Remembering Freedom

Pit Stop

She again didn't look up the entire ride, trying to ignore the analytical voice in her head that was telling her they were going well above one hundred miles an hour. The faster they got away, the faster they could just lay low for a day or so...at least that's what she told herself. Instead, she concentrated on his steady heartbeat and knowing that he was calm relieved her somewhat. Of course, he was an assassin and therefore was skilled in the art of keeping his body under control and his sniper training undoubtedly taught him to regulate and sometimes slow his heartbeat, even under stress. Bloody hell...she wished her mind would calm down.

He seemed to notice a change in her because he stopped in the next small town and pulled into the first gas station. Turning off the bike, he gently pried her hands off him and faced her. There was concern in his gaze. "What's wrong Jemma?"

"Nothing I just uh...just wanted off this bloody bike for a few minutes." She pulled off the helmet and hung it on the handlebar. She ran her fingers through her hair.

"You're a horrible liar doll."

She smiled. "So I've been told...I did want to get off this bike though."

"We needed fuel anyways."

"We have the money?"

He smirked. "Of course...took the stash at the base. Non-sequential. Can't be traced." Pulling out a clip of bills, he handed her a twenty. "Tell the clerk fifteen on pump two."

"Not coming in?"

He shook his head, eyes roaming over the grounds. "Be back in no less than five minutes. Longer and I come in." His voice at the end had lost its warmth and she knew what he would do.

"Not a problem." She knew to leave before he said anything else. The door opened with a ring and she walked up to the cashier. Pushing her body into lab mode, she was able to keep the shaking from showing as she handed the cashier the money for gas.

"Your boy," Came the cashier's voice. "He alright?"

It took Jemma too long to realize she was talking about James. She peered out the window the woman was looking from and saw what she saw; a scruffy, scowling man pacing back and forth by the bike, eyes flitting towards the road every time a car passed by. He looked like he was expecting something to attack, his hands stuffed deep into his leather jacket. She sighed and frowned, trying to come up with some believable story. "He's..."

"How long he been back?" She asked gently, ringing up the gas for her. At her startled look she explained sheepishly. "My brother, he spent some time in Iran and wasn't the same when he came home. Acts just like your boy out there. Thinks the world is out to get him."

Blundering along, Jemma gave the woman her best-worn look. "He just got back." She lied. "I don't know how to help him."

If the woman noticed the bruising covering Jemma's face, she didn't say. She just handed her the change. The woman probably assumed it was a nightmare gone wrong. She was just lucky the buttoned-up jacket covered her throat... "He has to want it."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she took the change and smiled. "I know." She tried not to freak out as she tried to remember how long it'd been since she walked in. The woman seemed to sense her urgency.

"Go on," she said, "Any longer and he's bound to storm the place."

You don't know how right you are... "Thank you." Stuffing her hands into a front pocket of the sweatshirt, she made it outside to find James coming in.

"What took you so long?" His eyes stared through the glass.

"Relax James. Just an innocent conversation."