Title: "Where The Heart Is"
Rating/Classification: SAC, Coleman/Skye, ficlet.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Summary: They've been going down this road for a year and a half. Set after Skye is convicted of Ross' murder.
She's curled up against the door, her faced turned towards the window.
If her eyes were open, she would see the trees whizzing by, the haze of green growing thicker and thicker the farther they get from civilization.
Some country song about cheatin' hearts is playing on the radio. She
fiddled with the dials when they were twenty minutes past the border. Something to do with her hands. She flipped past the blues with a shudder.
"Why Canada?" he'd asked her, incredulous. "Wouldn't you rather be on a beach somewhere drinking rum and Cokes?" At her answering glare, he'd
corrected himself. "Okay, just Coke, Babe. Sorry." Of course, he knows that if she were aiming to get run over by the wagon again, her poison of choice would be vodka.
Vodka makes her wake up with strange men and death.
Desperation made her leave with him.
She'd laughed, that snooty society laugh that she whipped out whenever
she was hurting. "Don't you know? Canada is a fugitive's paradise. It's the place to be. Everyone who's anyone goes to Canada."
"Well, I'm a nobody...so what the Hell am I doin' drivin'?"
"Coleman..." She'd put the back of her hand against his cheek, stroking his jaw with her knuckles. "Thank you."
They both know what he's doing.
Why he conned the prison van driver after that ridiculous trial. Why
he'd chucked his whole life, hopped in his car, and bought a whole stack of Almond Joy bars at the last gas station just because she likes them.
He's all she has.
She's all he wants.
They've been going down this road for a year and a half. About as long as the average movie star marriage. With more bumps, more booze, and the
occasional dose of blackmail. It should figure. It all started because he
pretended he was driving her home. They've come full circle. He could easily spend half his life in a car with Skye. At this rate, he might be doing just that.
"It's going to be dark soon."
"I thought you were asleep." He keeps one hand on the wheel, one eye out the windshield and focused on the horizon. Her hair is sticking up. There
are blue smudges underneath her eyes. She looks like Hell. She's the most
gorgeous thing he's ever seen. She leans into his fingers, kissing the tips.
"I don't think I'll ever sleep again," she murmurs, dryly. Her voice is
hoarse, scratchy, and he knows she's lying, she must have caught a few
z's. Maybe she doesn't like her dreams. Full of dead cops and lethal injections and ghosts.
"You will. When we get there. You'll have plenty of time to rest," he
promises, wondering if the semi behind him would freak if he jerked over
onto the shoulder. The need to kiss her hits him at the most insane moments.
She arches an eyebrow while he gives in to the impulse. "Where's 'there'?" she asks, as the eighteen wheeler yanks on his chain, blasting him. He doesn't pay it any mind, putting the car in park and dragging her over the
She tastes like melted chocolate and coconut. Like gratitude and slow sex and fighting over the t.v. remote.
"I don't know." He smiles. "But I reckon it'll be home."
June 29, 2004.