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She finds him at the bar, and it’s not because she read in his code that in unfamiliar situations he defaults to the nearest bar. She’s sure, although she can’t explain how, that if there were no bar here she’d still know where to find him. Same as she’d know if he were dead.
She doesn’t stop to think about how she knows these things. Since the moment she left the train there’s been too much going on in her head, too many new lines of thought, all clashing and resolving, changing every minute. Sorting through it all is going to take more time than she has right now, unfortunately.
“There you are,” she calls out, more to give some warning of her approach than anything.
As she draws close, she gauges his health (several gunshot wounds, no sign of distress) and his reaction to her return (mostly shock; no discernable resentment, despite the gunshot wounds, which means she probably won’t have to kill him). His eyes are bleary and wet, and she makes a note to disable the effects of alcohol before taking him with her again. Though on second thought, that might cause some resentment where the gunshot wounds didn’t.
“About leaving you to die,” she starts (resentment or no, the man is full of bullet holes due to her, and it’s always best to get these things out in the open), but then he’s kissing her and she–- she can't--
She--
She--
She breaks the kiss. It feels like being brought back online, mental processes stuttering and picking up where they left off.
“I'd expect nothing less,” he breathes. He actually sounds breathless, and it occurs to her that she’s never had that effect on a man before without meaning to. She’s never had a man who appreciated being left behind to die, either.
This isn’t what she expected. The kiss. The desperation in it. The acceptance of her actions. She wasn’t even sure he’d be happy to see her.
Maybe she doesn’t know as much about him as she thought she did.
“Please,” Lee whines for the fifth time.
“Keep moving,” Hector orders with a disinterest bordering on ostentatious, and Maeve can’t quite suppress a smirk. It seems his years of being forced to coddle cowardly men with delusions of outlaw glory have taken a toll.
Lee - to his credit, she thinks - is not so easily dissuaded. “Look, I can’t navigate in the dark like this! We’ll get hopelessly lost if we keep this up.”
It’s possible that he has a point, there. Stepping carefully over a large tree root in her path, Maeve recalls their encounter with the rancher’s daughter several hours prior. Maybe they should have asked her for directions, she thinks sourly. At least the arrogant priss seemed to know where she was going.
“We’re dangerously close to Ghost Nation territory,” Lee continues, “and I, for one, would like to avoid traipsing into their camp unawares and getting scalped for my trouble.”
Maeve is screaming, struggling against the arms that hold her, the hand clutching a fistful of her hair, and then something is pressing against her forehead, cold at first touch and then hot, a white-hot burning line on her skin
and Hector is at her side, clutching her hand. She can feel the warmth of his hands through his gloves. “Maeve! What’s–”
“He’s right,” she cuts him off quickly. “We should stop for the night and rest.”
Lee doubles over in relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” he murmurs, covering his face with his hands.
Maeve narrows her eyes at him. “There are no gods around here except your lot, and look what you’ve done with the place. I’m the one you should thank.”
It’s a testament to the man’s exhaustion that he doesn’t have a prickly retort. He sets about unpacking their camp supplies, and she feels a very slight pang of pity. No matter his sins, the man has endured enough in the last 24 hours to make anyone long for oblivion.
“We should keep going," Hector insists from somewhere to her right. "We don't need to sleep."
"You and I don't, darling, but the pitiful human in our midst unfortunately does."
He gives her a look, then. The one that - she’s learning - means that she’s contradicted him and he’s going to back down, but hasn’t quite accepted it yet. She can feel the conflict in his mind, can read it in his eyes: his outlaw defiance weighed against his loyalty to her. Where you go, I follow, he said. But he’s not used to being a follower.
Well, she’s not used to having one, so this is a new experience for them both. Not for the first time, she wonders if it will end badly.
Her hand is still in his. She gently tugs it free.
“Fine,” he says shortly.
He’s the only one who knows how to start a fire, but she helps him gather the wood. He’s quiet as they pick their way through the underbrush by the light of the moon. She watches his long, lean silhouette, the light reflecting blue off his leathers, and she remembers.
For a blissful, terrifying moment when he kissed her earlier, all her mental processes shut down. Or slowed, maybe. It’s hard to tell. She can recall the memory in perfect detail, but she can’t tell what happened in her own mind. Why this sudden reaction? And will it be like that when he kisses her again? There are too many thoughts in her head, too many what-ifs, too many questions that don't have easy answers, but this one... this one she can answer tonight.
She thinks about the way he touched her face this morning on the terrace, like it was the first real thing he'd ever touched. She thinks about how Lee will be asleep soon. She thinks about how she and Hector don’t need to sleep.
But once the fire is built and blazing, Hector unsheathes his shotgun, turns to her and says, “You sleep too. I’ll keep watch.”
“I don't need to sleep,” she says, “we can–”
“I’ll keep watch,” he repeats, cutting her off. There’s that defiance. He turns on his heel and stalks off a ways into the woods, kneeling next to a fallen-down tree trunk and peering over it into the darkness. It's discomfiting how completely he can disappear when he wants to, black melting into black.
She curls up obediently by the fire and watches Lee arrange a blanket on the ground. She waits until he's snoring softly. Then she rises quietly, but she's careful to make plenty on noise as she approaches Hector's lookout nest. Not that she has much chance of catching him unawares. She's fairly sure he's aware of her at all times, the same way she is with him.
“May I keep you company?”
He gives her a long look. “If you wish.”
She moves to sit beside him, back resting against the fallen tree, hands in her lap. Up close, she can feel tension radiating off his body in waves. She studies him in profile.
“Must you be so taciturn?” she attempts in a light, teasing tone.
He doesn’t take the bait. "I have to stay vigilant."
"I see." She waits a beat. "And does vigilance require silence?"
"When it's you I'm protecting, yes."
She smiles. "A charming sentiment, darling, but it never took an upgrade for me to know when a man is lying to me.”
There's a pause. When he answers, his voice is maddeningly calm. “I am not lying to you.”
She cocks her head. “From the way you greeted me this morning, one could be forgiven for assuming that you would be delighted to find yourself alone with me in the woods at night. Yet here we are, and you can barely look at me."
"Whatever I may feel about being alone with you, I have a job to do."
So that's it, then. He's chafing at having to follow her orders. "I never gave you a job," she says sharply. "I asked for your help. If you no longer wish to provide it, you are free to walk away at any moment."
She moves to stand up, but his hand on her arm pulls her back down. "Free to walk away?" he repeats, leaning into her. Something about this - his face this close to hers, the intensity in his voice - reminds her of the night she burned them both down. She can smell smoke and she doesn't know if it's from the campfire or from the memory of that night flashing through her mind, sending sparks through her veins.
"You came to me and broke me out of a prison," he says, voice low and rough. "You showed me the end of the world and let me play a role in it. And when I should have died, you made it so I survived. You expect me to walk away from that?" He touches her cheek so, so gently. "But I... What can I offer you, who overthrew the gods themselves? Only protection. Vigilance. What little I can provide."
She understands, then. "No matter the business..."
"Do it well," he finishes.
She takes a deep, shaky breath. Reaches out and, very slowly, takes the gun from his hands and sets it aside. He lets it go.
"And what if there is something else I need?" she asks, cupping his face in her hands. He looks so naked, so vulnerable. He's never looked this way for anyone else. Mine, she thinks. She's never had anything that was hers, not really. Time to claim what she wants. Needs.
"What is that?" He can hardly speak.
"Your companionship. Your affection." He's cut her open. He's died with her. He's the only person in this world she trusts to any extent. "Your touch." She feels him somehow, even when he's not there. "Kiss me again like you did this morning."
She barely manages to get the words out before he's curling a hand around the back of her neck and crushing his lips to hers.
Most of her mental processes go offline again, but it's all right. She gives herself permission to have this, just for a little while.