Chapter Text
Entirely worn out, Martin and Gina board the train out of Berlin. Managing to find two seats together in a quiet car, they gratefully settle in; Gina unfolds the magazine she purchased at a newsstand and flips through it, relishing the moment of calm as the train clacks out of the station.
It’s not even five minutes into the trip when she feels like she’s being watched. Turning, she sees Martin scrutinizing her, head tipped slightly to the side. “Pardon? Is there something you want?” she asks, sincerely hoping he only wants to borrow her magazine and is not about to say he’s spotted someone else who wants them dead.
Martin narrows his eyes a bit. “Are you sure you don’t have any…special training?” he asks softly.
She’s so flummoxed by the question she can’t form words for a few seconds. “Pardon?” she finally repeats.
Martin finds the way she says “pardon” particularly charming, though for his continued health and safety he thinks it would be best to keep that to himself. “You know, training,” he continues, emphasizing the word as if saying it that way will mean something to her. When Gina raises her eyebrows at him, he shifts closer. “Like mine.”
She breathes in the scent of the complimentary shampoo from the hotel they’d stayed in last night. “Ja, I’m sure I’ve never had that,” she replies, amused. “I have all my memories, thank you.”
Martin snorts and moves away; she misses his proximity but holds herself back from leaning into his space. “It’s just that…well, you could have fooled me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. You were great back there,” he murmurs, the tips of his ears flushed pink.
She can read his unspoken Thank you. “I know.” She grins at him, then turns back to her magazine. She hears him huff a laugh and she smiles inwardly.
A minute later, Martin starts tapping restlessly against the armrest. Instantly annoyed, Gina stills his fingers with her own. He doesn’t move his hand. Neither does she.
“Hey,” he says ten minutes after that. “Can I have that magazine when you’re done?”
They end up in Canada.
When Martin asks Gina if she likes that idea, she shrugs and says, “Yes; I’ve always wanted to see a moose,” and his laugh is so loud the other passengers look over at them, irritated and curious. He really enjoys how much she surprises him.
Martin’s not completely sure when his feelings for Gina transformed from “necessary partnership” to something more complex and unnamable, but he supposes it was somewhere between her saving his life for the third (or maybe fourth, or fifth) time and running with him into the Hotel Adlon. Too busy trying to stop the bombing and save Bressler, it was not until she extracted the blood-drenched glass shard from his stiff fingers and held his gaze, hands still encircling his, that he realized he didn’t want her to let go. While he’s not sure yet what this is now, he feels the spark of something between them and he badly wants the chance to ignite it.
But is that safe? Could it burn them, too?
Gina falls asleep against his upper arm halfway through the flight to their new country, and he allows himself to pretend they’re just another couple returning from an ordinary, non-life-threatening vacation. Martin will let her use him as a pillow for however long she would like, even though right now he can feel the tingling beginnings of numbness in his arm.
After the plane lands, the closer they get to the airport’s exit the tighter the fist of dread clutches Martin’s heart as he imagines Gina deciding this is where they part ways; then he’ll be lost again.
Forcing the words past the lump in his throat takes considerable willpower. “You can do anything you want now,” he reminds her as they stand in a quiet space by the Arrivals doors, praying she doesn’t notice the hitch in his voice and hating every word.
“Mmmm. Let’s get a hotel room and get some sleep,” she yawns, leaving the out he just handed to her unacknowledged. “I must have slept on the plane, but I don’t really feel like it.” He is about to answer but then she tips her head back and runs a hand through her loose hair, and all he can do is stare, slightly stunned. “Also, I’m in serious need of a shower—preferably in a bathroom with a working light.”
Martin smiles and ducks his head; if Gina caught his gaze he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from pressing his lips to hers and “testing the waters,” so to speak (and since she hasn’t given any indication she would be amenable to that it would be a Very Bad Plan; he’s aware of how much power she can put behind a slap).
After checking into the nearest hotel, they have just enough energy left to shop for some basic necessities and drop them all on the room’s floor. Martin lets Gina use the bathroom first, and then he goes in and almost falls asleep at the sink.
When he climbs into the bed, Gina’s lamp is already off and he’s pretty sure she’s sleeping, so he clicks off his own light and pulls the covers up. The sheets are scratchy and the pillow is too thin, but he’s just grateful he’s in a real bed.
It’s been centuries, and Gina is still fully awake.
When it was Martin’s turn in the bathroom she immediately fell into the mattress and turned off her light. She closed her eyes and tried to drift off…and she’s still trying. She reminds herself Martin is only a few feet away, no one’s chasing her, she isn’t being attacked, but it’s useless: she panics whenever she can’t hear Martin’s movements and it feels like her heart is hurling itself against her ribs. Gruesome visions overwhelm her: Biko dead in the building stairwell—Martin struggling with the killer in her apartment—Martin getting knocked unconscious and thrown into Section 15’s van—the way the other killer’s body ragdolled as she pulverized him between the stolen taxi and the van.
She can still hear the sounds the man’s body made as his bones splintered and his organs were crushed, and the fear of those few minutes claws at her throat. Gina squeezes her eyes shut tighter and chants I’m safe, it’s over, but her internal voice is losing strength.
And then Martin exits the bathroom and settles himself next to her; then she floats on the same flood of relief she experienced when the van was engulfed in fire and she knew they were both still alive. She brings herself back to when she stumbled out of the mangled taxi straight into Martin’s embrace—senses his body heat mingling with the leather jacket’s chill, hears his heart pounding in her ear, feels his arms surrounding her like a forcefield. Each moment she held onto him she felt as if a sense of rightness she’d thought she’d lost was being replenished.
She’d been grateful for that feeling when they’d had to save Dr. Bressler, and she needs it now.
Martin’s teetering on the edge of sleep when he feels the lumpy mattress dip and bounce. Alert again, he finds Gina has rolled over and slotted herself into his side, gripping his shirt’s collar in one hand and trembling but making no sound. Tentatively, he strokes his fingers down her arm; when she doesn’t push him away, he continues the motion and pulls her closer. “It’s okay,” he whispers repeatedly into her hair. Gradually her shaking stops, and then her even breaths tell him she’s finally fallen asleep. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he allows himself the same luxury.
When he wakes the next morning, he’s alone. Panic pricks him until he hears the shower running—even after the fatigue of the past few days she’s still an early riser. He lays back and tries to calm his breathing.
“Good morning,” she pronounces when she exits the bathroom a few minutes later.
“Morning,” he returns, his voice thick with sleep. He watches the muscles in her arms and shoulders shift under her skin as she runs a towel over her damp hair and suddenly he wants to follow their movement with his mouth; he quashes that thought as quickly as he can before it goes any further.
Gina smirks at him. “Nice hairdo.”
He reaches up, reddening a little as he realizes his hair’s sticking up on one side.
“Martin…” Gina starts, then pauses. He watches her, one hand trying to flatten a cowlick. “Thanks for last night.” She looks away, self-conscious.
“It’s fine,” he says. “Really.”
“Thanks.”
After some moments of silence, he swings his legs out of the bed. “I’m going to shower, and then we can check out and get breakfast.”
After what he’s naming the best shower of his life, he gets dressed (only slightly bothered he has to wear yesterday’s clothes) and exits the bathroom. “Any requests?” he asks, packing up his things.
“Something sweet,” she answers immediately.
The sun is warm and he tips his face towards it, refreshed. Gina’s hooked her arm through his, and he deliberately slows his pace to prolong the contact. A few blocks away they find a cute little diner, mostly empty in the hours between the early-morning rush and the late-breakfast crowd. Starving, they both order big breakfasts with endless coffee refills.
They eat in silence for a while, but Martin knows they can’t delay this conversation any longer. He puts down his fork and wraps his hands around his coffee mug. “Gina,” he says, and she turns to him. He sighs. “Gina, what are you going to do now?”
Puzzled, she narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’re out of Germany, you have a passport, you have some money…As I’ve said before, you can do whatever you want. You—” He swallows, recovers. “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll help you set up your life here, or anywhere else, if that’s what you want.” He watches her as she taps her fork on her plate and looks away. “I’ll help you do whatever you choose, no questions asked.”
Gina’s eyes rove around the diner; Martin, unable to stand the silence, goes back to his food. He’ll let her decide on her own time, though he fervently wishes she will allow him to be with her. She’s the only person he really knows and has any connection to (though that’s not the only reason he wants to be near her), but she’s a capable, independent, clever person and it’s entirely his fault she’s even here in the first place, so if she wants no more to do with him he won’t stop her.
Gina takes a sip of coffee, then leans back in the booth. “I think you and I should stick together.”
He looks up at her mid-chew, manages not to choke, swallows, grips his fork tightly. “You want to stay together?” he repeats stupidly.
“If that’s all right with you.”
That’s one thousand times more than all right. “Y-Yes, of course that’s fine. Great,” Martin stutters. “I—You’re welcome for as long as you want.” Please don’t ever leave, he thinks. “Are you sure?” Damn, is this self-sabotage from before the head trauma, or is it something new?
Gina rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” She lowers her voice a little, looking around again as if someone might be listening. “After all we’ve been through…I don’t know what’s in store, what’s going to happen next, but I think it’s best if we do this together.” Not the ringing endorsement he was hoping for, but it’s definitely better than the alternative. Gina traces the rim of her mug, then catches his eyes. “Besides…” she murmurs, leaning forward.
“Hmmm?” He moves towards her, unable to resist.
“You have a lot of making up to do.”
He laughs gently. “Guess I better get started, then.”
“What do you think, Olive?” their waiter asks, nodding in their direction. “Breakfast for the first morning after?”
“Just give it a rest, Kyle,” Olive groans, continuing to fold silverware into paper napkins.
“But I’m bored!” Kyle whines. “Guessing about customers’ lives is my only source of entertainment!”
They somehow manage to find an okay one-bedroom apartment with their lack of, well, pretty much everything usually required to rent. Gina finds work as a waitress—“I’m good at it.”—and Martin gets a job as a stocker in a grocery store—“It’s as far away from running for my life as I can get, and it’ll keep me fit in case anyone pays us a visit.”
“Hmmm,” Martin hums when he unlocks the door of their new home and steps inside, taking in the well-worn floors and the mustiness of the air.
“It’s an apartment, I guess,” says Gina, shrugging. She heads to the bedroom, Martin following. Stepping inside the bathroom, she flips the light switch. “The light works in here. And I think you’ll fit in this one, Martin.”
He snorts. “Hilarious.”
They make their way through the cramped space, trying their best to find the silver lining in everything. The wood floors are scratched, the carpet in the bedroom could use a good steam cleaning, there’s barely any counter space in the kitchen, and the window in the living room doesn’t open too far, but Martin’s simply happy he’s not sleeping in a subway station.
“We don’t have to stay here forever,” Gina says, leaning against the kitchen counter.
He tries to ignore the way his heart flip-flops at how she so easily includes him in her plans. “It could be worse,” he agrees, struggling to lighten the mood. “We could be living next to a ten-second finisher.”
Just then, the refrigerator makes a loud, prolonged groaning noise.
“The fridge doesn’t think you’re very funny,” Gina says, grinning. “And my old neighbor was more of a five-second finisher. His poor girlfriend.” She shakes her head.
Martin laughs and runs his hand over the countertop. After a minute of silence he says, “Want to look for some furniture?”
“Right. Furniture.” She looks up at the ceiling, then back at Martin. “Wait—how are we going to get the stuff back here?”
With the help of a neighbor and the neighbor’s truck they manage to get most of their furniture from resale shops. Martin, presuming Gina does not want to share a bed, picks out a sleeper sofa for himself.
“You sure?” Gina asks, flinging his own words back at him.
He assumes she doesn’t want to talk about their first night in Canada. “Yes. You get the bed.” There won’t be any arguing about this.
At night, when the apartment is quiet and he tries to find a comfortable position on the dreadful mattress, Martin’s mind begins to wander. He thinks longingly of the real bed a room away and, more importantly, the woman occupying it. What would happen if he simply crawled under the blanket with her…?
At first, Martin’s not sure why he’s been awakened in the middle of the night. Sighing, he rubs his hand over his face and opens his eyes. His heart stumbles over itself and he freezes: a figure is sitting hunched over on the corner of the mattress. The next second his vision adjusts to the darkness and the form becomes Gina; the light from the streetlamps spilling through the blinds glints off the tears on her cheeks. “Gina?” His voice cracks. “What’s wrong?”
For some moments she doesn’t answer or move, then she wriggles under the covers and curls herself against him. Immediately he tucks the blanket around them and pulls her as close as he can. Just like when they arrived in Canada, Martin waits for Gina to fall asleep before he lets himself drift off.
The next morning, though, instead of awakening alone, Martin slips into consciousness to the wonderful feeling of Gina’s breath ghosting across his neck, her lips perilously close to his skin. Unsure of how he would handle himself if she were to wake and look up at him, sleepy and unguarded, through her golden lashes, he ends up being the one to leave, escaping into the kitchen to make breakfast. He wants to ask her what she’s doing, why she needs this, but he’s too afraid he’ll break the spell and she’ll stop coming to him.
As Martin gathers his pillow to head to the living room on the third night of this, Gina shyly asks, “Why don’t you just sleep here?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice.
When he folds the cardboard-like mattress back into the sleeper sofa’s depths for the last time, he thinks, And stay out.