Nakota fumbled with his keys for a minute before he threw them across the street.

"Nakota, what's wrong?"

"I'm betting money that fucker has this car chipped somewhere. He said he'd always know where you are, no matter what. We have to leave it." He grabbed Clark again, walking him through the alley and out to the street. He hailed a taxi easily enough and stuffed Clark in the back. "Just drive," he ordered the man. The driver didn't need to be told twice. He took off. Clark watched the hotel disappear behind him.

"How's your ankle?" he asked Clark. He tested it out, wincing as he turned it to the right and left.

"Hurts. But I'll be fine. I just twisted it. Again." Nakota nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket. Clark watched him throw it out the window.

"You shouldn't litter," the driver mumbled.

"Head to the car rental place on Marin Boulevard," Nakota replied, shaking his head. Clark could see that he was still filled with adrenaline. The way he bounced his knees and drummed his fingers on his knees were evidence enough. Clark reached out and placed his hand on top of Nakota's, stilling his movements. Nakota kept his eyes aimed at the window but didn't continue fidgeting when Clark pulled his hand back.

"What's the plan now?" he asked the man. They should have been safe at the hotel. There were officers in the building with them when the man cut the lights. They should have protected everyone from this. The sudden realization that this was his fault set in. Clark had caused all of this. If he would have stayed inside back home, nobody would be hurt. VlogCon wouldn't have been shot up. Everything would be okay.

"I need to get a new car. A new phone. I need to talk to your parents, but not on their phones. Do you have the number of someone your dad works with?"

"Yeah," Clark said, "You can call one of the actors. I have her number." Nakota nodded curtly.

"We need money for a hotel, too. Does your card have a limit?"

"No, I suck at money management."

"Good," Nakota said. "We'll stop at an ATM before we get the car. You don't...?"

"No, I don't mind," Clark shook his head. "Take all the money you need, I don't care." His bank account was the last thing he was concerned about. He could spend his money on useless crap if he was dead. He watched Nakota go over his mental checklist.

"So, we're going off the map?" Clark asked.

"Exactly. Let me see your phone."

"I don't have it, I left it at the table."

"We'll get you a new one," he said. Nakota spotted the cab driver looking back at them skeptically in the rear view mirror. "Do we have a problem?" he asked the man.

"I'm just trying to figure out if I'm driving two criminals on the run or not."

"We're on the run, but not from the law," Clark explained. "Two hundred dollars and you'll pretend like you've never seen our faces or heard of us. Got it?"

"Mhm." The drive looked back at the road, quiet as a mouse. Clark sat back in his seat and let out a breath. He inspected himself to see if anything had broken. His nose was sore to the touch, and his hand still hurt from someone's foot smashing it into the floor. Nakota watched his inspection silently, his eyes narrow and hard.

"You didn't do this," Clark said without looking up. He slowly bent his fingers, making sure none of them were broken.

"Stop sticking up for me. Strike three on my part."

"You do release that I'd probably be in a worse position if you were there, right? If you weren't there when he was outside my window? When Dex wanted to fight me? When he was walking right at me and I could barely see through my tears? I'd be dead by now, so stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself," Clark said. He hadn't meant for that to come out so harsh, but he couldn't take it back. To soften the blow, he added, "Sorry, but... you're doing fine."

"You don't get it," Nakota said, laughing without humor. Clark looked at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, he said,

"I don't get what?"

"It doesn't matter. We're here." The driver pulled up to the curb and Clark handed him off the money, adding in a few extra large bills for his troubles. They stopped by the ATM nearby. Clark withdrew as much as the machine would give him, just over a grand. He followed Nakota up to the building and through the door. The establishment wasn't very large, and behind the desk sat one man and a woman at the computer. Clark took a seat in one of the two chairs off to the side and let Nakota handle the situation.

The sound of the two men talking faded into background noise and Clark closed his eyes. He blocked every noise out and focused on steadying his heartbeat. They weren't that close to the hotel, but he still felt like the stalker might show up at any time. He wasn't stupid enough to think they were out of the clear yet. Once they were out of the city, he'd let himself relax completely. Until then, he had to be ready to run – well, limp – at any given notice.

The bell chimed and Clark's eyes snapped open. He expected to see the man from the convention pacing towards him with that same malevolent smile tugging taut at his cheeks. Instead, he watched Nakota and the man from the desk walk out and survey the cars. It didn't take Nakota much more than five minutes to decide which they needed. He picked a small black sedan, completely unremarkable in every way. The two returned and Clark watched as the paperwork was printed out and Nakota filled out his information. He placed three hundred dollars on the counter and took the keys, waving for Clark to follow. On his way out, he heard the man inside say,

"Sir, you need to take—"

"Let's go," Nakota said. Clark took a seat in the Chrysler and buckled himself in. In the rear view mirror, he could see the man waving papers at them but Nakota didn't seem to care. He was in the zone, his blinders on full blast. They pulled out of the parking lot and were off.

"Maybe we should slow down," Clark suggested. They may have been going the speed limit, but the way Nakota was so focused, it felt like they were moving a million miles per hour. He dropped his eyes when the other looked at him crossly.

"You realize what we're on the run from, right?"

"Yes," Clark said, screwing up his face. "I'm not an idiot, I realize the stakes. Don't be a dick to me."

"Then don't ask stupid questions," Nakota muttered.

"Okay, I don't know what your problem is, but do not take your anger out on me. It's not my fault he started shooting." Clark paused. "Okay, so maybe it is my fault that he was there. But I saved you from almost getting shot. He wasn't going to pull the trigger until you got there." Clark shook his head in disbelief. Although the two of them hadn't known each other for more than a month, he was surprised to see this side of Nakota. Where the man once seemed calm and collected, he was now irritable and snappy.

"I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just pissed off because this motherfucker is still out there and nobody has been able to catch him yet. He pulled a fucking gun on me. The next time I see him, I'm shoving it up his ass and pulling the trigger."

"Kinky," Clark said under his breath. He sat back in the chair and looked out the window. There was a drug store not too far from where they were, and he led Nakota there. The man climbed out and quickly purchased a prepaid phone, tossing a few bags of chips on the counter as well. He paid and returned to the ca.

"What are these for?" Clark asked, looking at the bags of Cheetos and Fritos.

"In case you get hungry. You didn't eat anything at the café earlier."

"Thanks," Clark said begrudgingly. Nakota dragged his pocketknife against the hard plastic of the purple phone and opened the packaging. While he turned it on, Clark opened a bag of Hot Cheetos and ate.

"What's the number to call for your dad?"

"Here, lemme see it." Clark slipped the phone from his hands and typed in the actor's number. He'd met the Norse god once, but they'd exchanged numbers. Platonically, of course. He waited patiently for the line to pick up before he asked for his father. Once Darin was on the line, Clark handed the phone back.

"Darin," Nakota said, "Clark was wrong, this place isn't safe either."

"Fuck off," Clark muttered, only half-annoyed by his comment.

"There was an incident at the convention, and I'm almost certain whoever this person is, they had Clark and I tracked. I don't know whether he's tapped your phone and Stacy's either, but I want you to get rid of them and stay in a hotel as well. Clark and I are leaving for one right now, but I had to let you know what was going on." There was a pause, and Clark could just barely make out the sound of his father's voice.

"Exactly," Nakota continued. "Get rid of your phones. Tell Stacy to get somewhere safe. If you have to, come home and look after her. I don't know how unstable this man is. He could very easily fly back over there and attempt to break into the house now that Clark is gone. I just want you two to be safe as well. And send Jennifer home for the week. Just in case." Nakota nodded and then handed the phone over to Clark.

"Hey, Dad," he said.

"Are you okay?" the man asked at the same time.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied. It still hurt to bend his fingers and his ankle felt swollen. "Please take care of Mom, okay?"

"Of course I will." Clark nodded to himself and felt his eyes sting. The only thing worse than knowing that there was a possibility that the man might go after his parents was not being able to stop him. Not being able to be there with his family.

"I love you, Dad. So, so much."

"I love you, too. But I want you to be brave for me, okay? I want you to listen to Nakota. Do exactly what he says. He's doing everything he can to protect you, so listen to him. Promise me."

"I promise," he said. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. He squeezed his injured hand into a fist and allowed himself to focus on that pain rather than crying. "I have to go now. I still need to call Ruby and let her know what's going on."

"Okay. Love you, bud."

"Love you, too. Bye." Clark hung up and clenched his hand around the cellphone. He was still for a moment.

"We're gonna be okay, Clark," Nakota said softly. Clark nodded.

"I need to call the hotel and have them call Ruby down. Just in case he bugged her phone too. Resourceful piece of shit." Clark dialed the hotel lobby's number, bouncing his knees as he waited for the clerk to pick up. He was placed on hold, and Ruby picked up a few minutes later.

"Clark, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you okay? Please tell me you weren't in the audience?"

"No, I overslept like a dumbass. What happened down there? There are police everywhere. Two or three people got shot, and someone said there are at least fifty people who have head injuries or broken bones." Clark sighed but kept from beating himself up. He knew that this wasn't directly his fault, but he had a responsibility to stop it somehow.

"The guy turned up at the hotel. He messed with the setup or something – I don't know how he did it – but the lights went out and everyone was losing their shit. Then he started shooting. We got out before anything seriously bad happened to us, but promise me you'll get out of there. He called me in the bathroom before we left and implied that he would hurt my mom."

"What?" Nakota growled.

"Jesus, Clark, and you didn't say anything about it?" Ruby cried.

"No, because I thought we'd be safe from him across the country. Jokes on me, I fucking get it. Point is, you need to go. Get Lawson, Jenna, whoever you can, and get out of there. If he's willing to hurt my parents, he'll probably be willing to hurt you guys as well. Get rid of your phones and cars, and use cash only."

"This is serious," she whispered. "Okay, okay, we'll do that. How do we know when it's all over?"

Clark was silent for a minute. "I don't know... But you have to go. Now," he finally said. He knew there were only three ways this entire situation went down. In the first scenario, the police caught him before anything bad could happen. In the second, this man killed Clark and got away with his crimes. The third one was the scenario he feared the most. If the police couldn't stop him and this man was determined to harm him, then he knew what had to be done. He knew he'd have to kill the man himself.

+

Nakota drove for nearly four hours before they stopped at a motel. It was almost seven, and he hadn't seen anyone suspicious following them at all. This motel wasn't the nicest but neither of them were picky. Clark followed Nakota up to the front desk and they purchased a room for the night. The second the hotel door was closed, Clark collapsed on the bed and kicked his shoes off.

The room was musky and smelled of cigarettes long since put out. The comforter underneath him was rough against his skin but he couldn't complain. He was safe for now, and that was all that mattered. Nakota tossed his keys onto the table and pulled his jacket off. Clark knew without being told that he was in another mood. The entire car ride after his call with Ruby had been the man chastising him for not being honest and letting him know what happened in the bathroom at the airport.

Nakota took a seat at the desk and put his face in his hands, a sigh rushing from his chest. He was exhausted and primetime TV hadn't even started yet. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked Clark.

"Nothing." Clark rolled over to face the wall, his back to the man.

"I'm serious. We need to eat, and I'm not ordering delivery."

"I don't want anything."

"Starve then. Get up, we're leaving," the man muttered. He grabbed his keys and started for the door.

"I know you blame me," Clark said suddenly. Nakota stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at the other's back.

"What?"

Clark could feel his hardened gaze on him, even with his back to the man. "I know you blame me. In a way. I didn't tell you about the airport, and you blame me for what happened at the convention. You don't have to say it, but I know it's true."

"Clark, I don't blame you."

"Yeah, you do. You won't come out and say it because you know it'll make you sound like an asshole. You don't want to put this on me. But I know it's my fault. I know I didn't cause those people harm on my own, but had I not gone to the convention, nobody would have gotten hurt. Everyone keeps getting hurt because of me."

"Please don't tell this is one of those monologues where you tell me to leave because I'll get hurt, too." Nakota rolled his eyes at Clark's drama.

"No, I'm not stupid. I obviously need you here. Sending you away means I end up dead and on the front page of all the tabloids. I just want you to know that I'm aware that this is all my fault, and you don't have to worry about it anymore." Clark couldn't help but spit the word 'worry' venomously.

"How about you stop feeling sorry for yourself instead, huh?"

"Oh, so I'm the one who feels sorry all the damn time?" Clark rolled over to look at the man, making sure he was talking to the same person and not some stranger who'd suddenly replaced Nakota. "Are you seriously going to pretend like you don't spend all your time worrying about how bad things are, and when they do get rough, you mope around, lost in your mind? I mean, I can get that paranoia is kind of a big deal in this situation, but c'mon, you worry about every little thing."

"Because that's my fucking job, Clark! Your parents pay me to literally worry about you, every waking minute of the day. My job description is to practically protect you with my life, so of course I'm going to worry about every little thing. But I don't expect you to care. You're too busy making little videos about turning a stupid toilet paper roll into a desk organizer."

"And you said you didn't think my videos were stupid," Clark laughed. "I can't believe I actually thought you'd get it. Nobody ever does."

"Poor Clark and his tough, unrelatable life. But not so unrelatable that he can't spin it into a profit," Nakota said.

"You're seriously such a fucking asshole, and I can't believe I even entertained the idea of having a relationship with you after all this was over."

"You'll find someone to collab with soon enough, and you won't have to worry about me."

"God forbid I want a second to pretend like someone doesn't want to fucking murder me," Clark shouted. He stood up fast, crossing the room to get in Nakota's face. "I've got an idea for you. Instead of trying to understand why it is that I make these videos, try doing your job and stop letting innocent people get hurt. How about that?"

Clark had gone too far, and it only took a moment to realize it. That fiery passion in Nakota's eyes that came from insulting and teasing his anxiety had dimmed out. He stared back at Clark with an intensity he'd never seen before. Nakota shoved him back and walked to the door. He left without a word. Clark sat on the bed and cursed at himself for taking things that far.

An hour went by and Nakota still hadn't come back inside. Clark opened the door just a crack to find an empty parking space. He closed the door and returned to his bed. Nakota was probably out driving, letting off his steam. As much as he hated to admit it, Clark had crossed the line, and he'd have to make up for it.

He tried distracting himself from that fact with the television. Unfortunately, finding out that Sean was the baby's father wasn't as enthralling as he usually found it to be. The cooking channel didn't make him hungry like it did any other time. Clark couldn't even find amusement in Catfish. Watching the hosts introduce the client of the week to someone they met online felt far too similar to his current situation.

It was almost nine when Nakota finally retuned. Clark had fallen asleep for thirty minutes but shot up when Nakota returned. The first thing out of his mouth was, "I'm sorry for what I said."

Nakota looked at him as if he hadn't said a word. He crumbled up a fast food bag and tossed it in the small metal bin beside the door.

"I was mad about something stupid, and I know I really hurt you by blaming you. What happened at the hotel is my fault. You're looking out for me, and I should be more appreciate about that." Clark picked at his nails while waiting for a response.

"I don't want an apology," the man said. He looked away from Clark and up at the terrible paintings hanging on the walls. "I want you to understand."

"Understand what? I'm listening."

"Understand why what you said hurts me more than anything someone's said to me in a long time." Nakota took a seat on the bed, leaving Clark to stand and wallow in his self-hate. "When I first turned eighteen, I moved to California. Got out of my shitty foster home on my birthday. I had a few friends there and I ended up couch surfing. Me and my friend Grant clicked pretty well. We ended up getting a place together, and things were great for a long time. But when I lost my job and money started getting tight, we had some issues. Petty arguments over food and shit. He wanted to apologize for breaking my phone charger, so he went out to get some cigarettes and junk food. Didn't come back."

Clark slowly turned around. He needed to know more. Nakota's knees bounced and he kept his eyes on the floor, trying to work up the courage to continue.

"I had no idea where he'd gone. After about three hours, I went to see what happened. Couple of dudes rolled up in the store and robbed the place. Shot him in the chest and left him for dead. He was buying me a new charger as a surprise, too. And when I finally got my phone back on, I had a voicemail from him. Right after he'd been shot, he'd called me to tell me he was sorry for fighting with me."

"God," Clark whispered.

"I've never forgiven myself for that. He was the only person I really cared about. He was an innocent person who'd gotten hurt because of me."

Clark felt like the lowest of the low. He wanted to kick himself in the crotch for saying what he had before Nakota stormed off. It was a low blow, and even if he hadn't known the full extent of his words, he'd gone way too far for his comment to be justified.

"I'm so sorry, Nakota. I know it doesn't excuse what I said, but I was so mad at you. I was mad at myself. I was mad at what happened at the hotel. Just... mad at everything and everyone. But I wouldn't have said it if I knew what you'd been through. I'm sorry." Clark's voice broke and he looked away. He was so tired of crying, and it only made him mad all over again that he was doing it now.

"I know. I thought you should know why I left. It was stupid of me to leave, but I knew that if I didn't, I would have done something even worse." Nakota glanced at Clark. He watched him wipe away at his wet face.

"I'm the fucking worst," Clark muttered.

"It was a tense situation. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Stop being nice to me. I'm a huge piece of shit and it's becoming very apparent."

"You're not a piece of shit. You're just a kid," Nakota said. Clark pulled his hands from his eyes and glared at the man. "Right, sorry. You're just a guy who's in a tough spot and you're afraid."

Hearing it out loud made it even worse. Clark didn't just feel afraid, though. He felt helpless. No matter where he went or what he tried to do, someone was always watching him. Someone had more control over his life and it made him sick to his stomach.

"You know, you should just leave and let him come after me. Obviously it doesn't matter where we go, he's going to find us. You're not the one he wants, so you don't have to go through any of this."

"You said you weren't going to make this a monologue about me leaving," Nakota said.

"Yeah, well, I am now. What do you owe me? What have I done for you besides get you shot at and endanger your life every step of the way? We flew across the country and he still found us. It's useless," Clark said. He cupped his face and pressed his fingers into his skin roughly. The pain in his fingers distracted him once again. Clark heard the bed squeak and felt Nakota right in front of him.

"Look at me," the man said, removing his hands from his face. "Look. I'm not leaving you. Okay? I'm not leaving you because not only is it my job, but because I don't want to see anything bad happen to you."

"What do you care, though? How do I matter in the long run?"

"Don't be self-deprecating, Clark," Nakota said. "You're funny, and you're smart, and you have a lot to offer people. I know I called your videos a cheap get rich quick scheme—"

"You did?"

"In the car, like an hour ago, but still," Nakota said with embarrassment. "But at the end of the day, that was me just talking shit because I was upset. I know that they're important to you, and I've seen how many people's lives you've changed because of a simple 'storytime' video. You get people. You care about people. And I know that's why you want me to leave, and why you'd probably be happier here alone, but I'm not leaving. I'm not letting you push everyone away."

Clark looked up at Nakota, curiosity and the last remnants of tears glimmering in his eyes. His stomach flipped and he considered pulling away but his body was frozen in place. He swallowed had. Nakota stared back, his eyes soft and deep. Before Clark knew what he was doing, he pushed up on his toes and pressed his lips to Nakota's.

He felt his head spin, like he'd stood up too fast, perfectly off balance. He could taste something sweet on Nakota's tongue. It was soda. When Clark realized what he was doing, he pulled away suddenly.

"S-sorry," he said, catching his breath. His heart pounded, the drumline of a marching band. Nakota was silent for a moment, his eyes still shut. Clark worried he'd just screwed things up for good, but when the man finally blinked, there was a slight smile on his face.

"That was unexpected."

"It was inappropriate," Clark said, stepping back. Before he could get too far, Nakota had a hand around his waist and was pulling him back. Their chests touched and it was Nakota's turn to plant a kiss on him. This one wasn't as soft as the first, but it still filled Clark with that same sense of elated energy. The same way a shot of vodka warmed him from the inside, this kiss made him feel cozy and close. His hands found their way to either side of Nakota's head. He held him as their lips moved with one another.

The kiss broke for only a moment, just long enough for Nakota to sit down on the bed and pull Clark into his lap, and then it was back on. Nakota kissed from Clark's lips down to his neck. His arms slid down from his shoulders to the small of his back. Clark's breath hitched and his back arched. He knew deep in the back of his mind that this might not have been the best move, but he didn't care. He wanted a break from the constant fear of death – he deserved a break, even for just a few minutes.

Kissing Nakota was nice, but slipping under the covers with him was a much better distraction. 

+