Work Text:
Rose shoots Michael.
She did it because she had to – she couldn’t afford for her cover to be blown at this last, crucial stage – but she’d be lying if she said she derived no pleasure from it. Throughout the long months she’d been Susanna, he’d grated on her nerves to an almost ridiculous degree – constantly hovering, always playing the hero, incessantly talking about his love life – it was a wonder she hadn’t shot him sooner.
It did mean she’d have to put a rush on her plans, however – she’d intended to stay as Susanna a while longer, prepare Luisa for the reveal and give her some time to process if needed. The love of her life being re-animated before her eyes probably wouldn’t be an easy thing for her to deal with. But she would, Rose was confident of that. She’d seen Luisa grieve for her, after all - she still felt a stab of guilt whenever she thought of that, more than for any of her other actions combined – but that same grief meant that she’d forgive her, eventually.
As Rose walked towards the room she’d been sharing with Luisa as Susanna, mask still in place and scanning anxiously for cameras, she happened across a vending machine. Her movements stilled as her eyes fixed on a packet of powdered donuts.
They’d always been their snack, ever since that night in the Fort Lauderdale motel. She was sure Luisa would appreciate the irony of being handed a pack, once the initial shock had worn off. She was searching through her pockets for a dollar – one of the good things about these pantsuits was that they actually had pretty sizeable pockets, a stark contrast to the dresses she’d worn as the wife of Emilio Solano – when she realised that really, she didn’t have a whole lot of time. Michael’s body would be found soon, and they needed to be gone by then.
She quickened her pace, leaving the vending machine untouched. There would be time enough for powdered donuts after they made their escape – and Rose intended for there to be plenty of need for them.
After Rose made her great escape, an incredibly confused but nevertheless tentatively hopeful Luisa in tow, the cops had no reason to look for them. There was no trail of powdered sugar left in the corridor, no easy clue for Rafael to identify. As far as the world was concerned, Rose Solano was still dead, and Luisa Alver was an alcoholic with a history of running away. Her being missing was nothing new.
They were able to run away together – first to the submarine, where they carefully and methodically worked through their problems – that had taken a long time, and would never be fully complete, but Luisa had made her peace. She was ready to move on, ready to be happy.
And happy they were. Rose still had to be careful – if anyone realised her full identity, they’d both wind up in a lot of trouble – but, far away from Miami and the memories that it held, she was able to move more freely that she otherwise could have.
All because she’d decided to forgo dramatics for the sake of efficiency. Who would’ve thought?