A/N: And this final scene is my attempt to put a bit more flesh on the movie-skeleton of their relationship. THANK YOU! for the reviews. I love all the thoughtful comments I have received in the course of posting this story. Hope this conclusion satisfies you all. :)

Warning & Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

"Are we lost?"

His focus stays on the map. "No."

Unusual for Aaron to ignore the lilt of humor in her tone, but he sounds more relaxed than she's ever heard him, almost absent, safe enough to let musings take over for awhile rather than senses and reflexes. Last night was painful for both of them, stretched out in separate hammocks. She's pretty sure he slept less than she did; whenever her bruises jarred her from sleep, he was awake. Still, this morning he looks rested. The sea breeze ruffles his hair.

"Just looking at our options," he says.

Right. Their options are spread over the entire globe. And of course, he wants a plan of action. But for today … "I was kind of hoping we were lost."

His eyes crinkle, and then the smile curves his mouth. Their gazes lock, and Aaron rolls the map up and pushes it away.

Uncharted. The word sums up … well, her life now. Where she's headed, when she gets there … who she'll be with.

"Tell me something," she says.

He smiles and looks out over the water for a long moment. When he turns back to her, the smile has flattened. "Ask whatever you want. It's okay."

She reaches across the table and weaves their fingers together. Today, his grip is strong again. She simply holds on, so he'll know she understands the difficulty of the gift he just offered. In time, she'll ask about Kenneth. She'll ask about his work for Outcome, if his proficiency at killing is the whole truth or merely a part. She'll ask about the gun he pointed at his own head, whether he knows if he'd have pulled the trigger.

But not today.

"How often do you have to eat?" she says.

His eyebrows arch, and a quiet chuckle accepts her choice of topic. "Every three hours."

"Not really convenient."

"Sometimes not."

"Any other kryptonite I should know about?"

He leans back in his chair but keeps hold of her hand. "Well, I can't ever take you to see Justin Timberlake."

"How many decibels is too much?"

"As far as I know, no one ever tested me to find out."

"Is it … painful?"

He glances away from the sparkling water to meet her eyes. "Debilitating." But then he shrugs. "And there you have it. My Achilles heels."

The next few minutes unfold with a blessed lull, with the gentle whir of the boat motor and the wake of water behind it. Aaron picks up a mango sitting on the table, and the same knife that yesterday cut a bullet from his leg. Sunlight glints off the blade as he slices the fruit, peels it, and offers her the first piece. Marta shakes her head; she isn't hungry, and he probably is. Aaron polishes off almost the entire mango before he speaks again.

"You understand what happens now?"

"Nothing's over. I can't call Ilene or anyone else. Probably ever."

He nods. "They'll always need us dead."

"Especially you," she says.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing to measure her, and lets her clarify even though he must know what she means.

"You slipped the leash."

"Ah." He pitches the mango pit over the side of the boat, wipes the blade on the khaki cargos loaned to him by Danilo, and conceals his knife at his ankle.

"Is there anything we can do? To … to stop them, to …?" But the words are ridiculous even to her. They're two people, even if one of them is permanently more than human.

"I don't know yet."

Yet. He's thought of it, too. "I'll help however I can."

"No, you won't."

"Aaron—"

"It's not your cause to die for, Doc."

"They tried to kill me, too, in case you've forgotten."

"I won't negotiate this. Or debate it."

His tone isn't barbed, but the words sting—the thought that he'd claim this fight and then ban her from it. But when did they merge like this in her mind? What's this fusion in the center of her, this knowledge that walking away from him now will … hurt?

"Can—can I tell you something?" No, not this. She doesn't talk about this. But the words are out now, and she doesn't really want to snatch them back.

He doesn't answer, but he shifts in his chair to face her. And he waits.

"I … I've been called …"

Peter's voice echoes in her memory, English accent and precision of diction. "You might be an ice queen, but you're my ice queen." Until her headlong devotion to her work wasn't sexy anymore. Until she confronted the choice he wanted her to make from the beginning, though he denied it.

"Most of my life, people have considered me … chilly, at best. And I guess I've … behaved that way and felt that way. Often."

Aaron doesn't respond, doesn't move.

"I figured that was just me. You know? No, you don't know. You're not at all a cold person. But anyway, I … I'm … the last few days have … Maybe it's purely because you're the only person who knows me. The—the truth, the details. Of me."

He nods.

"I just … for some reason, I want you to know that."

He clasps her hand between both of his. "Do you remember what I said about personal relationships?"

"You don't see the point in them."

"Because I couldn't be honest."

Oh. A smile blooms inside her, then lifts the corners of her mouth. "Oh."

Aaron's thumb runs along her knuckles, and he smiles, too. Beyond them, the waves shimmer as far as Marta can see.

~END~