swipe of his tongue over his lower lip is all he gives her, but Beth can practically taste the desire in his words. “What’s that?”

She shivers, knowing he can see it and unfazed. Because she knows she’s not the only one affected.

She moves back around her desk, saving the file she’s working on and shutting down her computer. Grabbing her purse and coat, she moves to stand back in front of Rio.

“Dinner,” she says, looking him straight in the eyes.

He blinks, then grins slightly. “Oh really?” He looks her up and down again, slower this time, gaze lingering, before quipping, “Where we goin’, partner? Don’t wanna be underdressed.”

“We aren’t going anywhere, partner.” Beth fights back a grin as Rio’s expression transforms into thin-lipped irritation. “I have to finish up here after this drop. You can get me something from Gino’s. Takeout menu is on the desk.”

She walks around him, heading for the door to her office, flushed with her victory and other sensations.

“Elizabeth.”

She stops, turning towards him. Rio comes closer, holding out the case she’d almost forgotten. Taking it from him, Beth tries to ignore the way his fingers brush hers, sending sparks up her arm. But instead of moving back, his hand moves up to her face, pinky brushing back her hair.

“Deal. I need you behind that desk, not turnin' heads, anyhow.” His hand pauses briefly when his pinky hits the arm of her glasses, and then just as swiftly he’s stepping away from her. She can’t help the tiny jerk of her head towards him. He smirks, glancing down at his watch.

“Better get goin’, darlin’. Quicker you do the drop, quicker you get to eat,” he teases.

She huffs, shoots him a glare, and leaves the office without another word.

----

When she gets back from the drop, there’s a brown paper bag waiting for her, the growling of her stomach reminding her that she is hungry . Unpacking the contents, she finds her favorite inside—angel hair pasta in a creamy alfredo sauce with garlic and mushrooms, a side salad, and fresh breadsticks—along with napkins, silverware, and a folded-up note.

She opens the note, grinning slightly at Rio’s familiar scrawl, then pauses when she reads what he’s written.

In case you change your mind. Reservation’s under Elizabeth.

Underneath, he’s written the name of a restaurant she’s never heard of. There’s no date or time listed. She flushes slightly at the implication, letting herself replay the way he’d looked at her not even an hour earlier. Like he’d wanted to devour her. Just the thought makes her thighs clench, something weightless fluttering in her chest as she reads the note again.

He’d asked her to dinner. An open invitation, no less. Beth smiles, running her thumb across the piece of paper. She can’t do anything about it right now. But it’s a possibility, an option. The thought makes her feel excited and a little apprehensive. She doesn’t know what this means but maybe—

Her stomach lets out an impressive growl and Beth shakes her head, pulling herself back to reality. Right. First thing’s first, she needs to eat. Then finish up this paperwork, lock up, go home, and plan out the next few weeks of inventory. After all, she’s got a business to run, kids to feed, and a mortgage to pay.

Everything else can wait.

**********

Fifth Time: Set between 3x04 and 3x05, two days after Beth shows Rio how the money is made but before Rio’s boys start picking up deliveries from Paper Porcupine.

Schhhck. Schhhck.

The sound of paper being cut hits Rio’s ears as he heads towards the back of Paper Porcupine. It’s late, the sky outside pitch black and clear, stars twinkling in the distance. Elizabeth had assured him no one else would come in the store after they closed. Still, given her track record, he wasn’t too keen on anyone else poppin’ in. So here he was, just shy of midnight, comin’ to talk logistics.

The thought makes his jaw clench, irritation simmering low in his gut, even as he walks almost silently through the shop. Just a few weeks ago, he’d been more than ready to put a bullet in her. Anticipating the look on her face for weeks before he popped up in that bar. But then she’d gone and blindsided him, tellin’ him she’s pregnant, then tellin’ him she lost it, tryin’ to buy her life back. He tenses further, remembering that he’d let her try and buy it back. Thinking there was no way she’d come up with the cash until he’d been introduced to her new friend.

He still remembers the surprise—the rage—when homeboy started talkin’ bout the bunch of bitches he worked for. Because he’d known. Had no idea how she’d done it, but he’d known it was her. And judging by the quality of the paper in his hands, her shit was good.

His jaw tightens, remembering how Elizabeth had tried to play dumb before he’d pulled out his gun. He’d been curious, watching her make the money. Alert for any sign she didn’t know what she was doing or that she was tryin’ to withhold information. He knows he’d made her nervous, took an almost visceral pleasure in that fact. But when all was said and done, she’d made a solid product. He’d been grudgingly impressed.

For a moment, looking at the cash she’d made, he’d thought back to telling her she could be something. He’d been right. Just hadn’t predicted he’d be a stepping stone for her to get there.

And now—well, running a criminal empire makes for strange bedfellows.

He cuts that train of thought off right quick. She’d betrayed him, left him for dead, then tried to weasel her way into his family’s life. He’s still got the bullets in his pocket, reminding him what happened the last time he trusted her to clean up her mess. Just the thought of them is enough to turn him sharp, cold, even as the anger burns in his chest.

It’s just business, he reminds himself. She’s got the printing setup, that’s it. And once it’s done, so’s she.

Coming through the doors to the back room, he’s unsurprised to see Elizabeth with her back turned, unclipping a fresh sheet from the line. She still don’t pay attention to what’s around her. Probably hadn’t even heard the jingle of the bell when he came in.

He feels a surge of annoyance at her lack of awareness and lets it meld with the ever-present anger at her betrayal, opening his mouth to get her attention, maybe frighten her a little bit.

But then she’s turning around, sheet of money in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. And whatever words he’d been planning to say die on his lips.

She’s wearing glasses.

Holding the magnifying glass up, frowning slightly in concentration, she studies the paper critically as she places it on the table next to the cutter. The magnifying glass moves slowly across a printed $10 bill, as if she’s trying to catch even the smallest defect.

She’s wearing new frames—they’re patterned now, and he’d liked her old pair, too, but these make her look—

As soon as he has the thought, Rio feels another surge of anger. This time, it ain’t directed at Elizabeth. His hands clench and he quickly looks away, trying to forget the memory of the last time he’d seen her in glasses. He pushes it down, ignoring the flicker of feeling that’s distinctly not angry.

That’s done, he tells himself firmly.

Elizabeth finally seems to have noticed him, though, if the little gasp of surprise he hears is any indication. He forces himself to look at her. Calm. Detached.

“Evenin’,” he drawls, leaning against the door frame. “Somethin’ wrong?” He nods his head towards the paper. If his tone’s a little harsher than usual, well, that’s just cuz he’s invested in the product.

She’s fidgeting at the sight of him, nervous. The slight flush on her cheeks tells him he surprised her. Good.

She just stares at him for a moment, like she can’t believe he’s in front of her. He sees the moment it registers with her that he’s asked a question, annoyed at the delay, but then she’s standing up straight and looking him in the eye. 

“Everything’s perfect. I do the best work, remember?” She parrots his words back to him and he feels a flash of amusement at her attitude. Even now, she knows when she’s done good work.

The amusement disappears when she adjusts her glasses where they’re perched on her nose. He feels it again, that flash of—somethin’—pop up at seeing her like this. Some of his irritation must show on his face, cuz Elizabeth is suddenly rushing to explain.

“I’m just doing a final check. Making sure everything’s up to standard. I just need to print a few more batches—”

“Yeah, you don’t gotta give me a play by play. Just need it to be ready, sweetheart,” he drawls, coming over to stand at the table. He takes the sheet she’s been looking at from her, turning it over in his hands. It’s good work, not that he’s going to tell her that. She already knows, obsessin’ like she is.

“How long?” he asks, glancing up at her.

She purses her lips, clearly not liking him taking over her space. Musta learned somethin’, though, cuz she keeps her opinion to herself. He sees her thinking, turning the numbers over in her head. She pivots away from him, hip leaning against the table, hand drifting up to take her glasses off as she starts to think out loud.

“We’ve got enough sheets for three more batches in this run. But we’ll have more tomorrow evening once Annie and Ruby bring what they’ve got,” she muses, folding her glasses and pressing them to her lips as she concentrates. Rio fights to keep his face neutral even as he zeros in on her lips. Again, he sees her in her office wearing that dress. Remembers how it felt to kiss her in her bedroom and—

Elizabeth turns back towards him, clearly intending to give him an answer. She pauses, though, and he sees her clock it. Clock him… and respond, eyes flicking down briefly and cheeks dusting a light red.

Again, the anger surges hot under his skin. At himself. At her. At all of this. He feels his jaw tense, teeth grinding together; has to consciously stop himself from crumpling the sheet of money still held in his fist.

“So? How long?” His words are sharp, clipped. He can feel it all bubbling just under the surface. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go.

“Another day. Maybe two,” Elizabeth’s words are soft, hesitant. Like she thinks it might help or some shit. It only makes the anger Rio’s feeling grow, along with that sharp stab of somethin'  that he refuses to look at too close. Then she’s folding her glasses into the top of her button up and it’s like getting hit in the head with a two by four, the sense memory is so strong.

He can’t stop himself from following the movement, even though he knows she’s watching him. When he pulls his eyes back to her face, the glimmer of recognition in them is enough to have him go ramrod straight. He practically throws the paper at her in his hurry to let go, taking a conscious step back from the table, trying to ignore the way her eyes widen at his sudden movements.

He needs to get out of here. Away from her and her fucking glasses and all of it.

“You’ve got until tomorrow evenin’,” he says, voice cold, tone brooking no argument.

She visibly starts, already protesting they don’t have enough time or materials to print a full batch. He just shakes his head, unmoved by her anger even as his own skin prickles with the need to leave.

He turns away, intending to leave her there with her protests, but she’s around the table and blocking his path before he gets to the doorway.

She’s angry, crowding into his space, hand reaching forward to stop him. “Damn it, Rio, will you just—”

“Don’t!” He doesn’t yell, but it’s a near thing as he flinches back from her grip. She’s shocked, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. But she’s not afraid. If anything, she looks… concerned. Somehow, that’s worse.

Rio visibly collects himself, tamping down on the anger, frustration, and that somethin' else that he can't seem to shake. When he speaks, the words come out calmly.

“I’ve gotta start moving product soon. Now, can you get me what I need or do I gotta find someone else?” There’s no threat. It’s just cold, hard fact. She does the job or she dies. That’s business.

He sees Elizabeth’s face harden. Now she’s the one putting distance between them, stepping out of his space and meeting his eyes coolly.

“I’ll get it done,” she says.

“Good.” With that settled, Rio turns and leaves, reminding himself that he ain’t running away.

----

The next night, Elizabeth has shoe boxes full of cash ready for him and Demon to take. She doesn’t ask why his hands are bruised, knuckles torn and bloody, and he doesn’t offer. Demon confirms the dates and times for the next drop offs while Rio stands off to the side, playing on his phone. They’re getting ready to leave, the shoe boxes already in the car, when Rio realizes the grey beanie he’d had tucked in his back pocket isn’t there anymore.

Cursing, he gets out of the car, telling Demon he’ll be right back. He heads back inside, figuring Elizabeth will be tidying up out front.

She’s not.

She’s sitting on the stool he’d used just two days ago while he watched her make money. His beanie is on the table and she’s got her glasses on again, reading over some piece of paper and making notes. She looks up at him as he comes through the door, face carefully blank. He stops just in front of her, nodding at his hat.

“Mind if I have that back?”

“Sure,” she says, grabbing his beanie and handing it to him. She doesn’t let go when he goes to take it from her.

His forehead furrows in confusion, but before he can comment she’s placing the piece of paper on top of the beanie. He frowns, glancing at her in question.

“For the blood,” she says, looking him straight in the eye, words coming out in a rush. “Darker fabric makes it harder to see, but I can still tell.” She taps her glasses, mouth quirking slightly. He feels that same somethin’ rearing it’s head again, but he’s too surprised by her gesture to push it aside. “You’ll need to soak it in cold water. I wrote down instructions.” At that, she looks down at the paper, then back up at him, before settling on a spot slightly over his shoulder. Waiting.

“I know how to get blood out of my clothes,” he says, but there’s no malice to it.

She just quirks an eyebrow as her gaze shifts back to him, tapping the side of her glasses again, a faint twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Apparently not well enough,” she quips. Almost involuntarily, his own lips twitch in a slight smile.

He feels it then, the pull of their history. Other times she’d been light, even playful. Before—just before. When he would have responded with a a quip of his own. Gotten up in her space just to see her get flustered. To see how she’d react to him. Tryin’ to figure her out. To know her.

This is dangerous. She’s dangerous.

He doesn’t give himself time to consider the hurt that flashes across her face when he snatches the beanie and paper away. He stuffs both of them in his pocket, heading back out the way he’d come.

It’s the second time in two days he feels like he’s running away from her.

As he pulls out of the back parking lot, Rio tells Demon he’ll be point man on pick-up from now on. Rio has more important things to take care of. He doesn’t have time to spend checking in with a housewife and her two friends.

They both know he’s telling the truth, just like they both know that’s not the reason.

**********

Sixth Time: Set in the nebulous future of season 3.

The patter of Beth’s feet on the hardwood echoes around her. It’s too quiet, all alone in this big house. She’s still not used to the lack of feet running upstairs, someone playing a video game, the slam of a bathroom door. The silence seems to amplify every move she makes, reverberating back at her, emphasizing even more just how alone she is.

When she gets to the island she pours herself another drink, wrapping the white throw around her shoulders tighter. The burn of the alcohol hasn’t yet penetrated the chill in the room. She eyes the glass, pours a little more, then thinks fuck it. It’s not like she has anything else to do tonight. She grabs the bottle, gait just this side of wobbly as she heads back to her bedroom.

Once she’s back on her bed, drink in hand, bottle on the floor, and a mountain of pillows fluffed up around her, she grabs her glasses from the side table. It’s been a rough week, not helped by the documents in front of her. Taking one last sip from her glass, she picks up the papers in front of her, hoping they’ll somehow magically produce an answer they hadn’t the last three times she’d read them.

Unfortunately, her bank statements are just as in the red now as they were thirty minutes ago, when she’d been furiously trying to figure out a budget for a lawyer. She and Dean had finally called it—or, well, she’d called it, telling him he was right the first time, that she wasn’t going to quit crime, wasn’t going to sacrifice their children’s futures because of Dean’s poor financial decisions, wasn’t going to sacrifice herself for him to feel like a good provider and husband when he hadn’t been those things in such a long time. She’d been gentle, but firm, and he’d agreed and left to go stay at his mom’s.

She’d thought it had been too easy. She’d been right. While Dean had agreed to a set schedule for when they would have the kids, it hadn’t taken two weeks before he was pushing Beth for more. Asking her to pick up the kids from school on days that were his, texting her at the last minute that he wouldn’t be able to come to the house to get the kids after all and could she drop them off instead. Insisting that he was “still transitioning”, even though they’d both had to make adjustments to their schedules and they both agreed co-parenting was best for the kids.

He wasn’t actively trying to take the kids from her, hadn’t brought up a new custody agreement yet, but she knew what this was. He’d been sabotaging her in the worst way, making it so that anything outside of being a parent came second, had to be rescheduled or re-negotiated. And Beth, who’d been fraying at the edges for so long, was finally starting to unravel.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before Rio says something. She’d been less than put-together for the last few drops, showing up an hour late to one and completely missing another, the dates mixed up in her calendar. The constant last-minute changes—demands, she thinks derisively, taking another sip of bourbon—from Dean had made doing business extremely difficult. She and Rio had just barely gotten back on even footing and now it felt like things were crumbling again.

With a sigh and a groan, Beth tosses the bank statements back on the pile of documents next to her and then just stares, unblinking. The weight of everything just too much. Wistfully, she thinks of taking a bath. Even if it won’t solve all her problems (or any of them, really), maybe she’ll feel a little better after a long soak. Another few drinks wouldn’t hurt, either.

It’s as she’s leaning down to pick up the bottle that she hears the tell-tale sound of the French doors opening and closing. She doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is, the cleared throat and soft footsteps more familiar than she wants in the moment. Briefly, she considers letting herself fall off the bed. If she’s lucky, she’ll knock herself unconscious and maybe avoid this conversation for a little while longer. But even as she thinks it, she knows that’s not possible. She has to face him sometime.

Slowly, Beth sits up, bringing the bottle with her. If she’s going to have to sit through a lecture, she might as well have a drink. She deliberately doesn’t look towards him as she pours herself another glass. It’s only after she’s set the bottle down on the side table and picked up her bourbon that she turns towards him.

He’s dressed in a pair of black jeans, black coat left open under a dark maroon button up, standing near the end of her bed, hands in his pockets and stance relaxed. She watches him study her for a minute, taking in the scattered papers, her drink, and the general mess of the room. He pauses briefly when he sees the divorce papers, face shifting through a series of emotions she can’t quite catch, and then his gaze slides up to meet hers.

“Doin’ some reorganizing?” he asks, gesturing around the room.

And whatever Beth had been expecting him to say, that certainly wasn’t it. They’d settled into a rhythm, working together. Beth had worked hard to get Rio to, if not trust her, at least acknowledge that they did quality work together. For a while, they’d been able to up production so much that Rio had been, if not outwardly impressed, quietly pleased. Even let slip that his own debts had been paid, the first time he’d left Beth speechless with a (albeit, small) cut of the washed cash.

Of course, that had been before everything with Dean came to a head. Beth feels a flash of anger, remembering how hard she’d had to work to get here and how easily he’d taken it away. Again. But then it’s replaced by the fear of losing what she has left, as little as that is.

Rio’s face hardens, mouth pursing in a thin line, and Beth realizes she hasn’t answered his question.

“Just…trying to figure some things out,” she says. Part of her wishes she were standing right now, just to put them on some kind of even footing. But the thought of struggling to her feet, wrapped up in her throw and trying not to spill her drink while he watches and judges keeps her where she is. She doesn’t need to be mortified on top of everything else.

“Oh, yeah? Must be real important for you to be messin’ up like this.” The words are sharp, pointed, even as Rio puts on a concerned expression. “Don’t think that just cuz you gettin’ a cut of the action now you don’t have to play by the rules.”

“I know,” she interrupts, and something in her tone makes him pause. Because she does know—that she’s messing up, making him look bad, making him question her all over again. And the part of her that’s not frantically trying to figure out how to be a mother to her children while maintaining a semblance of her own self in this new routine is terrified that there won’t be another chance. It’s on her this time.

“And it is. Important, that is. Dean and I, we’re—” and God, even drunk she can barely get the words out because it still doesn’t feel entirely real, “—we’ve separated.”

There’s that same flash of something on his face before the mask comes back up. He looks almost bored as he says, “And that’s my problem how?”

“It’s not,” Beth replies. Rio pauses, surprise flashing across his face, but she’s already started and the rest just comes spilling out. “It’s my problem, and I’m just—" she pauses, turning her head to blink back tears, inhaling sharply. “I’m still adjusting. I know that’s not an excuse,” she looks him directly in the eye as she says it, voice earnest, needing him to believe her. “I’ll—I’ll figure it out. It’s just…” and here the words fail her. Beth turns her head again, taking a sip of her drink with shaking hands, wiping the tear from her eye with her free hand. And God, she thinks, the last thing he wants is to hear her sob story.

Giving herself a mental shake, she turns back to him, features carefully neutral. He’s not inviting her to continue, but he’s not as sharp as he was a moment ago. His face is a little less guarded, so she takes a breath and says firmly, “It won’t happen again. I’ll find a way to make it up to our customers.” To make it up to you, she doesn’t say.

Rio nods slowly, not saying anything. When it’s obvious she’s not going to volunteer anything else, he murmurs, “You already ahead o’ schedule for the month. Won’t hurt nothin’ to take a few days, sort things out. Demon can help with the funny money and I’ll get Dags to cover your drops.”

And it’s not much, but Beth feels something warm bubble up at his words. She nods, a small smile on her face as she fiddles with her glasses, adjusting the frame. He watches her silently for another minute before moving towards the door, and just—

“Would you like a drink?”

She’s not sure who’s more surprised by the invitation, but Rio pauses, turning back to her, considering. The warmth spreads from her core out to her fingers and toes when he nods, shrugging out of his coat. Then he’s looking back at her, gaze flicking between the glass and her face.

There’s only one glass, she realizes. “Oh, umm, I can get you a glass—” Her voice sounds nervous even to her own ears, words running together, and she can feel the color rising in her cheeks. She stands on unsteady feet, hands out to her sides to maintain her balance as she takes a step towards the door.

“Nah, this is fine,” Rio cuts in, a hint of amusement in his voice at seeing how flustered she is. He reaches for her glass, fingers barely brushing hers as he takes it. “Sides, looks like you’ve had a head start.” He gestures towards the half-empty bourbon bottle on her bedside table, and Beth feels her blush deepen. Right.

“Perks of not having any kids in the house,” she quips, only realizing after she’s said it where they are, where they were the last time they had this conversation. To his credit (and her relief), Rio doesn’t say anything, only pauses slightly before taking a sip of her drink. He hands it back to her, and Beth is suddenly overwhelmed by memories of the last time they’d been standing this close in her bedroom. Clearing her throat, she looks away and takes a long sip of bourbon.

They stand there for a few seconds, Beth trying not to sway too much. She knows she’s failed when Rio looks pointedly at the bed and back at her, but pure stubbornness has her standing straighter (kind of) and lifting her chin. Instead of commenting on her less than perfect posture, Rio huffs out what might be a laugh, shakes his head, and sits down cross-legged on the bed, moving aside some of the papers to turn his body so he’s facing the headboard. Then he looks up at Beth expectantly, gesturing for her to sit. Slowly, she sits across from him, eyes focused on her glass, making sure she doesn’t spill as she maneuvers herself into a comfortable position.

“Seems pretty clear cut,” Rio drawls, the statement making Beth look back up at him in confusion. Then she sees what he’s holding—the divorce papers. He skims the pages briefly before tossing them back down on the bed. When he looks back at her, she can read the question in his eyes.

Normally, she wouldn’t broach this subject with him if she had a gun to her head. But she’s had just enough alcohol to loosen her tongue and lower her guard. Draining the glass, she reaches for the bottle, pouring another. Once the bourbon’s back on the end table, she turns to face him, handing him the glass. His face is carefully blank as he takes it, waiting to see what she’ll do.

“The papers aren’t the problem. It’s the same problem it’s always been.” She can hear the frustration in her own voice, and for a moment she wonders how it had taken her this long to see her marriage for what it was—a white-picket, Stepford family prison. She’s drawn out of her thoughts when she sees the way Rio’s face has hardened, his knuckles around the glass going white. “Not that,” she rushes to reassure him, “Dean knows I won’t quit again. He’s just… intentionally dropping the ball.”

Rio snorts but doesn’t say anything. She’s grateful for his silence. They both know Dean’s a colossal fuck up and pointing that out right now would just be rubbing salt in the wound. Rio takes a larger drink of bourbon, tongue flicking out to catch any leftover drops, and Beth suddenly feels too hot.

“You gotta set limits, mama.” Rio’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts, and she feels a flash of annoyance. When he offers the glass back to her, she almost spills some snatching it out of his hands.

“Right, because it’s just that easy,” she grumbles, looking away from him.

“Didn’t say it was easy,” Rio counters, voice firm. “Ain’t nothin’ about it that’s easy. But I’ve told you before, sweetheart. He’s just gonna keep takin’ if you let him.”

Beth’s head whips around, sharp retort on her tongue, but the look on Rio’s face makes the words die in her throat. He’s serious, open in a way she hasn’t seen since… well, since the last time he was in her bedroom.

Pushing aside the flicker of guilt at how that last encounter had ended, Beth just stares at him for a moment. Then, so quietly she’s not even sure he can hear her, she asks, “How do you and Rh—?” The words get stuck, though, Beth choking on her own tongue to avoid mentioning his family out loud. It’s only when she glances up, notices him watching her, face sharp and eyes curious, that she can push them out. “How do you make it work, I guess.”

Rio’s expression instantly shuts down and she can see his body tense. For a minute, she’s convinced she’s ruined this moment of peace between them. She opens her mouth, to say what she’s not sure, but snaps it shut again when Rio licks his lips and shifts slightly on the bed. He’s almost… nervous.

“Most o’ the time I don’t,” he admits quietly, reaching for the glass resting loosely between Beth’s hands. She gives it to him without a word, barely daring to breathe for fear of him clamming up again. Whatever Rio’s about to tell her, she desperately wants to hear.

“It’s lonely at the top, yeah?” Rio chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Even before we split I was gone a lot. Tryna build somethin’ for ‘em, yeah, but…” He trails off, staring at the wall and clenching his jaw. “It’s not the same.” Beth can hear the guilt in his voice. And suddenly she’s reminded of the fact that she was almost the reason Rio didn’t come home, the guilt like a swift kick to her stomach. Her fingers clench in her bedspread, but Rio keeps talking.

“Now we got an agreement, but things weren’t always like that. Doing things for ‘em ain’t the same as being there for ‘em.”

Rio drains the glass, finally looking over at her. And maybe it’s because she’s still caught up in her own guilt; maybe it’s because they’re finally here again; maybe it’s because he’s been more honest with her in the last few minutes than anyone has been in the last few years. Whatever the reason, she knows she can’t let him doubt himself.

“Marcus is a good kid.” Her words are soft, but insistent. Rio bristles slightly at the reminder, but Beth keeps going. “And you’re a good father.” That gets a reaction, the surprise naked on Rio’s face. Beth knows she should stop there before she ruins the moment, but if she doesn’t bring it up now she doesn’t know if she ever will.

“And I’m sorry for inserting myself in Rhea and Marcus’s life. It was an invasion of privacy, and wrong, and just—” Beth breaks off, blinking tears out of her eyes but refusing to look away from him. Afraid that if she does she’ll never get this out. That he’ll leave. That they’ll never get past this.

He watches her, face flickering through a myriad of emotions as he processes what she’s said. Considering. Weighing all of it. After a moment that feels like it lasts years, he nods.

It’s like his nod unlocks something in her. All the thoughts and feelings that she’d shoved down, ignored, pushed aside—they all come bubbling to the surface. She can feel the tears streaming down her face, but she doesn’t bother brushing them away. Everything they’d done—that she’d done—flits through her mind. Like a dam that's finally burst, the rest of it comes pouring out of her.

“And not just that… I’m sorry for—for all of it.” She stops talking at that point, overcome with grief and guilt, unable to get the words out. And then she’s gasping, sobbing, the force of her emotions— sitting in bed with him, part of her cries—too much. Rocking herself gently back and forth as she keens.

It seems to go on forever until she hears Rio’s voice.

“Hey now. Hey now, come on mama. That’s enough.” His voice is soft, soothing, but the command in them is unmistakable. He doesn’t try to touch her, though, and dimly Beth registers that she’s grateful for it. If he reached for her right now she feels like she might shatter.

Slowly, she pulls herself back together, sobs dying down to the occasional sniffle. The sleeves of her sweater are damp with snot and tears, but all she can focus on is Rio’s expression as he watches her calm down.

He catches her gaze, holds it, and leans in slightly, face serious. “I ain’t gonna say I forgive you,” and Beth feels herself reel back as if he’s slapped her, but then his hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, grounding her. “But you gotta own it. There’s no takin’ it back. There’s just… movin’ forward.” He keeps looking at her, waiting for her to acknowledge his words. She gives a short, sharp nod, and he continues. “You wanna be in this business, you gotta make tough calls. Ain’t like you the first person to shoot someone you shouldn’t.” He gives her a wry grin before settling back into a serious expression. “You made a call. Now you gotta live with it.”

Beth stares at him, letting his words sink in. He’s telling the truth, she knows he is, and something in her settles, makes her sit up straighter. She has to own her choices, just like she has to own their consequences. She nods again, firmer this time, and something like pride flickers across Rio’s face.

“What about you, though?” The words are out of Beth’s mouth before she can think it through, and really, she needs to get a grip on the brain-to-mouth filter when she’s been drinking. But they’re out there and she can’t take it back. Isn’t sure if she wants to. At Rio’s confused look, though, she clarifies, “Why would you still want to work with me after—after everything?”

And God, she hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, so needy, but the question had been burning in her mind ever since he came back. Realistically, she knew he didn’t need her operation. It was convenient, sure, but it wasn’t hard to find a replacement and at this point Rio’s debts had been paid. So, in all honesty, there were a lot more reasons for Beth to be dead right now than there were for her to be alive.

Dean’s words to her in the kitchen flash through her mind. She pushes them aside. Obviously, that was just the product of Dean's own petty jealousy and a monumental misunderstanding of what she and Rio are… were …whatever.

Her train of thought slams into a brick wall, though, at the look on Rio’s face. He’s staring at her, searching her face for something, and maybe he finds it because his face settles into something warm and his eyes burn into hers. He moves closer to her on the bed, knees brushing against hers where they’re both still sitting cross-legged. The hand that was holding her wrist reaches up and tugs her glasses off. Beth feels her heart pounding in her chest, knows there’s no way he can’t hear it, and then she’s closing her eyes as Rio’s other hand comes up and pushes her hair out of her face, pinky trailing gently down her cheek.

Beth leans into his touch, the pulse of air on her face telling her she’s not the only one who sighed at the contact. Briefly, she nuzzles her face against his hand, but then he’s cupping her chin. She opens her eyes, finds him looking right back at her, sees him swallow hard.

“I still think you can be somethin’, Elizabeth,” the word ghost across her lips, sending a thrill of pleasure up her spine at his touch, his voice, just him. He just keeps looking at her, the moment and everything in it suspended in slow motion—waiting. Before she can question it, she’s leaning up and closing the gap between their lips.

The kiss is soft, almost delicate, right up until Rio grabs her chin and licks into her mouth, the taste of bourbon mingling on their tongues. Then it’s messy, tongues and lips and teeth, and Beth is hit again with the memory of the last time they were in her bedroom. This time, though, there’s no ultimatum hanging over her head.

Rio bites her lip and she gasps, and then he’s pulling away from her, just far enough to catch his breath. The hand not holding her chin is fisted in her hair and she’s clutching at his shoulders, panting breaths into his mouth. For a second, they stay there, drowning in sensation, until Rio tips his forehead against hers, resting there as he looks into her eyes.

“You gonna kick me out this time?” he asks, and though his tone is light, teasing, Beth detects an undercurrent of seriousness in the question. So instead of laughing, she kisses him softly before pulling back to look him in the eye.

“Stay. Please,” she tells him.

So he does.