The Third Way, is the Only Way
Dedicated to Atlas, who was the Leo to my Vincent.
The villa’s marble corridors reverberated with the chaos of gunfire, a relentless storm battering the walls. Smoke curled through the air, biting at Vincent and Leo’s eyes as they fought their way inward toward the heart of Harvey's stronghold. Vincent’s pulse thundered, each step torn between duty and the bond he had forged with Leo.
Harvey sat at the head of a conference table, the large window behind him framing the glittering pool beyond. He pointed a gun at Vincent and Leo as they approached.
“Don’t even think about it. Slide it over,” snarled Vincent.
Harvey paused, “Alright…” His eyes registered defeat only briefly, shoulders sagging, but a glint of defiance lingered in his gaze. “Here you go.” He slid the gun across the table toward them.
With one knowing look between them, Vincent picked up the gun, and Leo braced his, advancing toward Harvey.
“Did you really think you could get away? Did ya?!” Leo snapped.
“Take it easy, you got me…” Harvey raised his hands, voice steady but strained.
“Why’d you do it?!”
“Leo, take it easy-”
“Shut up! I trusted you, you piece of shit! Why the hell did you do it?”
“O-okay, look… I still got it. That’s what you’re here for, right? The diamond? It’s all yours. It’s in the safe, over there. You can take it.”
“Move it,” Leo growled.
“Alright.” Harvey clutched his abdomen, grunting as he ambled to the safe. “Here, here, take it.” He handed the black diamond to Leo.
Leo held it a moment, its weight heavy in his palm, but as he moved to slip it into his vest pocket, Harvey lunged, grabbing the barrel of Leo’s gun and landing a punch. The blow staggered Leo just long enough for Harvey to wrap his arm around Leo’s neck, a pistol pressed to the back of his head.
"Let him go." Vincent demanded. "Put the fucking gun down."
Leo’s gaze locked onto Vincent’s; desperate, yet trusting. Memories flooded Vincent: the prison escape, the river’s current, Leo’s unwavering loyalty through every struggle. The dossier branded him a criminal, but the man in Harvey’s grip was a father, a friend, and someone Vincent couldn’t abandon.
In that moment, his choice solidified. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Leo. A flicker of understanding passed between them, and Leo lunged left, slamming his elbow into a glass case. The crash shattered the tension, and Harvey flinched. Leo twisted free, rolling behind a column with a grunt. Vincent fired. Once, grazing Harvey’s arm; twice, forcing him back. Leo scrambled for his weapon, and together they unleashed a coordinated assault, driving Harvey toward the railing. A final shot rang out, and Harvey stumbled, his face twisting as he plummeted into the pool below, the water staining red as he sank.
Their gunfire ceased, leaving only their heavy breathing. Vincent lowered his gun, chest heaving, as Leo rose from cover, their eyes meeting in silent relief. “You good?” he asked, voice rough.
“No,” Vincent said, honesty cutting through. “But it’s over.”
They stood amid the wreckage, a duffel bag stuffed with Harvey’s cash between them.
Leo wiped his mouth, glancing at the bag. “This your hush money?”
Vincent shook his head. “It’s yours. For Linda, for Alex. Enough to disappear, start fresh.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed, distrust flickering. “What’s the angle?”
Vincent exhaled, steadying himself. “No angle. I’m a cop, Leo. Undercover. Sent to take you down after Harvey.”
Leo’s fists clenched, the air taut with betrayal. “You’re lucky Harvey’s already dead,” he growled. “Why tell me this now?”
“Because you’re my friend,” Vincent said simply. “You saved me. And this is me saving you.”
A tense silence hung between them. Then Leo relaxed, grabbing the bag. “You got someone for papers?”
“Yeah,” Vincent nodded. “It’s legit.”
Leo’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “If this goes south, I’ll come back to find you.”
“It won’t,” Vincent promised.
Their handshake lingered, heavy with unspoken trust.
Hours later, the plane’s hum enveloped the cabin. Leo slept, slumped in his seat, the lines of his face softened, his jaw unclenched for the first time in awhile. Vincent watched him, then leaned toward the cockpit.
“Emily,” he whispered. “We need to talk.”
She glanced back, noting Leo’s sleeping form. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not turning him in,” Vincent said firmly. “We got Harvey. That’s enough.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed, but she kept the plane steady. “You’re throwing away everything. The badge, the promotion.”
“I know,” Vincent said, voice low. “But he’s not just a file. He’s got a family, he's trying to be better for them. I can’t ruin that.”
“That’s not your call,” Emily said sharply.
“It’s my conscience,” Vincent countered. “Help me, Emily. New papers, a clean start. You know people.”
Emily stared ahead, the engines’ drone filling the silence where an argument should have been. Finally, she sighed. “There’s a contact in Faro who will print papers with no questions. But Vincent, this ends your career.”
“I can live with that,” Vincent said, thinking of Carol and his daughter. “I want to be someone my family can respect.”
Emily nodded, her expression grim. “Faro it is. No turning back.”
Vincent leaned back, a burden lifting. “Thank you," he breathed.
“Don’t,” Emily muttered, turning the plane toward a new horizon. “Not until we land somewhere else without getting killed.”
Weeks later, Leo crossed a quiet border in a worn station wagon. The forged papers passed inspection effortlessly. Linda’s hand rested on his thigh, warm and steady, while Alex clutched his baseball glove in the backseat, eyes alight with dreams. The road stretched toward a seaside house and a new beginning.
In that house, Leo taught Alex to swing a bat, their laughter mingling with the waves. Linda’s garden bloomed vibrant under her care. At night, Leo’s laughter came freely, a sound he barely recognized. Freedom, he realized, wasn’t about running from something; it was about building a life worth running toward.
A lighthouse postcard sat on his nightstand, addressed to Vincent. Unsent, but kept close.
Vincent walked into the precinct, his badge in a box. He left it on the lieutenant’s desk with a nod, no words needed. At home, Carol slept with their newborn nestled against her. Vincent sipped whiskey, watching them, peace settling in his chest.
Emily visited one evening, sliding an envelope across the table. Inside were photos: Leo and Alex playing catch, Linda tending flowers, a quiet shore. A scrap of paper held an address in Faro.
Vincent tucked it away, a quiet reassurance they were safe.
Months later, a foggy Portuguese harbor stirred with dawn. Leo, in a weathered jacket, bought coffee and hooks at a bait shop.
“Bom dia,” the shopkeeper greeted. “Early start?”
“Always,” Leo said, a faint grin breaking through. The bell on the door chimed and Leo turned slightly to see Vincent in the doorway, fishing rod in hand.
Leo smirked. “Still finding trouble, huh?”
Vincent chuckled. “Somewhere between bad luck and good friends. Need a partner? I'll spear, you splash.”
“Nah, other way around,” Leo shot back, laughing. "We know how that ends."
They walked out together on the dock, boots creaking on the weathered boards, the tide pulling their reflections into the deep, forgiving blue. The mist swallowed them slowly, leaving only the sound of waves and the promise of a morning that didn’t need to end in death.
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