No Time to Die

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46565494.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive
Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: You (TV 2018)
Relationship: Joe Goldberg/Rhys Montrose
Character: Joe Goldberg, Rhys Montrose, Kate Galvin, Henry Quinn-Goldberg
Additional Tags: POV First Person, Episode: s04e10 The Death of Jonathan Moore,
Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Canon, During
Canon, Canon Rewrite, Not Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence,
Rhys is Real, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Manipulation,
Emotional Manipulation, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy
Ending, Suicide Attempt, Suicide, Attempted Murder, Strangulation,
Violent Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, Grammarly is my beta, Kissing,
Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional
Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Murder
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-04-17 Words: 10,727 Chapters: 1/1

No Time to Die
by abliafina

Summary

It pains me to realize it, but you’ve been my life during these past few weeks. Watching
you, following you, and being with you has become the air I breathe. You never cease to
amaze me, Joe Goldberg.

Or: Rhys jumps in to save Joe's life

Notes

THIS ONE IS FOR YOU ELEKTRA I was inspired by their beautiful artwork "A Kiss of
Death" to write this fic and I went HAM. Never thought I'd be one of those authors who are
like "oops my fingers slipped" but guess what, here we are 10k words later. I'm not a
doctor, I'm not a cop, I don't have kids so if I get anything wrong I apologize. The title is
from Billie Eilish's song by the same name. Heed the tags my friends, I'm not touching on
any light topics.

HUGE DISCLAIMER: The opinions stated on mental health are in no way reflective of my
own. It's meant to be perceived as the characters not understanding mental health issues, not
that they're dismissive of it. English is not my first language so if you see any mistakes let
me know
I have never understood what makes a person want to die.

I want to live, I like living, and being locked up in the nick gave me more reasons to keep living.
Life isn’t all sunshine and roses, you're honestly daft if you think otherwise, but it means you can't
just tap out when things are getting tough.

I'm not a soppy person, never have been, and never will be, and yet there's something about you
that I can't put my finger on. You are a nail in the coffin to the British aristocracy, everyone’s
worst enemy, an American. You cunning, brilliant, and absolute fool of a man. I thought a bloke
like you, someone who’s lived from rags to riches, would know better.

We've just parted ways after taking care of old man Lockwood. It was your idea to get rid of him
for Kate’s sake; nothing has seemed amiss. Even though you lied and said it was exhilarating to kill
Vic, I can't think of a more fitting word to describe your actions. You were meticulous in a way I
haven’t seen you before. You didn't hesitate despite the doubt visible in your eyes. You left Hugo
to bleed like a stuck pig in front of Lockwood, before taking care of him as well.

We were a piece of well-oiled machinery you and I, cleaning up the bodies swiftly, and if I may
say so, with style, adding that flare only you can create.

I thought I’d finally gotten through to you, that you were accepting your true nature.

You always worry people are going to be afraid of seeing this side of you, and yet nothing could've
been more marvelous. I was flattered when you showed me the box of items you’d gathered from
me. And I wasn't afraid when you stripped and tied me to that chair, no I was impressed. Impressed
by the measures you were willing to take to find me.

You don't scare me, Joe Goldberg, not a lot of things do. Except for seeing you standing on the
bridge’s railing, that scares me.

It sends a shiver to my core that I haven’t felt since childhood, when my mother would go on one
of her tangents. It’s only by chance that I’m here. I forgot to ask you something and you wouldn’t
answer your phone, so I went after you. Any thoughts or questions, or anything else for that matter,
disappear. The Queen herself could’ve been standing next to me and I wouldn’t have noticed.

You’re looking downwards, eyes fixated on the watery grave below you. It’s not the Golden Gate
Bridge though the River Thames isn’t any less cruel. I yell your name. You don’t hear me. I curse
at you. You don’t look back.

Time comes to a stop around us and I run.

I don’t register that my legs are moving. The bridge is under construction and I push fences and
cones out of my way. I should’ve known, I should’ve seen it coming. You hugged me goodbye
even though we’ve never hugged before. You thanked me as we parted ways. I’m smarter than you
and for fucks sake, Joe, you’re not supposed to outsmart me. I have to get to you before you do this
to yourself. I scream your name in a last attempt to get your attention and you turn your head
around.

You see me and yet you don’t. Your eyes are hazy, there's a small twitch at the corner of your
mouth. The light hits your face and I see a tear roll down your cheek. You won’t do it, I know you
won’t. You’re not suicidal. You don’t want to die.

You jump.

The railing stops me from falling in after you. I look over and I don't see any sign of you even
though there should be. You should be fighting for your life, grasping for the surface, and
regretting your stupid decision, but you don't.

I wait. The ripples on the water left in your wake slowly trickle away, like a timer counting down
to the inevitable. It’s haunting to think of how easily the river swallowed you up, erasing any
evidence as if you never existed.

Is this really how you want it to end, Joe?

I’m not one to make rash decisions, I think it’s important to be prepared, except right now all of
that can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m not going to lose the closest thing to a friend I’ve
had in years. I heave myself over the railing and jump in after you.

It’s dark and the water is cold, the feeling of it seeping through my clothes is all-consuming. I see
you disappearing further below me, the bright color of your shirt working as my guide and I swim
downward. Your arms are extended and you’re not moving. It’s like watching a mockery of a
crucifix sink to the bottom. I don't believe in God, but he owes me a solid one after everything he
put me through as a child so you better not be dead.

All of a sudden, I see movement. You’re alive. I push on and it’s tough, even for a decent swimmer
like me. Life comes back to your limbs and you’re thrashing for the surface like I wanted you to do
from the beginning. I knew it, you muppet. You see me and your lips spread into a smile, your face
the picture of calm serenity. I would’ve given anything to have you smile at me like that under
another circumstance. We’re so close that you reach out your hand.

Then you stop thrashing. Bloody hell that’s the last thing I want.

My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, right in tune with the pressure in my head. If I don’t get
us out of here now, the River Thames is going to end up as an early grave for both of us. I wrap an
arm around your torso and start pulling us up. It’s hard. I’m pretty sure you’ve passed out, your
usually lithe frame feels ten times heavier underwater. If I can just breach the surface-

“Over there!”

Air has never felt so good before. The dirty London air fills my lungs and I couldn’t be happier
about it. I’m never going swimming again after this. I hear the drumming of motors and spot a boat
rapidly approaching us. Whoever’s on it throws out a water buoy and I hold on to it for dear life as
they drag us out of the water.

One second you’re in my arms and the next, they’ve taken you from me.

It turns out it’s a police boat, the officers identify themselves and explain they saw us jumping.
They’re asking me questions about what happened, except it all goes through one ear and out of
the other because my center of attention shifts.

You're laying splayed out on the deck, limbs angled awkwardly to your sides. Your curls stick to
your forehead like glue and your clothes are soaking wet. The officers circle you like flies and
you’re pale, paler than you should be. The warmth in your beautiful brown eyes is gone, replaced
with a hauntingly empty stare. They’re open but they’re not looking.
“Officers, what’s going on?”

“Sir, please answer the question first. Can you tell us what happened?”

"He uh-"

What the fuck do I say? I barely know what happened, I have no clue what your intentions behind
this were. Were the signs there all along? You haven't been feeling well lately, I know that, though
I chalked that up to Tom Lockwood breathing down your neck.

After you tied me to that chair, when I had passed my breaking point and told you about Marienne,
you explained that Lockwood wanted me dead and asked you to do it. You were talking about
leaving London and starting over someplace else, so I got rid of Roald as a distraction until we
could come up with a plan against Lockwood. For fucks sake, Joe, I figured you were stressed. The
closest thing I got to the truth about you was you mentioning having a dream about Love and
Beck, though everyone's got nightmares, right?

“Can’t find any pulse, starting CPR.”

No.

This can’t be happening. You’re alive. I know you’re alive because you looked at me when we
were underwater. There can’t be a world where Joe Goldberg doesn’t exist. You smiled at me so
there’s just no way…

You’re barely visible behind the wall of police officers and I hate that I don’t know what’s going
on. I hear fabric being ripped open and another one of the officers drags me away.

Everything continues in a blur. The officer tries to get me to answer the questions one more time
though he gives up - He’s in shock mate, leave him alone - and apparently, I have to be checked out
at the hospital even though I’m not the one dying. A blanket is wrapped around me and I hold onto
it as if it’s my lifeline. You looked so cold, you should have a blanket as well. I look to the ring of
officers or paramedics or whoever the hell they are, hoping for any sign of you.

Drowning victims usually look so contorted, faces swollen from the water except you didn’t look
like that and I don’t want my last image of you to be that hollow gaze. I shut my eyes and try to
summon the look of you from earlier tonight. How you moved with ease, gracious like a dancer on
the grand stage, as you slit Hugo's throat. It’s scary how easily life can shift, how you’re here and
full of life in the evening and gone by the morning.

We’re speeding away on the Thames, water splashing on us occasionally, serving as a reminder
that I am awake and this isn't a dream. They’re quietly working on you, a soft murmur passing
between them that makes the situation even eerier. I don’t see or hear anything of what’s passing
by us, the only sound I pick up on is them giving you chest compressions.

The last thing I see of you is your shoes. We reach the shore and two ambulances are waiting, the
paramedics immediately surround you and load you up in the vehicle, while I’m taken away in the
other one.

They ask me how I feel. If I’m hurt if I can tell how many fingers they’re holding up, and bloody
hell that’s a strong flashlight they shine in my eyes. Reality is coming back to me and the tremble
starts in my chest. The burn resembles the same ache I feel after a good morning jog, except there’s
nothing good about this morning. I still don't believe in God, except, how cruel wouldn't it be of
him to make you pay for the mistakes I've made?
I never doubted my little project, the world is better off without the likes of Malcolm, Simon,
Gemma, and Roald. I didn’t shy away from becoming the Eat the Rich Killer, but with your life on
the line, I would take all of that back. You are worth so much more than any of their lives. I’m
never going to find someone like you again, someone I can share my secrets with, someone who
understands me.

I don’t like hospitals. The room they put me in is void of any emotion, clean and sterile like the
assaulting bright walls, and it reeks of disinfectant. My clothes and my socks make an obscene wet
noise as I’m examined by a doctor. Rather than talking to me, he talks to the nurse -He’ll be
alright, just needs some rest- though none of what he says explains the ache in my chest. It’s
embarrassing, I’m Rhys bloody Montrose and I shouldn’t be here. I should be with you.

The police come back when I’m cleared to go home by the doctor. I’m automatically on the fence
because of my history with law enforcement, I know that the less I say the better. They ask me for
my statement and I explain that Jonathan Moore is a friend of mine. I say that you called me in a
state of distress and that’s what prompted me to go to the bridge. I don’t know what your intentions
were with the jump but I’d like to be kept updated on your state. They’re satisfied with my story
and leave me alone in the waiting area.

My phone is completely ruined from the fall and I use a hospital phone to call my assistant. I’m not
leaving until I know what’s happened to you, however, I’m not going to wait in drenched clothes.
She’s just arrived with a bag of necessities I always keep when a grey-haired male nurse
approaches.

“Mr. Montrose?”

I try to compose myself and not let my features betray anything, I can’t let them know how scared I
am. “Yes?”

“He’s gonna make it, your friend is a fighter.”

My assistant lets out a small grunt. I don’t realize it at first, but I’m holding onto her shoulder so
hard that my knuckles whiten. If an asteroid crashed into the earth right now I could die a happy
man. You’re alive. You never cease to amaze me, Joe Goldberg. You do this and continue fighting
for yourself, for your life. You’re going to make it.

“Can I see him?” I ask.

“He’s still asleep but you can see him as soon as he wakes up.” The nurse smiles, “I’m sure he’d
like to see the man who saved his life. If it weren’t for you the paramedics would never have
gotten to him in time.”

I thank the nurse and make a note of thanking the paramedics later. Hell, I might even give them a
donation. You’re worth every penny. Word spreads fast that Rhys Montrose saved a man from
drowning and I get to wait outside of your room. I notice a lot of the nurses ogling at me. It grosses
me out how they’re hungry for gossip, all I did was pull you out of the water, the paramedics did
the rest. My assistant offers to buy me some breakfast and even though I don’t have much of an
appetite, it’s probably a good idea to eat.

I change out of my wet clothes, only to be greeted by a surprise when I come back to the waiting
area.

Kate.
What the fuck is she doing here? There’s no way she could already know what happened to you.
She sees me and walks over to me and shit, with her old man gone she might have more resources
than I do. It probably took her one phone call to find out where you were and she’ll only need
another one to find out we were behind her father’s death.

To my surprise, she throws her arms around me. She’s trembling like a leaf and I do my best to
support her. I’m not used to no-nonsense Kate needing a hug.

“What an absolute twat he is,” She whispers, “Did he really fall?”

“I- I don’t think so,” I admit.

Her grip on me tightens. We stand like that for a while and then I pull her to one of the couches for
us to sit down. She asks me what happened and I tell her the same story I told the cops. The look of
disbelief is clear on her face, however, she doesn’t question my version of events.

“He’s dead, you know. My father.” She says, “Murdered for money. Some might call it karmic.”

I’d call it justice except I don’t tell her that. Apparently, Lockwood left her everything the light
bloody touches, the money, the company. Kate worries her father made you do something for him
and that’s what drove you to the bridge. She tells me that they found inconclusive DNA evidence
on Roald’s body, and she suspects you killed him.

“He should’ve told me…” Kate hides her face in her hands. “If Jonathan died, I would never have
forgiven him.”

“I don’t think he wanted to hurt you,” I say. I’m not the best at comforting people so I offer her a
small smile. “You can be a bit intimidating sometimes.”

She huffs out a laugh.

I think that despite her cold exterior, she does seem to care for you and I know you love her.
Everything you did was for her sake and I admire that about you. I admire how far you’re willing to
go for love. Honestly, it doesn’t matter how you feel about me, you can despise me all you want,
I’m happy as long as you are happy.

My assistant comes back with the breakfast and she offers to buy Kate something as well but she
declines. I don’t know how long I’ll be here so I tell my assistant to cancel any plans I have for
today and then she leaves. It’s hitting me more and more that you’re going to make it and my
appetite returns. I’ve got croissants, coffee, and a sandwich and I dig into everything. The coffee
tastes heavenly and Kate laughs at my manners.

“What can I say? Saving lives makes me hungry.” I say, mouth full of sandwich.

She shakes her head. “Still, I thought if Jonathan was actually going to kill himself he’d be a bit
more creative.”

I choke on my sandwich. I must have misheard.

“What did you say?”

“Yeah, you know, jumping off a bridge isn’t exactly something new.”

I stare at her and she goes silent. How the fuck could she say that? Kate looks at me, visibly
uncomfortable, and tries to give me a reassuring smile. “It’s a joke. Relax.”
It’s not a joke.

Sure, humor is a fine coping mechanism except there’s a fucking time and a place. If we were
alone right now I’d-

The more I look at her, the more I understand she never bloody saw you. She never cared about
you. Kate Galvin is many things, but she's not daft. She doesn't believe the story of Hugo
murdering her father for money. She baited you into killing Tom Lockwood so she could take over
his company.

The same male nurse from before comes out of your room and leaves. We don’t get an update on
your condition so I assume you’re still asleep. I scan the waiting area and nobody is paying
attention to us.

“Let’s go,” I say.

I get up from the couch and I don’t get a reaction from Kate until I’ve got a hand on the door. She’s
already a step behind me because, of course, I can’t be the only one who gets to see you.

“What’re you doing?” She exclaims, her tone hushed, “You can’t just go in there!”

I shrug, “Are you gonna stop me?”

She goes silent and the next thing I know, we’re in your hospital room.

I’m reminded again of how much I dislike hospitals. Light is shining in through the window and
that’s where any form of comfort ends. The smell of disinfectant is even stronger in this room and
it burns my nostrils. Two beds are in the room and you’re propped up on one of them. I’m taken
aback for a moment just watching you.

They’ve stripped you out of your clothes and you’re wearing a blue hospital gown. You’re hooked
to a machine that’s measuring your heartbeat, the sound of it echoing in the room. Again, I’m not a
soppy person, but hearing the steady drumming of your heart is music to my ears. It appears that
Kate shares my sentiment. She gasps when she sees you and I think her lip is trembling. Her hand
is covering her mouth and the other one is reaching out to you. It’s revolting that she thinks she’s
allowed to touch you after everything she put you through.

You see, Joe, I asked my assistant to bring my bag of necessities for more than one reason. In it,
I’ve got everything I could need. Clothes, an extra pair of shoes, my passport, chargers, and
something special in case of an emergency.

A garrote wire.

It's not often that I need it. I mean, why would I use a wire if I can achieve the same results with a
knife, you know? Except I don't have a knife on me at the moment and right now the occasion calls
for something more subtle.

Kate’s hand is about to cover yours when I take the garrote wire out of my pocket and wrap it
around her throat. The handles of the garrote fit nicely in my palms, making it easy for me to
restrain her. She lets out a choked scream and her hands immediately go to her neck, attempting to
get a hold of the wire. I drag her away from the bed, I don’t want her anywhere near you and I
tighten my grip on the garrote, causing her to heave for air.

“Now, listen very carefully Katherine, or else you’re gonna end up meeting your old man sooner
rather than later,” I say, whispering the words into her ear, “Nod if you understand me.”
She nods a bit too fervently. Her breathing is harsh and ragged, like she all of a sudden aged twenty
years and smoked a thousand cigarettes. I let go long enough for her to catch her breath, then I tug
the garrote around her throat again. She punches at me in retaliation but her grip is weak, even if
she broke free I could still overpower her.

I press her close to my body, limiting her movements. We’re facing you and you’re laying in your
bed blissfully unaware of what’s going on around you. I’ve heard that life flashes before your eyes
on the brink of death. I wonder what you saw when you left me. Did you see your son or that
ghastly wife of yours? Maybe Kate would see the faces of all of those children that will never grow
up because of her.

“I want you to take a good look at Jonathan here,” I say, “He’s in this bed because of you. If you
hadn’t told him your little sob story about your daddy issues, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

She whines, lips moving as she tries to respond, however, I don’t give her the chance.

“You see unlike you, I actually care about Jonathan. You need to learn that actions have
consequences. I want what’s best for him and you owe him big time for this. You’re going to walk
out of here and never see him again, understood?”

She nods and I loosen the wire enough so that she won’t die. Not yet at least.

“Jonathan told me everything. He killed your father so you’d be free of him, suppose you can think
of it as a gift, except he couldn’t live with what he did. You pushed him to that bridge-”

“I never asked him to kill my father!” Kate protests.

I constrict her airways again. “Did you know that strangulations are considered a crime of passion?
A bit ironic isn’t it since all I feel for you is vapid hatred.”

"Okay, okay, I get it!" She wheezes, "Please don't kill me."

I'm not going to lie, hearing her plead is very satisfying. I've got her exactly where I need her, she's
all but literally begging on her knees. She’s not going to hurt me because the difference between
me and her is that I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. I remove the garrote and she inhales deeply,
hunching over and clutching at her throat. A slim, angry red mark stares back at me.

“You look good in red,” I say, tucking the garrotte back in my pocket.

Kate shoots me a glare, she’s too out of breath to come up with any witty response. She remains in
the same position for another minute, then she straightens up and looks me in the eyes, her face
betraying no emotions. No-nonsense Kate is back.

“So what do you want then?” She stares at me expectantly, “Money? You want me to support your
candidacy for mayor?”

I look at her skeptically. I already told her what I wanted and somehow she doesn’t seem to get it.

She crosses her arms over her chest, “Obviously you want something, otherwise you wouldn’t be
acting all tough threatening me.”

I take a step forward and I notice how she takes one back in response. I can't help the laugh that
escapes my lips. Kate loves to think that she’s nothing like her father except the apple doesn’t fall
far from the tree.
“It’s funny, your father tried to make the same offer, you know right before Jonathan pulled that
plastic bag-“

“How do you…”

Realization hits her. The look of horror on Kate’s face is priceless, I almost wish I had my phone so
I could take a picture.

“Yes, Tom Lockwood got to look at my pretty face one final time before he died, but make no
mistake it was all Jonathan’s plan. He did it because he loves you, but you Katherine-” I point at
you and then at her. “-are a selfish bitch who only wants what Jonathan can do for you like he’s
some sort of dog meant to protect you. You’re not good for him and I want you gone.”

She’s gaping at me, I doubt anyone’s ever spoken to her in that way before.

“And what makes you think I won’t go to the police with this?” Her eyes flicker between me and
the door. I hate giving Lockwood any credit but he did coddle her. “You’ve got a record, your
name and your title will mean fuck all-“

“Because if you do,” I interrupt, “I’m going to make it my mission to take you down. You got one
thing wrong about Jonathan, he didn’t kill Roald. I did.”

I let the confession hang in the air before I continue.

“If I see a dodgy-looking van outside of my house, or some PI tracking my moves, anything, I’ll
kill you. That’s not a threat, Katherine, that is a promise. If we could get to your father, what
makes you think we couldn’t get to you? I doubt your siblings are too happy with you being the
only one to inherit the Lockwood empire, so why don’t you do us both a favor and fuck off?”

Kate blinks for a moment. I don’t take my eyes off her and perhaps her life is flashing before her
eyes now. I just tried to kill her and she knows I won’t hesitate to try again. She pushes past me and
disappears through the door like I just lit her ass on fire. It’s dawning on me what just happened. I
know I should be worried that she might be talking to the police right now, except I can’t find
myself giving a fuck. Almost on cue, you shift on the bed.

I turn around, hoping that you’re awake, and I see you nuzzling into your pillow. A slight frown
paints your forehead, as if you’re mad I disturbed your sleep.

“Sorry you had to see that, sunshine,” I say, more to myself than you, “Kate’s gone now, she’s not
gonna bother you again.”

I prepare myself to leave, and yet, something makes me stay. It feels wrong to leave you alone in
this room. You should be surrounded by those who love you. There’s a chair by the end of the bed
and I place it next to you, sitting down on the cold plastic surface.

"I kinda always expected we'd end up in the hospital one way or another, just not like this," I say.

You don't react, still fast asleep. Your face appears a lot more relaxed now, the frown is gone from
your forehead and perhaps you're dreaming about something. I hope it won't be long before you
wake up, the silence in the room is deafening, and you'd recover better if you were at home in your
apartment.

Hell, I'd take you back to my place if I could. Maybe you don’t want to go there though? You said
it was weird to be at my cottage after you zip-tied my balls, despite the fact that I told you it was
fine and actually made us even from when I left you in the dungeon.
But what if you're mad at me when you wake up?

No.

I saved your life, you can't be mad at me, except… What if you wanted to die?

My leg starts shaking and I get up from the chair, pacing around the room. You have no right to be
mad at me. The police boat would've gotten to you no matter if I jumped in after you or not.

I take a deep breath and all I can taste is the vile disinfectant. The scent is so strong it burns my
lungs and leaves a lingering ache in my chest. Honestly, that shit can't be good for anybody. I circle
the room and are the walls coming closer? I look back at you and you look so peaceful, laying
there in your bed like you don't have a care in the world. I sit down on the chair again.

"I knew you'd be special, Joe, from the very first moment I saw you. You probably don't remember
it, but we met before that night at Sundry House. We met at the pub…” I have to say something, I
don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. “I was in my usual spot and I saw you at the end of the
bar. You were looking at me and you had that silly cap on. It doesn't make you invincible no
matter how hard you try, sunshine." I laugh at the memory. "You were struggling to swallow down
a pint and I remember thinking to myself that you must be a man on a mission if you're so
determined to finish that drink…"

I know now that I was your mission. I recognized you immediately when I saw you at Sundry
House and I want to talk about it except my voice falters. It feels like I’ve got a lump in my throat
the size of a tennis ball and it’s closing up my airways.

It pains me to realize it, but you’ve been my life during these past few weeks. Watching you,
following you, and being with you has become the air I breathe. The humiliation nips at me. I
know that what I said to Kate was harsh, however, that doesn’t make it any less true. I just didn’t
want her to know that I played a bigger part in pushing you over the edge than she did. I thought I
was doing something good, I thought I was helping you.

My vision blurs and there’s a stinging sensation behind my eyes. I feel faint drops of tears landing
on my palms. That burn in my chest is blossoming up again, threatening to swallow me whole. I
think I finally understand what the ache in my chest is.

A broken heart.

It’s not as if we were ever more than friends, sharing a mutual interest in killing doesn’t make us
Romeo and Juliet. I bury my face in my hands, my chest heaving as a sob escapes. Even if I fell for
a lie and you weren’t on my side, the tears are more out of exhaustion than anything I rationalize. I
hate that bloody play and I’d never kill myself, even if the world would’ve been bleaker without
you…

“Sir, you can’t be in here.”

I look up and I can't see who spoke to me. I wipe my eyes but it doesn't stop the tears from coming.
The person comes into view and it's the nurse from before.

"I'm sorry," I sniff, "I just-"

I just went in here to threaten his patient's girlfriend into leaving him though the nurse doesn't need
to know that. To my surprise, he's got a look of sympathy on his face.

"I get it, but your friend is gonna be out of it for a while. He's on some strong stuff right now." The
nurse places a hand on my shoulder. "You should get some rest. We'll let you know as soon as he
wakes up."

I nod, it’s the only response I can think of right now. I glance over at you and you still look so
peaceful. I want to say something, assure you that I’ll just be outside, but my voice is thick and I
can’t get a word out. I allow the nurse to lead me out of the room and back to the waiting area. My
breakfast is standing where I left it, the coffee barely lukewarm by now and the bread is staler than
the plastic chair I’ve just sat in. I toss it in the trash and pace the waiting area for something to do.

Magazines are scattered around for entertainment. I find one that touches on the Eat the Rich
Killer, a problem that we have to take care of soon. I got rid of the worst offenders and now it’s up
to Kate to keep her mouth shut. I only confessed to killing Roald except it doesn’t take a genius to
figure out that the other murders line up with me. If I go on with my candidacy, I will no doubt end
up on my own fair share of covers. Journalists will start digging into my past and I hope they won’t
find you.

I’m chastised for pacing and ordered to sit down or else I’ll have to leave. I offer a halfhearted
apology and end up back on the couch. The cushions are stale just like the rest of this hospital and I
twist and turn to make myself comfortable. Instinctively I reach for my phone only to remember
that it’s ruined. Out of all the things in my bag of necessities, I don’t have a book packed down.

I lean back and try to think of what book you would recommend to me. I know you used to work in
a bookstore and I wonder what it would’ve been like to be served by you. Maybe you would
suggest some autobiographies to me because of my novel, you’d be cheeky like that. Officially, I
am an author, though it’s rare that I get time to indulge myself in reading. We haven’t had much
time to discuss books either and I hope we’ll get a chance to do that.

My eyelids are growing heavier by the minute. I wonder if you used to read anything to your son to
help him fall asleep. I loved the stories by the Brothers Grimm when I grew up. You never speak
of him, I don’t even know what the kid looks like and it took a lot of digging just to find his name.
Henry. It’s a good name.

I stifle a yawn. I don’t know for how long I’ve been awake at this point but my body is tired.
Before I know it, I drift off to sleep on the couch.

In my dreams, I see you. You’re playing with your son as I watch you from afar, you’re happy and
content. You pick up Henry and hold him close to you, smiling at the little boy who looks so much
like you. You notice me and my heart gets caught in my throat. I lift my hand to wave at you and-

“Mr. Montrose?”

Someone gives me a light shake and I’m pulled out of that foggy dream state. I blink and it’s the
nurse again. I groan, wondering for a moment if I’ll be chastised for sleeping, and then he smiles at
me.

“He’s awake.”

I’m up and out of the couch before he gets the chance to say anything else. I enter your room and
there you are. You’re still laying down, but you’re awake. Some color has returned to your cheeks.
I see your brown eyes darting around your surroundings, only to land on me.

“Rhys…”

Your voice is frail like glass threatening to break.

Some of the anger returns. I want to yell at you for being so stupid, except I can’t. You’re alive and
that’s all that matters. I don’t wait for an invitation and I sit down on the side of your bed.

“Don’t ever do that again, Joe.”

“I won’t.”

A wave of relief washes over me and I hope you mean it. I want to ask you why you did it, I want
to know what compelled you to do it, however, the words get stuck in my throat. Something warm
touches my hand. I look down and see that it is your hand covering mine. I braid our fingers
together and squeeze your hand to see if it’s all real and you squeeze it back.

“I- I want you to know that I regret it,” You say.

“As you should,” I snort before I can stop it, “Sorry… I just-“

I put you through hell when all I ever wanted was to make you happy. No apologies or words of
comfort could ever make up for the amount of pain I’ve caused you.

“We can figure this out, you and me. You and I, we can do anything together. I just…” I swallow
and look down to where our hands are laced together. “I need to know if I made you do this.”

I didn’t want to say it, though I can’t expect you to be honest with me if I’m not honest with you.
Part of me thinks it would probably be easier if I did push you over the edge because then I can
leave and know that it’s the end of it. You can leave London and start over like you wanted to. I
don’t want to cause you any more pain.

You shoot up from the bed, “What? No, Rhys, look I… I was in denial and I know now that you’ve
been trying to get me to see the truth.”

And then you tell me how you’ve been plagued by visions of Love Quinn ever since you put
Marienne in that cage. Your late wife has haunted you, told you no one will ever love you as she
did, and put thoughts in your head about how you’re stuck in a cycle of never-ending violence. A
cycle that can only be broken one way. You felt like there were two sides of you, a good side and a
bad side, and Love embodied the bad one. I swear if she wasn’t already dead I’d kill her. You
wanted things to be different with Kate except you thought Love was right, that no matter what you
did it would end up with a corpse in the back of your car.

“I can’t do that again. Every time I tried… I made it perfect.” You say, “It was never enough.
There’s no amount of loving or supporting or killing the assholes holding them back.”

“And that’s what made you do it?” I ask.

You nod.

“I was in denial.” You mumble, “I broke Love right off the darkest part of me while you were
trying to get me to see the truth. I know I can utilize all of myself. I accept that there’s a darker part
of me, some people have to die but that doesn’t make it right, it doesn’t mean that I enjoy it.”

It’s hard for me to digest and it’s probably not any easier for you to talk about. You let go of my
hand and you run a hand through your hair. The curls have dried up by now and it’s in stark
contrast to when I pulled you out of the water. If I close my eyes I can still see the way your body
was splayed out, an empty shell of what is supposed to be you.

“Maybe I could’ve had a future with Kate but I don’t want things to end the same way they did
with Love.” You say after a while, “I have to tell her I'm done.”

“Done?”

“Yeah. Done, breaking up, whatever you wanna call it.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth. Of course, I’m relieved that you came to this conclusion on
your own, but it does make my little outburst from before seem a bit dramatic. You notice my
reaction and give me a questioning look.

“What?”

“Um, I wouldn’t worry about Kate if I were you,” I say, “I have it on good authority she’s not
gonna be a problem anymore.”

“Rhys,” Your tone is accusatory, “what did you do?”

I get up from the bed and stay out of reach. I don’t think you’ll strike me though I’m not going to
take any chances. “I didn’t kill her if that’s what you’re asking!”

You glare at me and it feels like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I sigh, relenting
and reminding myself of being honest. You’ve got the chance to start over your life and I can’t
help you by lying to you.

“She showed up, she heard about what happened to you, then she said something I’d rather not
repeat so I just-“ Attempted to kill her. “-gave her a piece of my mind and she left.”

“Right…” You say. It’s clear you think I’m full of shit. “Why’d you do that?”

Because I didn’t want a spoiled brat to take care of you. Because I want you all to myself and I
didn’t want the competition. Because looking into your eyes warms me more than the sun.

“I’ve told you before, I care about you, Joe,” It’s weak compared to what I should say. “‘You have
this notion that you’re an especially bad person, except what do you think everyone else sees in the
mirror? Join the bloody club, sunshine. You are a stellar example of the human condition. Just…
why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?”

You don't answer me. You look down at your hands, you're clenching and unclenching them.

"Is it true you saved me?" You ask.

"In a manner of speaking," I can't take full credit. "I pulled you out of the water. The paramedics
revived you."

You laugh. It's a harsh and strained laugh, one that dances the line of a breakdown. I sit down next
to you and I place a careful hand on your shoulder. You lean into the touch and I open my arms for
you. You accept it. I embrace you and hold you close, causing my heart to race. A hand sneaks up
my back and clutches at the fabric of my shirt. I can feel how tense you are, how warm your body
is, and I’m grateful for everything because it means you’re alive.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper.

“Sure,” I say, “Anything, sunshine.”

Your head is resting on my shoulder and I dare myself to run my fingers through your hair. I’ve
always wanted to know if your hair is as soft as it looks, and it is.
“When we were in the water… Did something happen?” You wonder.

“Apart from you dying? Not much,” I reply, “Why?”

You move away and bloody hell I shouldn’t have said that. You’re looking anywhere but at me,
and I notice your cheeks are pink. Wait, are you blushing, Joe?

“I-“ You’re searching for the right words, “It’s just when I was underwater, all I saw was you. We
were at Sundry House, the art gallery, my flat, then you found me in the forest after Roald chased
me, but I wasn’t sure what was real. You came closer and then-“

“And then?”

I encourage you to keep talking, but I don’t want to force you.

“Then we kissed.”

Now we’re both blushing. Did you think of kissing me? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had the same
thought. I saw you kiss Kate that one time in her apartment and it looked… nice. The way you
cupped her cheeks and brought her lips to yours. It looked like a kiss that belonged in movies and I
can't recall ever being kissed like that. Like I was someone's whole world.

After an embarrassing amount of silence, you say, “I take it we didn’t?”

It's not a question, it's a statement. I shake my head, trying not to look at your mouth.

"No, I was a bit occupied. You know, saving your life and all."

"Ah, well nevermind-"

"It's not that I wouldn't want to!" I interrupt. Shit. "I mean if you'd want to of course. I wouldn't kiss
you if you weren't interested."

I curse myself for being such a bumbling idiot. How am I supposed to run for mayor if I can't have
this conversation without sounding like a lovestruck teenager? The word hits me like a brick wall.

Love.

An emotion I never felt for my ex-wife. The emotion that was the namesake of your wife. That
wretched emotion that can turn even the smartest man into a fool. Three dangerous words that can
turn your whole world on its axis.

“Joe, I-”

You stop me before I say anything else. I look up at you and there’s a look of determination on
your face.

“All I’ve ever wanted is to love and be loved completely. I was trying to protect Kate, but I was
also trying to protect you, Rhys. I didn’t wanna hurt you. You accepted me in a way that Love
never did. You know what I’m capable of and still, you trust me. When I saw you coming after me
I- all I could think of was how I never let you in, how I pushed you away and gave up, and… and
you still came after me. No one’s ever done that before. You fought for me, Rhys.”

You say it like it’s something entirely unbelievable. It hurts to think that no one accepted what
you’re willing to do for love. I accept it. I accept you with my whole heart, Joe. Your hand finds
mine again and you’re squeezing it tightly, grounding us both.
I don’t notice it at first, but we’re moving closer together. A magnetic force pulls us toward each
other. I’m facing you and one of your curls is covering part of your eye. I reach out with my free
hand and tuck it behind your ear. Your breath hitches and my hand moves further, down to your
neck. I can feel your pulse point, the beat of it matching my rapid one. Your eyes flicker to my lips
for a moment and I want to know if you’re as good a kisser as you seem.

With a firm hand on your neck, I pull you to me, closing my eyes and capturing your lips with
mine.

I linger. I want to savor the moment in case I never get a chance like this again. It’s you who take
the next step. You tilt your head, moving your lips against mine like we’ve done nothing else in the
time we’ve known each other. It encourages me to kiss you the way I want to.

I let go of your hand and wrap my arm around your waist, pressing our bodies together. You sigh
pleasantly and I kiss you harder. I want you to feel me, I want you to feel the way my heart is
pounding in my chest and threatening to burst. I want you to know that I can protect you, just like I
know you can protect me. Your hands travel along my spine until you wrap your arms around my
shoulders. It’s electric the way you’re matching my rhythm and making me want more.

Eventually, our lips part. We’re still mortals who need air. You smile at me and I swear your eyes
are sparkling a bit. I can’t resist you and steal another soft kiss from your lips. You laugh and this
time it is filled with so much joy and relief. I can’t imagine what weight must have been lifted off
your shoulders.

“So now what, sunshine?” I ask.

You smile again and I never want you to stop smiling.

“I could use a vacation. A real one this time.”

“One that doesn’t involve taking down the English aristocracy?” I muse.

You roll your eyes at me and give me a playful nudge. Then your expression changes into
something I could only describe as longing.

“What is it, sunshine?”

“I want to see my son again. It’s impossible but- I just wanna know that he’s okay.”

It’s the first time you mention Henry around me. Even if he doesn’t remember his birth parents, the
boy was nearly orphaned today, so of course, you miss him and I can’t blame you for that. He’ll
always be your son. You’re lost in thought and I press a kiss to your knuckles to bring you back to
me.

“Don’t think about it now. We’ll figure something out, Joe, I promise."

I understand now why they call it the Golden State, it’s bloody hot. The air is warm and the wind is
hot and as an Englishman, I’m a fish out of water here. Despite the obscene amount of sun, I'm
getting, things have been going well for us. Time went fast since our hospital visit and we could
finally take that vacation you wanted.
Of course, we had to clean a few things up before we could go.

Your old student Nadia continued to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. She thought that the box
you kept about me would somehow be enough to frame you for the Eat the Rich Killer murders. It
was a bit ironic when we ended up doing the same thing to her. It was your idea, proving again
how brilliant you are when you accept your own nature.

You killed Nadia’s boyfriend and framed him for Roald’s murder, then you made it seem like she
killed her boyfriend in self-defense and now she hasn’t said a word from prison. I hope she likes
the food there better than I did. Also, to my surprise, Kate came through for us.

Against my advice, you called her up but apparently, you two talked it out. Kate’s fucked off to
Thailand with Phoebe and rumors are going on about their relationship as well. You asked Kate for
a favor in return for killing her father and with the help of her newfound fortune, she scrubbed your
record clean. And I mean really clean, so clean you could mirror yourself in it. Jonathan Moore
died in the Thames and the world was reintroduced to Joe Goldberg.

The media ate up your story. A man fleeing from toxic love and giving up his child was like
something out of a novel and America welcomed you back with open arms. You’re staying humble
for the press -Grateful for a second chance at a good life- but you’re writing a book about your
experiences and it’s estimated to be a bestseller. You’ve mentioned wanting to buy a bookstore and
I’ve promised we’re going to make it happen.

We’re taking things slow. Our relationship is being kept out of the public and I like it that way.
The story of me saving a ‘local’ man from drowning did boost my candidacy for mayor though no
one knows it was you.

Part of becoming Joe Goldberg again included shaving and trimming your hair. It was weird seeing
you without the beard for the first time, but at least now it doesn’t get in the way of me kissing
you. We’ve been on a few dates. I took you out to dinner and you bought me a special first-edition
novel I wanted. We’re getting to know each other again, both as friends and lovers. Looking into
your eyes made me see the raw, passionate, depths of you and I love it.

I’m holding your hand as we walk down the streets of Madre Linda. We don’t get to do that a lot in
London for fear of recognition, but no one knows who we are. No one knows we’re here either,
except for my team, and no one thinks twice to look at us. It also helps that it is late and most of
the Madre Linda population is snuggled up at home watching reality TV. This place is the picture-
perfect example of a safe suburban neighborhood and I understand why you hated it here.

You stop and point at a building further up the street. “That’s where Love’s bakery used to be.”

The shop is titled ‘Well-Behaved Women’ and I don’t know if that’s better or worse than ‘A Fresh
Tart’. Signs are posted outside to attract customers. Offering a variety of the 'Love Quinn Blood
Smoothie', or the 'Caged salad bowl', and whatever else the Californians like to call healthy. In my
opinion, they need to get over themselves and have some good old fish and chips.

"Let's go before they offer a 'Goldberg Pie'," I say, "You know that's not why we're here."

You sigh, "I know but… She's the mother of my child."

I squeeze your hand and you squeeze it back. It's a signal between us, reminding us to focus on the
present and not what's been.

"Yes, but one good thing doesn't make up for the mistakes she made."
You nod and lead me onto a different street. It doesn’t take us long to end up by the local library.
It’s closed for the day but since Dante more or less became the boss when you and Marienne
disappeared, we agreed to have the meeting here.

He was very nice when I spoke to him on the phone, talking about how if only he and Lansing had
known what was going on they would’ve helped you. Even if the rest of the world’s bought your
story, you’re still a bit of a stranger to them and I suppose I wouldn’t want that in my house either.
You try the entrance door and it’s open.

My first impression of the library is that it’s cozy. Lots of open space, a lot of books, and in the
middle is the reception. Dante’s waiting for us there and you greet him with a hug. He can’t stop
gushing over how happy he is that you’re alive. I stay in the background and I don’t see Lansing
anywhere, or Henry for that matter.

“Dante, I’d like you to meet my-”

You interrupt yourself and look to me for help.

“Partner in crime, Rhys Montrose,” I say.

You roll your eyes at me but Dante laughs and I shake hands with him. We haven’t put a name as
to what we are yet. Boyfriends felt a bit too cheesy and neither of us want to get remarried.

“I remember you, we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says, “Shall we?”

“I guess so,” You say and I can hear how nervous you are.

Dante takes us further back in the library, to the children’s section, and there, on top of a green
couch, is your son.

I was right, Henry does look like you. You didn’t have any new photos of him and were worried
you might not recognize him, but there’s no mistaking father and son. He’s got the same curly hair,
although it’s a bit lighter, and he’s got your mouth and your nose, the only difference is the eyes.

Henry looks up as we walk in and I notice that he’s got her eyes. Oh well, nobody’s perfect. I can
pretend he’s got my eyes even though it’s not my kid.

Lansing is sitting next to Henry and they’re reading a book. Your breath gets caught in your throat
and I know it must be hard for you to not just rush up and hug your son. Lansing puts a bookmark
in and goes up to greet you, saying the same things as Dante did. Maybe they practiced beforehand.
Henry’s looking at us and he’s probably confused about why we’ve interrupted the storytelling.

“Henry,” Dante says, “This is Joe and he’s gonna read with you for a bit, is that okay?”

Dante motions between you and the book Lansing is holding. It’s a copy of the gathered Brothers
Grimm’s fairy tales and now I kind of want to stay for storytime. Henry looks at you and then
nods. Suppose he doesn’t care as long as he gets to hear the end of it. You take the book from
Lansing and sit down next to your son. You open the book and I notice they were reading
Cinderella.

“Alright Henry, can you tell me where you were?” You ask.

“There,” Henry says, pointing to a picture of the pumpkin carriage.

You smile at him and we leave you alone so you can read to Henry in peace. We end up in Dante’s
office, drinking tea and talking about life.

He and Lansing read my book and they are very curious about me and what I do. I talk about the
sequel I’m writing and what I’d like to do as mayor. They also ask me a lot of questions about us
and how we met and this is probably the most intelligent conversation I’ve had since coming to
America.

“More tea?” Lansing asks.

“No I’m good, thank you,” I smile, “You knew how to make a proper cup of tea.”

Lansing chuckles. He’s sitting next to Dante and suddenly, they seem nervous. Dante’s fiddling
with his white cane and Lansing is holding his cup a bit too tightly. We haven’t talked much about
them or Henry for that matter. I know what they do for a living and that Lansing has two kids of
his own from a previous marriage.

“Rhys,” Dante says, “There’s something we wanna ask Joe but we don’t know how to bring it up.”

“Oh? Is it something I can help you with?” I ask.

They exchange a look with each other. A look that says they know what the other one is thinking
without saying anything. I hope we can have that someday, Joe.

“Do you know if Joe’s going to file for custody?” Dante says.

“It’s not that we have a problem with that!” Lansing is quick to add, “We don’t wanna keep him
from his son it’s just… My kids have really taken to Henry and he’s become a part of our family
and- we’d miss him.”

I see why you wanted them to take care of your son. They’ve accepted Henry as their own and
they’re still selfless enough to be prepared to give him back. Dante and Lansing are good people
and I know now that you did the right thing.

“You can rest assured,” I smile at them, “We talked about this not too long ago-“

More specifically, in bed last night when you couldn’t sleep. You were scared they wouldn’t let
you see Henry. You’re still figuring things out, like whether or not you want to stay in London or
go back to New York. You think you’re bad for your son and you don’t want him exposed to the
life we’ve lived.

“- Joe doesn’t wanna uproot Henry from the people he knows. He's not gonna file for custody as
far as I know.”

Dante lets out a relieved breath and Lansing squeezes his thigh. I wonder how many sleepless
nights they’ve had since the news of your survival came out. They must’ve been really worried
you’d want to take Henry away from them, but not even you are that cruel.

“That’s uh- that’s great he’s thinking about what’s best for Henry,” Dante says. “Joe’s always
welcome to visit.”

He’s trying to be nice even though I can tell he’d rather take a victory lap around the office.

“He’d like that, Joe wants to be a part of Henry’s life.” I say, “He can be the cool uncle who brings
lush gifts and rides a motorcycle.”
They laugh at my joke and before they can say anything else, you come into the office. It’s like
you stepped right out of the dream I had. You’re holding Henry in your arms and he’s carrying the
book. The boy is smiling at you and I can see the happiness shining from your eyes. It’s a pure,
unfiltered form of love that only your son will have.

“Rhys, I’d like you to meet someone,” You say.

Henry’s glancing between all of us and the kid seems to like the attention. He’s the baby of the
Ferguson family and Dante and Lansing will no doubt spoil him rotten. It’s your son and he
deserves only the best, just like you. You come up to us and point at where I sit, making Henry
focus his attention on me.

“Henry, this is Rhys, can you say hi?”

“Hi,” Henry says and waves at me.

I feel something warm flutter in my chest. Seeing you reunited with your son and how happy you
are made it all worth it. I get up to properly greet your son and I extend my hand to Henry. They’re
raising him right because Henry takes my hand and gives it a gentle shake. The kid is barely two so
he gets points for trying.

“Hello, you,” I say, “I’ve heard so much about you, Henry.”

He looks at me with those big blue eyes and then scrunches his nose. “You talk funny.”

The room bursts into laughter. I can’t believe I just got roasted by your son. Henry looks pleased
with himself, like he’s happy he made everyone laugh.

He squirms in your embrace and stretches his arms toward Dante and Lansing. You put Henry
down on the floor and he runs up to them with determined steps. Lansing takes the book from
Henry while Dante picks him up and lets him sit in his lap.

“It’s the accent, Henry,” Dante says, ruffling the kid’s hair, “Did you have a good time with Joe?”

“Yeah!” He chirps.

We stay for another hour or so. You get to ask all of the questions you’ve been dying to know
about Henry, what they’ve been doing together, how he’s been. Dante and Lansing are happily
sharing everything they’ve been up to and Henry even joins the conversation once in a while to add
his opinion.

He’s definitely your son, he’s so smart and I love watching you interact with him. As Henry starts
getting tired, we take the cue to leave. Dante and Lansing invite us to dinner the following day and
we’re happy to accept. You get to hug Henry goodbye and I give him a high-five.

It’s dark by the time we go outside. You want to walk back to the hotel and we’ve barely made it
down the block when you push me against a wall.

I grunt from the impact and then you press your lips against mine. You kiss me hungrily, cupping
my cheeks in your hands and I wrap my arms around your waist. I’ll never get enough of kissing
you. We remain close even after our lips part, your breath hot against my mouth.

“Thank you,” You whisper, “I thought I’d never see him again.”

“You did most of the work,” I point out, “I didn’t want you to talk to Kate.”
“Still, I just… if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have dared to come back,” You say, “So thank you.”

“Anything for you, sunshine,” I say.

A curl is covering part of your face and I tuck it behind your ear. “You know, I love you, right?”

“Yes. I love you too, Rhys,” You smile and kiss me again.

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