Chapter Text
It is a bright sunny day in Texas when someone’s SUV creeps up the Swagger home’s driveway. Bob Lee hears the security camera system beep and grabs a handgun to tuck into his belt. On second thought, he draws it with both hands before walking quietly towards the door.
Ever since the duel with Solotov … absolutely nothing has happened to him. Senator Hayes died, ‘of a heart attack’, and Nadine and Isaac suddenly are always busy, but Bob Lee and Julie and Mary have so far just lived their lives the way they always tried to. Something that never lasts.
The SUV, towering, blue, worn, has to be the first visitor since, what, since Sheriff Brown visited? It reminds Bob Lee of that day, a life ago, when Isaac pulled up in a government-issued vehicle. He’s taking no chances.
Thank God Julie and Mary are out.
Bob Lee steps down the stairs and stands in the doorway, watching the pickup. His gun is in front of him. It’s hard to see from here, but the driver wears a cowboy hat, which hid his face from the cameras. Bob Lee waits. If the guy starts shooting, he can duck back into the house.
The pickup parks suddenly, halfway to the house. Bob Lee flinches, leaning into the hallway. But nothing happens for a while as the man turns off his machine. Though he should be close enough, Bob Lee still can’t make out his face.
The man gets out. Reasonably slow, Bob Lee notes, letting out a breath. He turns to shut the car door and Bob Lee sees there is no shape of a gun in the back of his belt. His gun, cold in his hand, feels a little unnecessary. But he hasn’t seen this man’s face, yet.
The shirt and jeans the man wears do nothing to hide his build, and the classic way he strolls—like any gunslinging cowboy—gives Bob Lee no doubt that this is Solotov.
Solotov walks up to Bob Lee until only two yards are between them. Only now does Bob Lee see Solotov’s face, peeking from under his wide brim.
“Do your cameras record?” he says quietly.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Bob Lee says automatically. It probably isn’t because of God that Julie and Mary are out.
Surprising him, Solotov takes off his hat without hesitation. He doesn’t doubt him? Bob Lee is compelled to put his gun away.
Solotov’s pale brown hair is slightly longer but still nicely cut, and he’s clean-shaven. He looks like he always has but with an echo of Travis the tractor-parts salesman.
Stepping up to him, Solotov says, “I will be leaving Texas, now,” and Bob Lee’s eyes widen.
“You’ve been here the whole time?”
Solotov smiles. “Staying low. There is no rush.” Then, he becomes serious again, and Bob Lee can’t believe Solotov actually smiled.
“Is that the reason why it’s been so quiet?” Bob Lee says, trying to catch any hint in Solotov’s expression. “Because of you?”
Solotov just says, “I’ve cleaned up. Hayes is dead, did you know?”
Bob Lee sighs. “Yeah … I heard. Heart attack, they said?”
“It was not me, actually. I had wanted to surprise him. It was your friends Johnson and Agent Memphis.”
Bob Lee wonders if it was wrong to lie about the security cameras. He’ll delete this later.
“You are not surprised.”
“Oh, they’ve …” Bob Lee looks at the ground, fingers hooked in his belt. “It’s like they’ve gotten a new job, now. They’re always busy and stressed.” He frowns. “And rich.”
“So, they are Atlas, now,” Solotov says easily. He pauses, and his brows raise. “There are worse people.”
Bob Lee glances at him, then nods. A brief silence passes.
“Hayes was my master, Bob Lee,” Solotov says, voice thick. Bob Lee looks at him. “With him gone, there will be others. Crawling out of the woodwork.”
Bob Lee nods. Julie and Mary will be back in as little as half an hour.
“Not that I don’t appreciate it, Solotov, but why are you telling me this?”
Solotov looks unperturbed. Dead serious.
“You will need my help.”
Bob Lee can’t but raise his eyebrows. “You. Help me.”
A tendril of nervousness curls around him when Solotov’s expression doesn’t even twitch. He just waits for Bob Lee to accept it.
“Why?” he exclaims.
Strangely, Solotov’s eyes duck down and he does not answer immediately. Then he strolls forward and hands come up to grasps his forearms. His arms are outstretched, reaching. Not a combat-ready position. Bob Lee’s eyes meet his, an alarmingly intense look in them.
Only instinctively does Bob Lee want to retreat.
“You have saved my life, Swagger,” Solotov says with effort. His eyes crease and he grips Bob Lee’s shoulders lightly, despite the energy in his voice. Feather-light, like he is uneasy to be touching him. “I am grateful. That is why.”
The admission—for it is as soft-spoken as an admission—gently knocks the wind out of Bob Lee. He has never thought of Solotov as a grateful person, one who’d simply thank for the sake of thanking. But this seems so natural. So natural, like some women with laughing, or some Marines with children, Solotov with this raw, true offer is natural. Bob Lee knows he can’t allow himself to trust Solotov, at least not yet, but he doesn’t doubt him, either.
The connection Solotov said he felt with him seems tangible. Bob Lee feels it back, now.
Solotov’s arms drop and Bob Lee sees him in a new light. He is grateful for that moment. He’s going to remember it for a long time. Solotov grabs from his jean pocket a slip of paper with a single line of numbers on it, setting it in Bob Lee’s hand.
“Call me when you need me. Questions … or when someone new is after you.”
Whenever? Bob Lee’s eyebrows draw together. “You won’t be able to retire, then.”
Solotov smiles again. The second time. As scary as it used to be, Bob Lee enjoys it.
“I’m free, now, Bob Lee. I can do whatever I want.”
It doesn’t prove false Bob Lee’s worries but relieves them. Solotov does seem free. More humorous, more at ease. The grey pickup catches his eye again and he realizes that it’s nothing like Solotov’s previous vehicles. It’s dusty and worn and must be at least a few years old. Bob Lee wonders if Solotov chose it because he likes trucks like that or it just blends in with the countryside.
He wants to say something about Solotov staying so long in Texas. It must have shown on his face because Solotov raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just …” Bob Lee shakes his head. Perhaps it’s still too early to talk about it, but Bob Lee was the victim, not Solotov. “You know when you said, ‘I’m in Texas’? ‘Look at me … I’m in Texas.’ ”
When he went to Mary’s communion with a bomb strapped to his chest?
Solotov then had laughed like it was ridiculous. Solotov now does not reply.
He watches Bob Lee carefully. Perhaps he is ashamed. Or perhaps he is being tactful. Bob Lee feels a drop of affection. He doesn’t even have the energy in him to be angry; he is simply grateful everything is fine, now. Why is he not angry? Why is he so forgiving?
Either way, he’s confident he did the right thing.
“I’m finding it a little funny.”