It's a bit late for Valentine's Day, but I figured I'd try my hand in a bit of romance between Scarface and Leah. Have pity on me? Same crime!AU I seem to be running on, currently, different interpretation of it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this, these characters are from Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

Rule number one of being a professional criminal: Always be ready to leave at a moments notice.

Packed bags, passports, money—no personal belongings left behind. Stripping an apartment, a shack, a shed, shouldn't take longer than fifteen minutes. Anything left behind should be safe for burning. Now, a known criminal, or, at least, someone who was rarely on the right side of anything, should never have to use this rule, if they're careful enough.

This time, Leah drew the short straw. In all reality, she shouldn't have been caught. She wasn't idiotic; the disguise had been fantastic—they had spent half an hour patting charcoal around her jaw, pinning her hair to be elaborately hidden under a cap she stole from some kid, and finding a loose enough shirt to hide what bindings couldn't eliminate. Macon himself had read her lines; when it was all finished, the Cast lent Macon's voice to her. She shouldn't have been caught.

She had, for some reason she couldn't fathom. Given, the charcoal stubble only worked if the lighting was dim enough, but the bar hadn't been the most legal of places. The lack of lighting, as well as her strategic position in the corner of the bar, caused enough shadows that Leah had been convinced she didn't need the coal.

By now, though, she had cursed Macon five times over. Someone had noticed the catch in her borrowed voice, someone had noticed enough to actually care, and she was suddenly thrown against a wall. The person behind her, some brute who speech slurred and hands were rough, snickered something in her ear, but she muttered her way through her last resort, Traveling.

If she ended up in the middle of nowhere, she didn't mind. If she didn't have time to burn the shed she had called home for the last week, it wasn't horrible. The Caster—he could have been an Incubus, now that she thought about it—wouldn't think of using petty things to track her, like a piece of her hair, a fingernail. She hoped he wasn't that brand of criminal. She took a deep breath.

All that mattered was that her hands were still tied, the moon was still high, her cover was blown, and a certain someone had foolishly left their light on. The same idiot somehow managed to leave their door unlocked.

Effingham was the kind of town the rest of the country tends to forget. The Lynches River passed through the southern region, near the hiking trails, the library was decent, and the movie theater sometimes would have an organist come in on the weekends to play for twenty minutes before each film.

Ludovic had to drive at least an hour if he wanted to find any store that was a chain. The movies were never current.

He loved it.

It was a Sunday night—normally, Ludovic tried to be in bed by ten—but he'd let himself be caught up in his latest project—repairing the latest rusted vehicle to come to his garage—when he heard his front door open. He only cared, fleetingly; not because it was accompanied by footsteps—he wasn't the most social of creatures, however sometimes customers took it upon themselves to enter his home—but because it was eleven-thirty at night.

He was on his feet, though, trying to be quiet even though every breath from him sounded like a bomb going off. He listened carefully to the clamor, padded into his bedroom, and grabbed his pistol from his nightstand. Move to a small town, they'd said. It'll be less stressful, they said. Things like this never happened in Effingham. There was a clatter in the main foyer. People didn't get robbed, not in small towns, and especially not Ludovic's house.

Ludovic kept his finger on the trigger, his knuckles white as he crept down the hall. A thin form leaned against his counter, too thin; gods, the person must have been barely old enough to drink. Ludovic could see the kid had some stubble, at least a generous shadow, and a fob chain glinted in the dim light. The kid fumbled with one of Fitz's tools, cursing under his breath.

The kid didn't intimidate Ludovic. He was an adult, definitely taller and heavier than whoever was stumbling in his kitchen, and the scar splitting his cheek was menacing enough. Ludovic took a breath and prepared to utter something intimidating, something that brought out his eastern European accent, when the kid turned his attention to Ludovic. He swallowed his words; his tongue stalled and pressed against his teeth instead of spouting the monologue he had planned. A gun pointed steadily at him. He didn't look like the desperate, on-edge criminal Ludovic wanted him to be. If anything, he was laid back, his dark eyes staring intently at Ludovic.

"An unloaded pistol, eh? I didn't know that was considered as a security measure." The gun remained steadily pointed at Ludovic's thudding heart. "Put it down."

Ludovic couldn't move. He couldn't help thinking how, in the movies, disarming someone appeared far easier than this. If he made it out alive, he swore to take kickboxing, anything to help with the physical aspect of this.

The kid—he couldn't be older than twenty-two, tops—narrowed his eyes when Ludovic didn't immediately comply. "I'm going to repeat myself, only because I'm guessing this is the first time someone's pointed a gun at you."

"Okay." Ludovic's voice wavered. He held the pistol in one hand, keeping his other hand out, fingers spread. "Okay, I'll just—I'll just put it down." Ludovic's legs shook as he put the gun on the floor. The kid smiled prettily.

"Good. Kick it over to me." Ludovic obeyed, the kid took the pistol, and tossed it out the front door. Ludovic thought maybe the Colt would go away after that, but it stayed tracking him. Ludovic took a deep breath, struggling to calm down, and that was when he took in the big picture.

The kid was skinny, and he had—well, he had Ludovic's bolt cutters in hand. His wrists—oh gods, his wrists—were bleeding badly. Nothing that would kill him, probably, but it was obvious that the skin was raw underneath and had only gotten worse. On the ground glimmered two silver half circles—and Ludovic realized, belatedly, they were handcuffs cut in half, and that was when the kid used one hand to finish off the other cuff on his left hand. The bolt-cutter nicked the inside of the skin before it cut through the metal.

There was dirt on the kid's face, probably from the woods, wherever he came from. Ludovic lived miles away from…well, everyone. The mud—Ludovic hoped the dark stain was mud instead of blood—spread up on the kid's pants, on his sleeves. He went to wipe his still bleeding wrists on his pants and Ludovic's hand flew out.

"Don't!" The gun didn't go off, the kid's grip didn't falter, but his eyes did widen. "It'll get infected."

The kid grinned, his eyes still stern. "No offense, but it's not your problem. I'm going get out of…" the kid stumbled, faltered, "wherever this is, and you're going to go back to sleep, and tomorrow you're going to do whatever it is people do for fun out here." The kid sighed and ran his wrist under the sink water. Ludovic tried not to be concerned with the crimson.

Ludovic's heart pounded in his chest, and what the kid was saying made sense. Hell, he was a criminal. Ludovic should be glad that kid wanted to get out of his house as soon as possible.

But Ludovic couldn't help thinking of the neighbor kids, the ones who ran to him when their parents car started smoking or who relied on him to fix their bicycles. "I have a first aid kit. I'll go get it, it's in the bathroom—"

"I'm coming with you." Ludovic thought the short walk to the bathroom would take an hour, slowly inching forward with a gun pressed against his back. Instead, it was almost normal, the kid keeping his distance but never putting down the weapon. Ludovic grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink quickly.

"There's more room in the kitchen." His voice didn't shake this time.

"Fantastic," the kid smiled easily, "lead the way."

It was midnight when they sat down at the table. The kid put his gun away with a cocky smirk as he drawled, "I don't have to say something along the lines of 'don't try anything', right?"

Ludovic took the kid's hands into his own instead of answering. He pushed up his own shirtsleeves and assessed the damage. The cuts were raw, not deep, and, surprisingly, there wasn't a shiver in the kid's system when he grabbed for the alcohol. He easily poured alcohol onto cotton balls and glanced up at the kid. "This is going to sting." The kid didn't say anything, but when Ludovic's hand pressed against his skin to flush out the wounds he hissed, his shoulders jumped. Ludovic whispered a litany of, "I know, I know," under his breath but kept at it, making sure to get all the dirt out before moving to the other hand. When he was done he wrapped the kid's wrists in gauze. He finished off the smaller cuts with Band-Aids. The kid raised a delicate eyebrow at the pink gingham pattern on them.

"You have children?"

"What?" Ludovic hiccupped, dropping the kid's arm. "No, no—well, I have students, sometimes I call them my kids, but most teachers do—but I don't have kids—kids, someday, hopefully, but not today. No kids."

It was a miracle Ludovic hadn't gotten himself shot already.

There was a brief moment of silence that seemed to last forever, but then the kid laughed, quiet like bells, wiping his eyes as he settled down.

"Yeah well, it's a good thing not to rush. A handsome guy like you must be beating those women away with a stick." He winked, and Ludovic knew he was blushing, he could feel it. Judging by the kid's smirk, Ludovic's cheeks were scarlet.

The gingham Band-Aids were sweet, in an adorable way. Leah rubbed them absentmindedly and enjoyed watching the man squirm. He was an idiot. An attractive idiot in an "I'm a fiscally responsible adult who has pink Band-Aids" way.

Leah pulled her sleeves down and stretched. "All right, thanks for that—I'm going to get out of here."

"Uh—" Leah stopped and shot a glance at the man. For someone who wanted her to leave, he was fairly interesting in not having her leave his property. "It's just—it's dark. And I live miles away from everyone. Unless… are you really familiar with this area?"

Leah shifted, uncomfortable. "Well, my brother used to live somewhere around here—"

"Where?"

"By the river—why—"

"That's on the opposite side of town, doll."

There was a silence, because Leah had slipped again and should have checked, should have remembered. She had lost track of her lies again. Macon wouldn't have stood for the ramble of a shack by the river; hell, a few blankets might still be on its floor, marked with her stitching. She was out of immediate danger, of course. Hells, she doubted Hunting's men had even recognized her, but, still, it was sloppy. She was losing it. As she berated herself internally, she noticed that the man, her sort-of-not-really-hostage, was staring at her.

"I can make something to eat, if you're hungry." It had been a while since Leah had been as scared as this man probably was. She had forgotten the flustered things people said; the man's face was still flushed. Leah usually didn't take pity on people, but she figured she'd give him a pass.

"Sounds lovely—" The man stood up immediately, making Leah go back to being armed in less than a second. The man's hands shot up, he jumped backwards, and his back slammed against cupboards. It must have hurt, judging by his wince. Leah should never have put her gun away. She kept it trained on the man's chest, making sure to school her expression calm.

"Do you…do you like pasta?" His eyes focused Leah's gun; she lowered it to aim at his stomach.

"What kind?" Half an hour later, Leah was digging into some of the most delicious penne she'd ever had, which included Macon's cooking. Leah put down her gun to eat and struggled not to moan at the flavor. The man ate, as well, but he talked more than he had the entire evening. His name was Ludovic Fitzwilliam; he was a high school teacher who specialized in mechanics, the scar was from a mugger in the city, the reason he moved to Effingham, and he learned his impeccable cooking skills from an ex-girlfriend. He wore contacts but had a back-up pair of glasses. Also, he seemed to hate most trucks, except Fords, which was another mistake Leah somehow managed to make.

Fitz pushed up the sleeves on his cardigan and ran his fingers through his hair. He was talking about vent seals, counter shafts, and bearings—none of which Leah would remember later, but it didn't matter. Fitz could have lapsed into tongues for all Leah cared; what was getting Leah's attention was the light flush to his cheeks and the shine in his eyes. She wanted to ruin him. Leah was almost startled at how fast her blood went from cool to fire-hot. She liked to think she didn't have a type, that she'd figure it out when she needed to. Fitz's whole pure-as-the-driven-snow personality was certainly making Leah wonder.

Fitz kept talking. Leah bit the inside of her own cheek to bring herself back into reality.

Rule number two of being a professional criminal: Don't flirt with a hostage.

Leah told herself laughing at Fitz's enthusiasm wasn't breaking the second rule. It wasn't. She was still in control.

When Ludovic was small enough to not be paralyzed by fear, he would often be scolded for feeding strays. He didn't think of them as that, of course. They were lost, that was all. Eventually, his mother tried to sit him down, her smile kind but stern. "Ludovic, you don't want strays sticking around. They only bring trouble."

It wasn't that Ludovic didn't understand the dangers. He understood the risk quite well; once, a dog had bit him, and he'd lost count of the number of cats that scratched his arms. He would see a dog, though, with visible ribs, and, all of a sudden, he didn't need his lunch. His stomach curled at the thought. He would feed his sandwich to the mutt, instead. Somehow, that much made the day a little better. Ludovic's criminal guest called himself Liam. It might have been a fake name, but it was better than calling him "kid" in his head all the time. Liam seemed to think Ludovic's babbling was rather hilarious as he spread out a map across the table, if he could trust the gleam of a smile offered.

"My road goes on for four miles." Ludovic rubbed his eyes, yawning. "You take this all the way to the Interstate." He eyed Liam, who didn't seem tired at all. "You…you can drive, right?"

Liam smiled. "Don't worry." He leaned over the map, his arm brushing Ludovic's shoulder as Ludovic struggled to not feel like the world's oldest man. "All right, on your road, who's the most annoying?"

"What…who is—why?"

Liam grinned again, and Ludovic hated how absolutely charming it was. "Well, either I steal your car, and you don't get to your class on time, or I pick a random house on your street and steal their car, which could bum out a perfectly decent person." He leaned back and tilted his head, adjusted his cap. "Or, you can tell me someone who's an asshole on your street so I can steal their car."

Ludovic opened his mouth, denial on his tongue. Liam drummed his fingers against the table. "You've ten seconds. Sun's coming up; I need a car. I don't want to ruin some family's day because someone didn't have the courage to make a—"

"Here." Ludovic's chest was tight as he pointed to the house five down from him. "This one." The house belonged to the funeral director. Fitz owed him a practically new car, anyway. It wouldn't be difficult to find him a used hearse, remodel the engine, and return it. Hells, it'd probably be less of an investment. Liam studied it quizzically, repeated the exact address when Ludovic told it to him, and, then, clapped his hands together.

"Got it." Ludovic watched as the dark sky began to get hints of a lighter blue. The sun hadn't technically risen yet, but it was light enough out, a frigid mist crept over the hills. The screech of the chair being pushed back made Ludovic's leg jump. Liam stood and tore at his own shirt, exposing the soft plane of his abdomen as his pants slipped down.

Liam cleared his throat. Ludovic's day couldn't possibly get worse, and that was when he saw Liam toying with the long strip of his own shirt. "Think of this like hide and seek. Count to one-hundred, and then you can take this off." Ludovic straightened in his chair as Liam stepped between his legs and tied the cloth around his eyes. He could feel Liam's legs brush against the inside of his thighs. His breath was on Ludovic's cheek as the cloth tightened around his eyes. "I don't want to shoot you. You've been an idiotically gracious host. Please, get some locks for your door."

Liam retreated, his steps soft against Ludovic's floor. Within seconds, Liam was out of the door.

When Liam finally pulled off the blindfold, he had about fifteen minutes to get ready for school. There was ten thousand dollars stacked neatly on his kitchen table.

It wasn't a mistake. Liam was young, but he didn't seem like the type of kid to just leave money. Between his own hopes and the sprig of bluebells, he hoped it was more than a coincidence.

Ludovic hid it in the back of his closet, in a shoebox.

Ludovic didn't usually go to bars—the noise and crowding made his nerves itch—but it was a colleague's birthday. She was charming enough, he supposed. She dropped off cookies whenever she passed his house, which seemed more frequent than necessary or plausible.

Her name was Janine. The neighborhood kids seemed to think the two of them would make a decent pair; the sentiment moved up into their parents, as well. Ludovic would smile and laugh it off, but, if he was being honest, the people's insistence made him uncomfortable. He supposed it was a small-town thing.

He excused himself, pulled on his coat and scarf. Janine, whose cheeks were flushed, grabbed his arm. Another drunken insistence fell from her lips. Ludovic forced a grin, and gently pulled away. "I have quizzes to grade. I'll see you Monday."

With a final wave to everyone, Ludovic left, bundled up, and headed to his car. He wondered if, maybe, he was being too harsh, that maybe he should just…go out with Janine.

Even though anytime he thought about the concept of dating, his thoughts lurched to the morning he was blindfolded by a kid who couldn't have known what he was doing, but whose fingers were entirely too sure. Ludovic pulled into his driveway to see that another car was already in his spot under the oak tree, and someone was nested on his porch. He turned off his truck, wondering if one of his neighbors had a broken laptop or a stranger's engine wouldn't turn over—which was when he saw the glint of an easy-going smirk that had been haunting him for months.

"Hey, Fitz." Liam was in a sweater, he must have been cold, but he didn't let it show. He was still far too skinny, and Liam's heart thudded in his chest.

"Hello." His grip tightened on his keys, slid them between his fingers as a blade.

Liam seemed to read his mind; he waved him forward with an easy flick of his wrist. "I don't have a gun. Here, I'll teach you how to look." Liam's grip was strong around Ludovic's wrist, and he directed Ludovic's hands to his sides, to his thighs and hips—pressing Ludovic's hands hard against Liam's clothes and skin. When Ludovic couldn't feel anything except Liam's warmth and the ripple of subtle muscle, Liam grinned. "See? Completely safe."

Their breath puffed out into the cold in front of them. Ludovic was worried the words on his tongue were going to slip out—something along the lines of do you want dinner? or how have you been?—but, Liam's hand tightened on his, and Ludovic realized there were other ideas.

Ludovic kissed exactly the way Leah knew he would.

He was so stupidly sweet about it. His hands were so soft and they rested on Leah's cheek once they were inside. He kissed the way little girls dreamed of Prince Charming kissing. Chaste until otherwise specified. She didn't have enough time for something along those lines, not enough time to leave an imprint at that rate.

Leah shoved Ludovic up against his kitchen wall and nipped at his lower lip. When she pulled away, Ludovic looked…dazed. His hair was in disarray. His pupils were blown. She thought, maybe naively, that kissing him would take the edge off, would make the attraction stop, if only temporarily, but it certainly made it worse. Ludovic kept looking at her, as though Leah had reinvented the wheel, had completely shifted his world. He gave her one of his soft Prince-Charming kisses.

"Stay," Ludovic's deep voice was already starting to roughen. Leah took a breath. "Stay, please."

She forced her knife-edge smile and shook her head. "Time's ticking, Fitz. I have to run." His hand tightened around her wrist.

She left before she could reminisce on what had occurred.

The bed was uncomfortable. It was too homely, too honest, and too comfortable. The open window did nothing to dispel the weight of the silence. Ludovic kept his eyes closed. His hands were tightly wound into the sheets. His breath left his nose in quick huffs. His thoughts calmed. The cold licked at his clammy face. Faint shadows roosted beneath his lashes. He grumbled quietly and rolled over to sit up. He rubbed his face roughly; his stubble agitated his raw palms. Something eerily similar to an epiphany hung in the air, and he didn't need it. He didn't want something miraculous to show up and ruin his night.

When he finally glanced at the clock, it was three-thirty on Monday morning, and he was alone. He shook his head. When a quiet bump made his head tilt, he muttered a call for the vagabond, Liam. His legs swung over the bed. His voice was rough with sleep; he doubted a cup of tea wouldn't fix it. "Liam?" He tried again, louder.

The house was empty, and everything in Effingham was quiet.

Ludovic was still alone.

Leah's leg bounced. It had only been three months since her weekend away from their game. It had been three months, and she'd taken every other weekend off to go back and see Ludovic, even for a span of ten minutes. She waited, eyes on the small crowd that populated the bar. Obidias was somewhere in here; she imagined he was in another corner, maybe the one opposite to her. They had foregone the disguise this time; instead, she played up the feminine traits, added a blush to her cheeks, and curled her hair. Obidias's fingers tapped against the wooden tabletop. Make a break for it, back to Ravenwood. Leah was on the move when Obidias's tapping cut off, and a grisly man from the bar bumped into her. She didn't pay the man mind, past muttering a sarcastic quip under her breath.

The door began to swing shut, and she figured today was a bad day, another dead end. A bullet nicked the doorjamb and tore the skin on her knuckles. As she noticed the spreading warmth in her shoulder, she knew today was different.

Rule number three of being a professional criminal: Don't let anyone see you weak.

Macon had time to tell them not to go to any of the safe houses, not to bother the Kents, the quasi-doctors. Leah figured it counted as a blessing as she clutched her shoulder, and smashed the window to a car hidden in an alley. She sped down the highway to the tune of silence—the radio wouldn't give her much more than static—and continued trading cars and looking over her shoulder even when the moon started to sink, even when the clock struck three and the rogue Cubi bar was miles from her.

She drove until she doubled over the steering wheel, swallowing down the urge to vomit. Then, she stumbled out of the car, took a deep breath, shot a glance to the moon staring down on her, muttered a muted prayer, and gave in. She Traveled to Ludovic's and fell against the porch rail. She huffed quietly and braced herself before she pounded on Ludovic's door with her right hand.

It was freezing, of course; Ludovic lived in the middle of nowhere. Leah wondered if the shack by the river was a better alternative. Leah kicked at the door, the door that had locks, now, because Leah suggested it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ludovic was probably calling the cops right now. Leah slid to the floor, dug into her pockets, and grabbed a needle and black thread. She peeled back the blood-soaked fabric of her jacket, winced at the jarring it caused. With steady hands, she sewed the wound shut. She kept her left hand close to her chest, and she remembered thinking if the cops did show up, at least she'd get to a hospital that had heating. She leaned back against the door and tried to stay awake.

She lasted for two minutes before she fell unconscious.

Ludovic didn't normally stay for the choir and band concerts, but it was the big holiday one and he didn't mind the Christmas music. When he saw a car in his driveway, he berated himself at how badly he hoped it was Liam. Ludovic closed the door slowly, and that was when he saw a shadow on his door.

"Liam?" The form didn't respond. Ludovic noticed the stillness.

He broke out into a run.