Archive of Our Own ^beta

Her breathing was ragged, arms splayed on either side of her clenching the sheets. Oh. Her brunette hair rubs against the pillow in ways she knows will leave tangles she'll be brushing out for ages, but in this moment she can't quite bring herself to care. Her back arches off the bed as that tongue and those fingers do that. So she can't for the life of her figure out why it's just come to an abrupt stop. Her labored breathing finally slows enough for her to hear anything over it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Huh, what?" And that's when she hears the incessant buzzing coming from her phone on the nightstand. Frustrated, she puts a pillow over her face and screams, then reaches over. The buzzing had stopped briefly but started over again – whoever was on the other end clearly could not wait.

Swiping her phone agitatedly to glance at the screen, her orgasm denial frustration grows to genuine anger. It's just a random string of numbers, nobody that's saved in her contact list. She's going to give this telemarketer a piece of her goddamn mind.

"Yes?" She answers tersely.

A deep, relieved exhale is followed by "Rue?"

Holy shit. "Fez?! Where are you? Are you out?"

"Yeah, they just released me. Found the weapon, matching slugs, fingerprints, everything. On that guy, El Gato. Like I fuckin' told em five months ago, but they'd rather pin that shit on me," he says with an exasperated sigh.

Fezco had been in and out of prison ever since his house had been raided, and his brother lost. He did time for tampering with evidence or some shit, Rue couldn't exactly remember, but they couldn't pin too much on him without physical evidence. The grief of losing Ashtray had set him on a path of self-destruction, however. Now, that, she remembered.

She remembered how he pushed her away, refusing her calls and requests for visits. She remembered receiving a call from a blubbering Lexi, who was crying so hard it took Rue the better part of an hour to get the full story – about how Fezco had become her close friend, closer than close, and now he was just >gone. All they'd wanted to do was support him, help him navigate his new normal as best they could. They knew they could never understand what he'd gone through in his life to reach that point exactly, but they each had their own experiences with grief and wanted more than anything to just let him know he wasn't alone.

“Wow, well, listen man, that’s great. It’s like a fuckin’ Christmas Miracle!”

“Yeah, kinda why I was callin’ you. I, uh, was wonderin’ if I could join you? Don’... don’t really got nowhere else to go.”

Fuck.

“Look, man, any other time I would. Fuck. It’s just, I have this girlfriend right now, a really great girlfriend,” she says, winking down at Sam, who had propped her head up on Rue’s lower belly while she handled this awkward and terrible conversation – she really hated having to tell Fezco, her big brother, “No” after all he’d done for her. “I’ve been doing good, man, real good. And her family’s coming over to our place for the holiday and I really need to make a good impression.”

“And a guy fresh from lockup ain’t really gon’ help with that, huh,” he says, defeated.

“Sorry, Fez. But I think Lexi’s free! Suze took off on a cruise with some young dude she’s seeing, and I’m pretty sure she was just going to be at home watching Bridget Jones’s Diary on repeat until she passed out.”

“You, uh, you sure about that? I don’t wanna impose, especially if she’s got some dude over there or somethin’, or her sis,” he tags on unconvincingly.

“No man, she’s single, and alone on Christmas. Call her. The only guy in her life is some dude from her work who keeps makin’ the moves on her, Larry or Carey, I can’t remember. But I’m pretty sure she’s told him to fuck off eighty different Lexi ways, so, of course, he’s still thinkin’ there’s hope,” she scoffs before continuing. “And Cassie is with Nate in fuckin’ Vail or some place like that. Call her.” She rattles off Lexi’s number and address to him, offers to get him an Uber, and rushes out a goodbye. Sam’s still between her legs, after all.

On the other side of the city, Fezco slumps against a brick wall, clutching his hand to his side. When he pulls it away, his palm is painted with blood. He wipes it on the brick wall of the bar he’d found himself in immediately after being released, and hands the cellphone back to the kind older man who’d lent it to him.

Rue’s isn’t the only number he has memorized; he can’t quite stomach the idea of calling Lexi with the same pitiful message, though.

“Gary, you really shouldn’t have,” Lexi says politely, when she really wants to shout it angrily.

She’d been about to hit play on Bridget Jones – ready to belt out All By Myself right along with Renee Zellwegger – when Gary, a nice guy from Accounting who did absolutely nothing for her romantically, showed up at her apartment door with a bottle of eggnog and a box of gingerbread cookies.

“I heard you telling Cathy your mom and sister would be away for Christmas, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of you alone!” he says as he shoulders past her to set his offerings down on her kitchen counter. Lexi sighs so deeply she’s pretty sure every woman in a 5 mile radius felt it – why could this guy not take a hint? She would need to be very clear tonight. Damn him for making her crush his little heart on Christmas.

“Look, I really appreciate the thought, but I’m really fine with being alone today. You should get back to your family.”

“Why don’t you come with me? My mom would love you!”

For fuck’s sake. She’s about to respond with God even knows what when there’s another knock on her door. She should really move into a more secure building because what the fuck? Maybe Rue had ordered dinner for her?

Exasperated but a little grateful for the interruption, she turns back to the door and swings it open quickly to get the poor delivery person working on Christmas back on their way. She swears her heart stops when she sees who’s on the other side, though.

Fezco. A little more muscle on him, but same auburn buzzcut, same ginger beard, same hauntingly beautiful eyes, same heady expression as the last time they’d seen each other.

The summer after Lexi’s freshman year of college, she finds herself at yet another East Highland party. She knows it’s only been a year, but she already feels so different to the last time she attended one after high school graduation. More mature, perhaps. In some ways, that feels ridiculous – she still feels like a lost little girl most days – but in others, well.

It’s been roughly a year since she heard from Fezco. When your almost boyfriend’s house gets raided, he gets shipped off to prison, and his little brother dies, it ages a person. The trauma of losing a father to addiction, almost losing a best friend to addiction, and being parented by an alcoholic mother was not enough, according to the universe. And the thing was, Lexi could deal with all of that – had dealt with all of that. Sure, there were tears, and bad days she never thought she’d see the end of. But this whole deal with Fezco, it weighed on her differently.

Partially because it felt avoidable, if only she hadn’t been distracting him with her silly play. But other parts of it felt inevitable – he was always meant to get caught up in the life, always meant to lose the family that had kept him going, kept him fighting. He did have a choice, though. A choice to accept the help of those around him, accept the love they were trying to give him. Instead, he’d pushed everyone away. He’d given Rue sporadic updates – only the highlights – before shutting her out completely. No letters, no calls. Lexi, he’d deemed less, it seemed. She got nothing.

Omw his last text read. Sometimes she opened their text thread and pretended she was back in that night, except this time, nothing went wrong – no raid, no Cassie storming the stage angrily. She pictured him sitting in the seat she’d saved, pictured him clapping and whistling and maybe even kissing her afterwards.

That practice became too painful to continue, so she’d had to squeeze her memories of him, all her feelings and hopes, into a tight little ball and toss it into the recesses of her mind. Sometimes, it still rattled around – a scent or a color jarring it out of place and letting it roll around uninhibited, leaving commotion in its wake. It was like a shitty game of pinball – ping farmhouse on the side of the road (200 points), plunk she drives by the Dairy (800 points), Stand By Me is on tv (game over).

When she enters the party with Rue and sees him she’s sure the ball’s come loose again. Has she escalated to hallucinations? Rue must have laced their pre-game drinks with something, because she sees him, too. She’s running over to him, slinging her skinny arms around him. The stoic expression on his face breaks a bit, small smile growing between his beard. Then he locks eyes with her, and the smile is gone. He squeezes Rue tight once more then makes an excuse about needing air and walks out the front door.

Lexi is not standing for this. He could hide from her all he wanted when he was protected by the walls of the prison, but it’s his own damn fault for lighting the fire in her steps now. He’s the one who called her “fearless” after all.

“So, you’re out?” She finds him standing on the side of the house, partially obscured by a thin pine tree. Maybe others would have missed him, but it’s like her spirit is attuned to his – she’d find him anywhere.

He’s smoking a joint (unsurprising) and exhales slowly, gaze skyward, even as he answers her. “Yeah. 15 months. Let out early for good behavior.”

“Why, Fezco? Why did you shut me out?” Her arms are crossed, and she’s trying her hardest not to seem like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but it’s a near thing.

He’s still looking up at the scant few stars that can be seen from here, pollution and city lights obscuring the full glory of the night sky, but she imagines he hasn’t seen this view in quite some time. Stubbing the joint out only half smoked (his tolerance must be lower, she thinks), he finally sweeps his gaze over her. He starts at her feet, slowly dragging his eyes up to her face. This type of move would have set her skin ablaze last year, but there’s no heat in it now. It’s a genuine appraisal of her form; she imagines he’s cataloging the minute changes in her physique and style of dress, and she thinks there’s a little bit of fear there as well. Good. He seems reluctant to meet her eyes, but knows it’s a battle he was always going to lose. There’s a sadness in his gaze when he finally does lock eyes with her, but she can’t figure out the exact source behind it. Was he sad about pushing her out? Or did he feel bad because he needed to let her down, once and for all?

What they had (have?) feels small, childish, in comparison to everything that’s happened since. They held hands once for crying out loud. Why is it, though, that she feels like her heart’s collapsing in on itself inside her chest at his mere presence? A black hole – the dying light pulled in on itself by a gravity so strong that none of it can escape. She wonders how many black holes like hers are up in the sky tonight, invisible to Fezco’s gaze. Perhaps as invisible as her own, depending on what his next words are.

“Lex, I was…broken. I still am,” he says, running a hand over his head and looking back down at his shoes. He reaches for his pocket, probably wanting the comfort of the joint he just put out as well as the excuse for something to do with his hands, and Lexi takes pity on him at his obvious nerves. It seems he can’t look at her too long, but knows he can’t stare at his shoes for the entirety of this painful conversation either. Perhaps she’s not a black hole after all, perhaps she’s a sun.

His hand flexes, then goes back to his side.

She can’t help herself and takes a step closer to him. “Did you think I didn’t know that? Did you think I’d run once things got hard? That’s precisely why I wanted in Fezco. I wanted to help you! I still do, actually, if you’ll let me…”

Another step. She’s pretty sure they’ve both stopped breathing. His eyes are pained as they hold her gaze, but this time, he doesn’t look away.

His hand flexes again, but this time, he reaches for her.

She wastes no time and throws her arms around his shoulders as he encircles her waist and back. Her balance is a little thrown off from the speed with which she moved, and she’s pretty sure her whole weight is pushing him into the wall, but she doesn’t dare move, not when he’s finally shown her vulnerability again.

They hug for the amount of time it takes for a star to die, or the time it takes a planet to form – she’s not sure which is longer. Despite the pain in the hug – about Ashtray, about the time he spent in prison, about how they never quite amounted to something – she would willingly live in this moment for eternity. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, with him. But she’d rather have him in her life, pain and all, than nothing at all.

Finally, they start pulling apart. Her arms are slowly sliding down his shoulders before landing on his chest as his hold onto her waist loosely; both afraid to completely disconnect from each other.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

“Me too,” comes the whispered reply, voice low and raspy, reminding her of their late night phone conversations.

She stares into his eyes so long she thinks she’s seen a few constellations form in them, when she can’t take it anymore. She pushes herself up on tip-toes and slots her mouth over his own. She’s a hair’s breadth away when she pauses – her bravery failing her, but he takes the final step and connects their lips. They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss.

When she comes up for air, he only kisses the side of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. She seeks him out again, this time parting her lips, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity – his instincts always were rather good – sliding his tongue in to meet hers in a sensuous dance. His hands have been everywhere – tangled in her hair, wrapping around her slim waist, on her face, her hips, her ass – and she can’t get enough. She’s raked her nails down his scalp, and is cupping his neck possessively, about ready to stupidly say “catch!” and jump into his arms, when he abruptly slows the pace down. He kisses her hard, almost bruising, then turns his head to the side, panting loudly in her ear. He hangs his head low, before shifting slightly to connect his forehead to hers, as his hands come around to grasp hers between their bodies.

“Lemme, uh, catch my breath and get some water, yeah?” he asks. She nods against his forehead, as he gives her one last piercing look before walking around the corner and back into the house. She flips around and leans her back against the wall, and she doesn’t think she’s imagining the warmth from where Fez’s body was. She’s comforted by it as she leans her head back to gaze skyward, imagining he’s stiill there, and hugging her from behind.

She’s lost in thoughts about Fezco – his state of mind, where he’s staying, wondering if he’s eating enough – when her phone dings with a new message. It’s from Rue.

Rue: this party’s lame, and the only other cool person here just left. wanna cut?

Lexi: What do you mean?

Rue: yes, I’m calling you cool, let’s not make it a thing howard

Lexi: Did Fezco leave?

Rue: yea, so wanna go get milkshakes and hang at mine?

Lexi allows herself a few tears before doing what she always does and pulling herself together to find her best friend.

Lexi’s not sure how long it’s been since she blinked, but she can’t stop staring at Fezco – Fezco – here, on her doorstep.

Their tense moment is broken by none other than Gary, coming to stand behind Lexi and asking, “Oh, heya! Who’s this, Lexi?”

Lexi doesn’t like the way he’s standing behind her, it feels possessive and like they’re together which they’re not. She knows she shouldn’t care, especially after all these years and how they left things, but she doesn’t want Fezco to get the wrong idea.

“Uh, Rue said you were spendin’ Christmas alone, but if you’re…busy I can go.”

“Go where? You just got out, didn’t you.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s kept better tabs on him now that she has a little more wherewithal than her scared, lost 18 year old self, and has tracked his various not-strictly-legal endeavors. She also knew Rue was trying her damndest to convince Sam’s family she was an acceptable partner for their darling baby, despite her colorful past, which left Fezco…here. She’d long since let go of the anger burning deep inside at his second abandonment; she knew he was hurting, and didn’t know how to accept help when he needed it.

He doesn’t answer her directly, just looks a bit sheepishly at his feet.

“Come in, Fezco. Gary’s a coworker, and was just heading back to his own family.”

Gary starts sputtering beside her, but she’s already handing him his coat and scarf (oh Jesus, did it have little reindeer on it?) with a “See you after the New Year!”

“A-are you sure?” he asks tepidly, clutching his abomination of a scarf close to his chest and giving Fezco a wary look out of the corner of his eyes.

Fezco’s wearing a thick sweater and baggy jeans, nothing out of the usual there, but she supposes there is something in his clothes, or maybe the way he holds himself, that sends a message to outsiders that he is not to be fucked with. Lexi had long ago wormed her way under that tough exterior – fairly easily, actually – so all she felt when she saw him was a sweeping sense of relief. There were other feelings there, too, but now was decidedly not the time to examine those.

She can’t be sure, but she thinks she sees Fezco smirk a bit at Gary’s indignation at being kicked out of Lexi’s place so unceremoniously. Deep, deep, inside herself, she’s happy about this hint of jealousy or ownership or dick sizing contest, or whatever it is that’s going on between Gary and Fez right now.

“Yep! Fezco and I go way back, I’ve been expecting him actually.” She directs the last at Fez, gaze and tone heavy with meaning.

“Well o-okay then, bye Lexi,” Gary says dejectedly. She’s pulled Fezco in by the thick fabric surrounding his arm and closed the door before Gary has even taken two steps towards the elevator. Good riddance.

“Yo, if I was interruptin’ somethin’ with Terry, really, I can go,” Fez says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

She doesn’t miss the purposeful mix-up of his name. Definitely jealous. Well, turnabout’s fair play.

“Oh, no, you’re fine. We were all finished.” She lets the ambiguous sentence linger in the air as she walks into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She’s going to need the fortification for this conversation.

Healthy pour in hand, she turns back to him and all thoughts of making Fezco sweat for a bit leave her when she sees actual sweat beading on his forehead. It was December. Sure, in California, but December nonetheless. Something was wrong.

As soon as she’s had the thought, she sees him wince and sag a bit. The bravado in his stance while Gary was around slowly eked out of his body as he brought a hand up to clutch his ribs on the right side of his body.

Slamming her drink down on her table, she runs over, hands fluttering over him, unsure where she can or can’t touch. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Uh, yeah, got stabbed.”

“What?!” Lexi asks, insides twisting in fear. “Why are you here? Not that I don’t want you here, of course,” she corrects, hand running frantically through her hair. “I mean, why aren’t you at a hospital, Fezco?”

“I just got out today, you think me havin’ a bar fight on my probation record’s gonna be a good look? I’m fine, more a scratch than anythin’.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Why don’t you go through to the bathroom while I get some supplies to clean you up.” She points out the correct door as she runs to the kitchen to get some clean dish towels and a bowl with water. She swipes her first aid kit from the hall closet, and rushes to her bedroom to get her cell phone from her nightstand where it’s been charging. She may need to call for reinforcements and wants to be ready – she’s just not sure if those reinforcements will be of the Rue variety or the ambulance variety yet.

As she passes the bathroom, she quickly glimpses at Fezco, preparing herself for the worst, and is so jarred she actually comes to a stop. She’d been envisioning crimson coating Fez’s torso and dripping onto her pink bathmat, with Fez doubled over in pain. There is blood, sliding down his ribs, staining his white boxers peeking above his jeans, but that’s not what stopped her short.

Fez is facing the mirror and turning to try and get a look at his injury, exposing more of his back to her. A back, which Lexi is stunned to see, is covered in tattoos.

She’d seen him with his shirt off exactly once before when she’d showed up early for one of their hangouts. Ash had let her in with a customary roll of his eyes, as Fez walked out of the bathroom. He’d put on pants, but was sans shirt. He saw her standing at the end of the hall and smiled sheepishly, letting her know he was just about ready and to make herself comfortable. In her girlish fantasies, she imagined he was in there primping and preening for her just like she did for him before their visits. The freshly spritzed cologne scent that wafted towards her when he joined her in the living room and freshly laundered, perhaps even ironed, shirt seemed to prove her theory, and she’d had to hide a smile in her collar.

She’d thought about his chest (and back and shoulders and arms) long into the night for many, many nights afterwards, so she could say with certainty he did not have any identifying scars or marks – only a smattering of freckles decorating his pale skin.

She has to force herself to continue down the hallway to retrieve her phone and remind herself he was in pain and in need of her help. The verbal lashing she’d been dreaming of giving him since the second time he’d pushed her out would need to wait.

Returning to the bathroom, she tentatively knocks on the door, even though it’s ajar, and he’s expecting her. He glances up from where he’d been twisting slightly to try and get a clearer view of his injury, and she doesn’t think she’s imagining the small, nervous smile on his face at her reappearance. It seems they’re both a little lost and unsure how to act, or inhabit such a small space together after so many years apart.

Personal space was an abstract concept to them, once upon a time. They’d pushed the boundaries, sitting closer and closer together after the fateful afternoon he held her hand, until their new normal was to press together from their feet all the way up to their shoulders; there was an unspoken agreement between them to sit on couches rather than chairs, to have lingering hugs that bordered on cuddling while standing, and to hold hands whenever they were alone.

Clearing her throat, she says the first thing that comes to mind in order to clear the awkwardness in the air. Unfortunately, what comes out is, “So, you’ve got a lot of tattoos now, I see.” No shit, Sherlock.

“Yeah,” he responds, eyes downcast. She’s not sure why he feels the need to be sheepish about it, lots of people got tattoos. Shit, she even had a matching butterfly tattoo with Cassie. “Got a lot of ‘em the first time I got out, a few I got inside.”

Ah. Prison tats. The sheepishness makes a bit more sense now, so she gives him a reassuring smile and says “Cool!” before setting out her supplies to get to work.

“Why don’t you sit on the counter?” she directs, figuring it will give her a good eye-level view of his side, and not make him expend any more effort than he needs to with standing.

He hops up with a “Whatever you say, doc,” and she hates that she sees her reflection blush a little. She’s about to look back down at his wound, when her eyes sweep over the rest of the mirror’s reflection, and she gets a full-blown view of the tattoos on his back. Tearing her eyes away so he doesn’t catch her staring, she dips the first towel into the bowl and starts dabbing the blood away from his ribs.

If he jumps a bit when her hand brushes his skin, well, she’s sure he’s in a lot of pain.

As she works, she sneaks glances behind him to make out the various pieces adorning his skin. GOD’S WORD is inked in an arc at the top of his back, going shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Halfway down his back, she reads GOD’S WILL. In between the two, is a floral piece, stems, leaves, and petals shaded with blue. She remembers the day Fezco had shown her some of Kitty’s statement wardrobe items – she called them her “get shit done clothes” apparently and Lexi wished for the millionth time that she could have met her. Well, she had met her, but she wished she could meet that Kitty. The motherfuckin’ G that taught Fezco everything he knew.

She remembers the blue jacket with these precise words and flowers vividly – it had been the first thing Fez had shown her, proudly pulling it out of the plastic dry cleaner’s bag. He explained how it was his favorite outfit of hers, since it was what she’d worn when she won the custody agreement over Fezco – also known as the day she shot his father in the kneecaps and proclaimed he would live with her from then on. He’d offered it to Lexi to try on, but she’d adamantly refused; she didn’t feel worthy to wear such a larger-than-life figure’s clothes, especially with her lying three feet away from them.

Continuing to dab at the blood, she takes stock of the rest of the tattoos – ‘O’NEILL’ in old english letters across his lower back, a snake wound around a dagger on his opposite ribcage, there’s a Virgin Mary on one bicep and an ornate cross on the other. On his left pectoral, she finds hands in prayer, rosary wrapped around them, and ‘ASHTRAY’ in a banner underneath. She can tell there’s some ink underneath the blood she’s cleaning as well, but can’t quite make out what the tattoo says yet. There are a few other tattoos on his back – a jaguar, an archangel, a dragon. The ink on some is more faded than others, crisp lines mixing with dull ones, creating a tapestry of Fezco’s life. These tattoos tell a story – of a lost and hurting boy paying homage to those he loves.

She’s finally gotten the wound clean enough to examine the damage, and she breathes out a relieved, “Well, you were right. Looks like a deep scratch. It’s mostly stopped bleeding now, thankfully.”
He’s tensed a bit, inexplicably. “Really, Fez, I think it’s okay,” she says, dabbing the last clean towel into the water. Maybe she hadn’t seen the full extent of the wound?

It’s then that she sees it – towel half-raised on its way back to his ribs. She can finally make out what the ink below his cut says, and her eyes instinctually dart up to his face. His face, neck and shoulders are beet red, and he’s refusing to meet her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, got that after the first time I got out. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable,” he murmurs while looking down at the hands he’s wringing in his lap.

She can’t quite figure out if he’s embarrassed because he regrets it or is truly only worried about her reaction, but tattooed in pretty cursive script on his ribs is her name. Lexi.

She can’t think of an appropriate response to that, so she just clears her throat and continues working, reaching for antiseptic and gauze.

“That first summer, after I got out, shit was tough. I’d spent most of my time inside just…angry. Angry at the cops, angry at Faye, shit, even angry at Ash. Mostly, was just angry at myself. I came out and got this piece here first,” he says pointing at the tribute to Ashtray on his chest. “I liked the pain. Felt good. So, I went back. Again an’ again. Numbing the pain of all that grief with the pain of the needle. Got a tribute to grandma on my back,” he continues as he gestures towards his back with his thumb. “You was somethin’ I was grievin’ that summer, too, so,” he trails off with a shrug.

Lexi puts the medical supplies down and stands at full height. She takes a step to place herself fully in front of him and waits for him to make eye contact again.

“You never had to grieve me, Fezco.”

He starts to shake his head in disagreement so she cuts him off before he can even begin with his self-deprecating bullshit.

“I wrote to you. I wanted in. You pushed me out.”

He lets out a deep sigh before responding. “I know you did, Lex. Just couldn’t do that to you, couldn’t bring you down with me. Look at all you’ve accomplished without me? Matter of fact, I shouldn’t even be here, I’m real sorry for dumpin’ myself on your doorstep like that,” he says as he starts to climb down from the counter and reaches for his sweater perched on the toilet tank.

Lexi moves to block him from the doorway, arms crossed defensively. “Don’t you dare. If this constitutes kidnapping, then that’s what I’ll do. Get a rap sheet of my own. But you are not leaving my sight.” For the third time in the history of their acquaintance, Lexi finds herself fighting for him, for them. She doesn’t know if that makes her a love-blinded fool to rival Cassie; it all depends on Fez’s next move.

“I’ll stitch you back together, build you back up brick by damn brick. Just…stay. I know you’ve been in pain, for far longer than when that fucking raid went down. I didn’t mind then, and I don’t mind now. My heart’s been yours since I was 17, Fezco. So please, don’t run. Not again; not from me.”

The agonizing truth is this: if he leaves for a third time, Lexi knows she’ll bleed out internally. Her heart will be a gaping wound to rival his mere scratch. She’s put it all on the line, revealing truths she’s only acknowledged in pre-dawn hours when she can’t sleep for thoughts of him. She thinks of his tattoo and how it’s placed on his ribs like some Adam and Eve shit. Did he do that intentionally? The religious imagery on the rest of his body tells her yes. Has he been thinking of her all these years, too? Seeing her face before closing his eyes in his cell, bunkmate shifting in the bed above him? But he’s been carrying her with him as more than a memory; she’s been by his side all these years after all, whether she knew it or not.

There’s a look in his eyes like he’s angry with her, but she’s not backing down. She’s said her piece and now it’s his turn to lay his cards out on the table.

Maybe it’s the fierce determination in her eyes, or the fact she just confessed her love for him despite all the years that kept them apart, or maybe it’s the blood loss. Whatever it is, she sees the resolve drain out of him – his eyebrows straighten out, his shoulders drop, and the hand clutching his sweater tightly loosens its grip.

She’s distracted by the sweater falling to the floor that for a moment she doesn’t realize he’s taken one step towards her, then another, and suddenly he’s all around her, invading all of her senses. She smells the antiseptic cream she’s just carefully applied, and the faint scent of him that no jail can eradicate. She looks up into his face and takes in all the little details she thought her memory was playing up to torture her whenever she allowed herself to think of him – the curl of his eyelashes, the freckles dotting his face, the plumpness of his lower lip.

His hands hold her face reverently between them as he looks in her eyes for a long moment. He must find what he’s looking for because then he’s kissing her with the same desperation as their first kiss. Her arms reach up to wrap around his bare shoulders as she pushes herself up and into him. He moans and she’s not sure if it’s his stab wound acting up or her tongue in his mouth, but she figures he’ll stop them if he needs to – she’s done being cautious and timid.

Their lips move in perfect symphony, tongues tasting each other for only the second time. She wants to let her hands roam all over his upper body, but has to settle for raking her nails down his uninjured side which is rewarded by a shiver and gooseflesh breaking out on his skin. She desperately wants to continue exploring the different ways she can elicit that same reaction, but before that, she needs to make sure he’s truly okay. Reluctantly, she slows the kiss down and releases his lips with a gentle pop.

“Are you sure?” she asks. She’s not sure she can survive him leaving again, but she doesn’t vocalize that.

His hands hadn’t strayed too far from her face during their kiss, and move back to cup her cheeks now, thumbs stroking her soft skin gently. “I’m tired, Lexi. Tired of fightin’ ghosts. ‘N I’m tired of runnin’. Can’t run from you anymore.” At this, he kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her shoulders. “Yeah. I’m stayin’. I’m sure,” he mumbles into her temple.

Into his shoulder, Lexi presses a smile. They’ve finally got time. She’s finally got time – time to show him how precious he is, and how it’s okay to hurt, but it’s also okay to let himself have what he wants. It’s okay to be happy despite it all – despite Ashtray and Grandma Kitty. He was strong then, with his loved ones around him, and he can be strong again. She’s got time to help him see the tattoos on his body shouldn’t read as a list of the dead and gone – they read as a proof of love. As proof of life. A life started with Kitty, ended with Ashtray, and born again from the ashes with her.

Lexi his ribs read. Maybe he could add to it later: the three kids they’d talked about all those years ago, or the name of their farm. If that’s not where life leads them, though, that’s okay. He’s got plenty of skin left to adorn with the possibilities to come.