The woods closed around them tight—pines so thick they blocked most of the dawn light, branches and brambles snagging at their soaked clothes with every step. Aris's sneakers squished loud in the mud, her hoodie plastered cold to her skin, but she kept pace with Riot, his hand locked in hers like a lifeline. The chopper thrum had faded off behind them for now, still circling that beach they'd barely escaped, but every rustle in the trees made her jump.
They stumbled into a small clearing after about an hour—mossy rocks, a fallen log half-covered in damp leaves, trees dense enough to hide them from aerial eyes. Riot let go of her hand and dropped down hard against the log, breathing way too fast. Sweat poured off his forehead even though the air was chilly, and his hands shook bad as he pressed them to his temples, fingers digging in like he was trying to hold his skull together.
"Riot? Talk to me." Aris knelt right in front of him, grabbing his face with both hands, brushing his wet hair back. His skin was on fire under her fingers—fever-hot, clammy. "What's happening? You're burning up."
"Withdrawal kicking in hard," he ground out through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut. "Meds kept the Mnemosyne shit quiet. Without 'em... it's all screaming at once." He sucked in a sharp breath, fists balling up. "Voices overlapping. Flashes—Room 19, the seizure, your hands on his chest. Fuck, it's loud, Aris."
Her stomach twisted. She cupped his jaw tighter, thumbs stroking the rough stubble along his cheeks. "Hey, look at me. Right here." She leaned in close, their faces inches apart, her breath mixing with his ragged exhales. His gray eyes flickered open—wild, unfocused, but they locked on hers after a beat. "You're not back there. You're here. With me. Feel my hands? Real. Focus on that."
He grabbed her wrist fast—not rough, but desperate, like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning. "Trying. It's bad." Then he yanked her closer, right into his lap—her knees sinking into the soft moss on either side of his hips. She ended up straddling him, their soaked clothes pressing together. "Need something solid. You."
Aris's pulse kicked up hard. She should've backed off—protocol or common sense or whatever—but instead she framed his face again, forehead pressing to his, noses brushing. "Okay. Use me then. Anchor to me." Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered, voice low and steady. "Feel my skin? My breath? That's real. Stay right here."
Riot let out a low groan, his hips shifting up under her—pure instinct, pure need. His free hand slid up her thigh slow, gripping through the wet denim, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. Heat shot through her like lightning, pooling low despite the cold soaking everything. "Yeah... fuck, yeah," he muttered, voice rough against her neck. His mouth found her skin there—hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing up slow, teeth scraping her pulse point light enough to make her shiver.
"Riot..." She arched into him without thinking, fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging him closer. "That's it. Keep going. You with me?"
His hands roamed bolder now, sliding up under her hoodie, palms splaying wide across her bare back—callused, trembling, but so damn sure. Skin on skin. Fire in the cold woods. "You're pulling me out," he breathed against her collarbone, lips dragging higher. "Feel you everywhere."
Her hips rocked down once—deliberate, pressing friction right where he needed it. His breath hitched sharp, hips bucking up to meet her, grip tightening on her waist to hold her pinned against him. Hard. Ready. The air between them went thick, charged like a storm about to break. "Aris—shit," he growled, one hand sliding up her spine, thumb brushing the edge of her bra strap.
She captured his mouth then—no more teasing. Lips crashed together, hungry and desperate, tongues tangling with salt and need. She kissed him like she could pour herself into him, steady him, her nails raking down his shoulders under the wet shirt. His hands pushed her hoodie up higher, thumbs grazing the soft curve under her ribs, so close to sliding higher, fingers teasing the edge of more.
They broke for air, gasping, foreheads pressed tight. "You back?" she panted, nipping at his jaw, her hands still framing his face.
"Yeah." His eyes cleared more, fever still raging but focused now, locked on hers. "You... you shut it down." His hand stayed on her hip, thumb circling slow over the denim—lazy promise of more later. "Needed that. Needed you."
"Good." She stole another kiss—slower this time, deeper, her teeth catching his lower lip. Chest to chest, breaths syncing ragged. Intimate as hell. "We can't stay here long. Choppers'll swing back. But breathe with me first. In... out."
He nodded, matching her rhythm, his hand cupping the back of her neck, holding her close. "Partners for real now. No going back."
"No going back." She nipped his jaw one last time, then helped him up, arm sliding around his waist—solid support. Clothes still clung damp, skin tingling where they'd touched. "North through the woods like you said. Small towns ahead—those rundown coastal spots, maybe Black Harbor or Salt Creek, ten miles max if we cut through the pines. We'll find meds for you there—cash only, no names, no ID. I know the drill from ER rotations: corner pharmacies, the ones that don't ask for scripts on basic anti-psychotics or benzos. Pay up front, act normal, grab and go. Then hole up somewhere cheap—a motel off the highway, pay cash, keep the curtains closed."
Riot leaned on her a little as they started moving again, his arm heavy around her shoulders, chopper thrum building distant over the water. "You just saved my ass back there. Again. Black Harbor's perfect—truck stop on the edge, diner next door. Clerk won't care as long as bills are green. We split up for the buy: you get meds, I grab food, clothes. Meet at the motel sign on Route 17."
"Smart. And if choppers get close?" She squeezed his side, heat still humming between them.
"Thicker woods till dusk. Lay low." His fingers brushed her lower back—possessive, promising. "Then we breathe again."
Woods ahead. Choppers behind. Mnemosyne quiet for now. Freedom tasted like salt, sweat, and his mouth on hers.
**