Chapter Text
They’re leaning up against the wall of this motel, paint flaking onto their clothes and the asphalt beneath their feet. If Luca was asked where he was, he probably couldn’t say - it’s somewhere unseasonably warm, so dry he can feel each individual taste bud on his tongue, sand and shrivelled shrubbery surrounding them. It was a long drive here from headquarters and he knows it'll feel twice as long when he drives back.
“We can’t keep meeting like this.”
“We haven’t met like this,” he corrects her, “and we’re not going to.” Her hair is so red in the evening light, golden hour revealing shades of bronze and copper that gleam in her curls. Despite the time that passes between each meeting, she still looks the same. A patterned shirt, open to reveal a white vest, some jeans and a pair of black boots. Her sunglasses are nestled on top of her head, her baseball cap in one hand while she takes hits from the vape in the other. There's writing on her cap and he has to tilt his head to read it. Huh. He doesn’t know where Truth And Consequences, est. 1950 is, or if it’s even a real place, but he’s sure she more than earned the hat when she was passing through. After all, that’s pretty much her unofficial career. “None of this is on the record.”
Charlie throws him a glance. “You’ve been keeping a record?”
“Unofficially.”
“You include the sex we've been having or is that just a me-and-you kinda thing?” He splutters, flushing red, and she smirks. “Just me-and-you then. Almost a shame. We’d make a great sex tape. Well, I would. Not sure about you, sometimes you get like one of those inflatable balloon guy-thingies outside of dealerships when I’m riding you. Not that I’m complaining, it oddly does something for me-“
“Charlie. Please. Stop talking.”
“Sure thing.” She glances back at the desert, the washed out sand and craggy hills out there in the distance. It’s nice, in a way that makes Luca feel really small, that almost makes him forget who he is, and what his job requires of him. Out here, in this vast emptiness, Charlie Cale can’t be caught, not unless she wants to be. And she doesn’t want to be, so he quietly watches her vape, the swirls of smoke fading into the air.
“Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s been months, Luca. You have no real idea of where Alex is, and I’m tired of her coming around and playing weird mind games with me.” The mention of the Iguana and her fascination with Charlie sparks an ugly jealousy in his chest. He loathes the idea that someone else is taking up Charlie’s time, that there’s not only two people playing chase here. Of course, Charlie’s not his. He knows that. But she sure as hell isn’t anyone else’s.
“Listen, she’s not here right now. I am. And I have a gun, so we’re safe.”
“Yeah, well, you left it over there in your car, which means we’re pretty dead in a surprise attack. Also, Alex is a trained assassin,” and why does she keep using her first name, she’s not that special! “so she could probably kill us both in five seconds flat without any weapons, but thanks anyway.”
“Okay, that’s all true,” Luca wincing while he says it, “but again - she’s not here. And she won’t be, there’s safety in numbers. She’s not going to screw with us both.”
“So I’m only in trouble when you leave? Which is most of the time? Wow, really selling me this.”
“No! No, Charlie, she’s not-“
“-and what about you?”
That makes him freeze. His voice is low and cautious, like he’s speaking to a hostage taker, as he asks, “What?”
“You.” A beat passes, before she adds, “and the FBI.”
They dance around this topic every time, aware it might ruin the easy energy they pretend to have. This is the first time she’s actually said it aloud. “I’m not bringing you in tonight, Charlie.” The mere thought of his obligation makes his skin crawl.
“Ah-hah,” she points at him, “but see, the use of word tonight implies that tomorrow might be the day you do. And I’m going to be honest with you, Luca, that’s not exactly my ideal outcome for this whole thing.”
“It won’t be tomorrow either.”
“So, what, the day after tomorrow?”
“I don’t- I’m not- there’s not an exact timeline on this, Charlie,” he splutters, “I’m already breaking the law, so cut me some slack.”
“But what are we doing?” When he awkwardly chuckles, thinking she’s making a bad joke, she frowns. “No, genuinely, I’m being real here. What are we doing? You catch up to me and then you let me go again. Over and over. How long are we going to keep this up for, Luca?”
As long as you want. As long as we need, until we can figure out how to fix this whole mess. “I don’t know,” he admits, and from the look she gives him, it’s clear she knows it’s not quite the truth, but also not a lie.
He waits, slightly concerned that she’ll walk away. Instead, she sighs. The sound is heavy and for a moment, he can see how exhausted she really is - the wrinkled clothes, the dark circles under her eyes, the invisible weight on her shoulders. “Sometimes, I think I ought to let you bring me in.”
“Charlie, no,” he protests, “it’ll be fine. You’re not ending up in jail.”
“I don’t know, man.” She’s got that faraway look now. It happens sometimes, in these very rare moments they get together, where he can tell she’s weighing up every decision she’s made, wondering if her life is one huge mistake. He hates nothing more. Every time Charlie gets pensive, it feels wrong, like he’s lost her to something bigger than he can handle. And he can’t deal with that, not tonight.
“I can make you forget about it,” he tries, “if you let me.” It’s a line out of a cheesy soap opera or romance book, so unlike him that it tastes slightly off in his mouth, but he means it. He wants the world to go away. He wants Charlie to be safe, even if it’s just for now, in a motel with water stained wallpaper, on a cheap mattress with broken springs. “Give me a chance.”
No matter how corny it sounds, the offer does what he needs it to, breaking Charlie of her nihilistic musing. She glances back at him, clearly curious. “Give you a chance, huh?”
He tries not to blush at how the words sound coming from her mouth - as if it’s proposal, instead of a proposition. “Yes.”
Charlie studies him intently. It’s no surprise that criminals fold when she’s the one chasing them down. She hasn’t accused him of anything and he already feels the need to spill his guts on the table; tell her every secret from the five dollars he stole out of his mother’s purse as a kid to the crush he had on Daniel during their academy days. Briefly, he wonders if all that would be boring to her. She’s heard the tall tales of murderers and con-men, so the stories of a tight-laced midwestern boy would probably bore her senseless. He still wants to tell her though.
He waits patiently for her to respond, trying to act like her gaze isn’t the most intense pressure he’s ever been put under. Sweat begins to gather under his shirt collar and on his palms, distinctly unsexy.
“Okay,” she eventually decides, putting her vape in her pocket. “Okay, I trust you.” Sliding her sunglasses back down and putting her cap on, she pushes off from the wall. Cocking a thumb towards a faded white door with a 47 on it, on the other side of the parking lot they’re standing in, she says, “that’s my room.”
Before he can respond, she’s walking off, only turning when she’s a decent distance away. “You still down? Or are you having second thoughts - which is cool, by the way, but I was kinda looking forward to it.”
And even though every fibre of him screams out that this is a bad idea, that it’ll eventually get him in trouble, that nothing good will come from another round of illicit, job ruining, mind blowing sex with the incredibly hot and fun human lie detector who said she wants him and who he’s maybe harbouring feelings for-
Seriously, who is he even kidding? “Yeah,” Luca replies, far too eager and not even bothering to hide it as he jogs to catch up with her, “I’m down.”