Work Text:
Sitting from the other side of the glass, he had a perfect view of how everything would soon go down. In a few short minutes, she would come in through those doors, only to have a needle stuck in her vein. Then, she’d be gone, and he would finally be able to breathe .
After today he would no longer need to look over his shoulder after every corner he turned, triple check the locks in his apartment, make more frequent calls to his mother just to make sure she hadn’t done anything to her. He would be able to take Max out on a date without having a nervous cloud of possibilities hanging over him, threatening to rain down at the drop of a hat. He would finally, finally be free of Catherine Adams.
He nervously fiddled with his fingers, watching as the second hand on the clock ticked by, waiting for it to hit the six-o’clock mark.
He waits. And waits. And waits and waits and waits. Until, right as the hand hits six, the doors swing open and she’s waltzed in, bright orange jumpsuit and all. Guards shuffle her into the chair, strapping her in and removing her mask as her hair falls into place, and that’s when her gaze finally meets his.
And she smiles, the same smile she had when they were on the rink, and behind her facade he can tell that she’s relieved, relieved that he actually came and that his promise wasn’t an empty one.
He watches as her features settle down, softening her gaze. Her lips form the words Hi Spencie and once again he sees the real her. Not Catherine Adams, not Miss .45, not the Black Widow Killer, but simply just Cat .
He knew Cat, better than he’d like to admit to himself or anyone else. He knew who Cat was, and maybe that’s why he was unable to hate her. A deep loathing and resentment he felt towards her, yes —but never hate. Hate for her actions definitely —but not for her.
Because he saw himself in Cat, and it was something that both terrified him and made him understand her a little bit more.
Her gaze never wavers from his, but her eyes are light, and he can tell that she prepared, she’s ready to die. She’s fully accepted it by now, and he’s not sure if he’s comforted or concerned with that fact.
The only thing he can hear is the sound of the second hand going by, filling up the empty room with it’s sound. He holds her stare, and he can slowly feel his hardened features sliding away. He doesn’t owe her anything, but he owes it to himself to be able to feel something. Whatever composure she was trying to keep slips away too and he knows he’s looking at the same, raw version of her that he saw in the back of the van, when she looked at him with glossy eyes and asked him if he would’ve written her back.
Titles are stripped away, and all that’s left is a man looking at a woman for they both know is really the last time.
One of the guards sticks the needle into her vein, and he winces at the flashbacks it pulls to his mind, but she doesn’t make any moves to show that she knew what was going on inside of his head. She simply cocks her head to the side, as if studying him one last time, taking in all the details of his face.
She looks more human now than she ever did before, and he feels a slight pang in his chest that he wouldn’t understand until a few minutes later. Right then, she was just another woman who wanted to see a man one last time before she goes.
The microphone is held up to her lips, while one of the guards asks her if she has any last words.
It’s then he notices the water in her eyes, biting her lip as an attempt to keep them from falling, until eventually she lets go of her resolve and allows a few tears to stray down her cheeks, and he knows that they’re genuine. She never hid her feelings around him before, so there was no point to do it now.
“Maybe in another lifetime?” her voice is scratchy from not being used, but even he can hear the sincerity and truth behind her words. It pains her, to say something so vulnerable, but she simply couldn't go out without letting him know how she really felt.
A single drop dribbles from his chin, and before he has a chance to brush it away, she gives him a watery smile, and it’s the most real one he’s ever seen on her face.
Eventually, her eyes begin to flutter shut and she loses his gaze, but the last thing she sees is him looking at her like he did those first few minutes in Harry and Glenn’s all those years ago.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
The warden calls the time of death —six fourteen PM, March twenty-eighth, two thousand and twenty-one.
He lets himself cry a few tears —a few tears for the life of what could’ve been if things were just a little bit different.
As the clock continues to tick he composes himself, eventually leaving the room lighter than he was before, letting one thought play through his mind.
Maybe in another lifetime.
In the next one, they meet when they’re sixteen. Her name’s Sarah and his is Kai, and she’s the one who sits with him in the library and reads poetry to him while he attempts to steal her attention away from the book in her lap. Her hair is blonde and eyes are as blue as the ocean, while he couldn’t be more opposite. He stands over a foot taller than her and she has to reach up on her tip-toes to brush her lips across his, and every time it brings a smile to both of their lips, marveling in the way everything seemed to feel so right .
And years later, when they get married and have children of their own, they still look at each other the same way they did when they were sixteen and whispering in the library behind the shelves, making sure not to get caught by the older woman who worked the check-out, and wonder how it seemed like they’d known each other their entire lives.
In another lifetime, they got it right.