#Extraction 2 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chickensarentcheap · 3 months ago

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I FOUND: THE MISSING PIECES

CHAPTER TWO

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake x Esme Drummond (OFC)

Summary: A collection of requested one and two shots that cover the CANON events mentioned in the original “I Found” story. It’s not a necessity to have read it, but it might help.

Author’s Note:

This is a companion piece to “I Found”. When I first wrote the story four years ago, I had every intention of including ‘flashback’ chapters that weaved Esme into the events of Extraction. Sadly, I lost my confidence at the time and ended the fic before I was one hundred percent ready to do so. Which I deeply regret. In the time that has passed, readers have requested both 'movie canon-centric’ pieces and those that cover events between Tyler and Esme that were merely mentioned.

Please keep in mind that the pieces are NOT in chronological order according to the movie timeline or Tyler and Esme’s persona timeline. Instead, they are written and posted in the order in which the readers submit their requests.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy.

Love, Chickens

WARNINGS: SLIGHT SMUT, PROFANITY, MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE, MENTIONS OF CHILD DEATH

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @watermeezer @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @kmc1989

@asirensrage @residentdormouse @ninjasawakenedmystar @alisbackalleybbq @karimac

@arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @munstysmind @fanficanatic-tw @ocappreciationtag @occommunity

****

WHERE: GASPAR'S SAFE HOUSE

“Tyler?”

He teeters on the edge of sleep, his body exhausted and aching; a dull, throbbing pain that seems to travel from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He feels as if he’s lived a lifetime in a matter of twenty-four hours; his flesh littered with abrasions, bruises and gaping, hastily tended-to wounds. The silence surrounding him a welcome reprieve from gunfire and mayhem; temporarily tucked away in that quaint safe house on the city's outskirts.

The booze and the pain meds have begun to take effect; a haze and warmth that lower both his guard and his inhibitions and soften the chaos and the incessant second-guessing that have plagued his mind for hours. But her voice -quiet and apprehensive- somehow manages to cut through the layers of inebriation and exhaustion. And when he opens his eyes and glances towards the stairs, he discovers her standing on the middle landing; illuminated by the couch-side lamp and the glow of the light above the stove.

“Yeah?”

“Is it okay to come down there?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

He watches as she descends the remaining stairs and approaches, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floors. Her hair is loose and dishevelled from sleep; thick, dark tresses framing her face, tumbling over her shoulders, and spilling down her back. Her tiny frame drowns in a man’s button-down shirt; crisp and cool cotton in charcoal grey, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. One of many offerings that Gaspar had left behind in a plastic bag on the kitchen table; faded and tattered t-shirts and old jeans with holes in the knees and pockets and loose threads dangling from the cuffs. With nothing appropriate for a woman -especially one of Esme’s petite stature- available, she’d been relegated to washing her original clothes by hand; tattered and stained by blood and now drying over a chair on the small back porch.

Despite the dim lighting, he can see how heavily body and spirit bear the toll of the day; a slump to normally confident shoulders, a limp that replaces the normal bounce to her step. The sparkle of those dark eyes diminished; now dull and lifeless from a potent mixture of exhaustion, discomfort, grief, and concern. And when she stands in front of him, he can see the damage done to her pale, smooth skin; a bruised and slightly swollen left cheek, a red and angry abrasion that mars her forehead and disappears into her hair, and a small split to her bottom lip that appears sore and tender.

Yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find her hips as she steps between his splayed thighs. “You should be asleep.”

“I was going to say the same thing to you.”

“I’ve been resting my eyes. Here and there.”

“I damn near had a panic attack. I woke up and didn’t even remember coming here. I didn’t recognize anything, you were gone. That’s what totally freaked me out. I didn’t know where you went, and I thought maybe something bad happened and you had to leave us here or…”

“I’d never do that. No one is getting left behind. Especially not you.”

“It just scared me. Not knowing where I was. Being disoriented and alone and…”

“I only left because I didn’t want to wake you up. I couldn’t shut my brain off. And if I’d stayed up there and just kept tossing and turning…”

She reaches out; gentle fingertips exploring the bruises and wounds that litter his face. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little. The meds kicked in about ten minutes ago.”

She gently explores the cut above his right eyebrow and the abrasions on his cheek. “Did you take a lot?”

“I only took a couple. Just to take the edge off. Nowhere near enough to knock me on my ass.”

“I mean, I know it’s not any of my business; how many pills you take or how much booze you drink. But…”

“We talked about this. A couple of days ago. About how it’s becoming your business.”

When their plans to travel together after the job in Dhaka had been made official, they’d been accompanied by a conscious decision to turn his life around. Or at least attempt to. There’s an optimism he clings to; the belief that their immense attraction to one another will follow them into the ‘regular world’. That it isn’t solely rooted in similar experiences and shared circumstances; their equally traumatic childhoods, their time in the military and their failed marriages, the stress and the unpredictability of the ‘job’.

It’s the first time in years that he’s felt any sense of positivity regarding the direction of his life; finding himself no longer obsessed with wanting to catch a bullet or interested in drinking himself to death. It would be the biggest mistake he’s ever made; turning his back on the second chance that lay before him. And he’s determined to put the work in; wanting to clean himself up and give her the kind of man she wants, needs, and deserves .

“I worry about you.” Pushing her hands into his hair, she allows the longer strands to slip through her fingers. “I know you’re not to use that; someone giving a shit.”

He can’t remember the last time someone expressed any kind of concern in regards to his well-being. While boldly -yet erroneously- calling herself a friend, Nik views him as both a nuisance and a commodity. While none of the other mercenaries on her payroll come close to possessing the same level of skill and knowledge, his issues with drugs and alcohol often get in the way of her securing a client -and a mission- only he can conquer. Her friendship comes with a price; relying heavily on his ability to keep himself alive and the cash rolling into her bank account. And Mia had never been an affectionate or nurturing person; lacking those traits long before their marriage had started to sour. A byproduct of her career and upbringing, she’d always been rather cold and distant; expecting the man to be continuously ‘rock steady’ and admittedly ‘turned off’ by any show of softness or vulnerability.

His mother. She’d been the only one who’d ever shown him that kind of care and concern. Loving him unconditionally; with every breath she took and every punch and kick his father had rained down upon. Continuously -and selflessly- putting herself…mind, body, and soul…in the direct path of his ire to keep her only child safe. Attempting to give him some semblance of a normal childhood despite all the bloody noses, broken ribs, split lips and trips to the emergency room. It was the last time he’d ever felt loved; the only person who allowed her to show and express emotion and experience moments of fear and weakness.

Nearly three decades. Since anyone has given a shit. And it seems so foreign now; finding himself at the receiving end of even the smallest forms of affection.

“It’s been a long time,” he admits.

“That’s not right,” she laments. “That’s not right at all .”

Her hands continue to move through his hair; gently and repeatedly combing the dirty blond tresses. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off her; transfixed by the tenderness that both touch and gaze possess. The couch side lamp bathes her skin in a soft, almost ethereal glow; highlighting the juxtaposition between the bruises and cuts that mar her flesh and the gentle smile that curves moist lips.

It takes his breath away; her emotions -a mix of concern, adoration, and lust- written so plainly upon her face. He doesn’t deserve it; someone regarding him in such a manner, wanting and needing him to the depths and lengths she’s already shown. And while part of him whispers to push her away and spare her the hurt that he’ll eventually cause, an even louder and more persistent one screams at him to never let her go.

A shiver travels through him as her nails lightly scrape along his scalp and down onto the nape of his neck; those small, delicate fingers dancing over his skin before deftly and easily manipulating the sore, tense muscles below them. His eyes close; a sigh of both weariness and contentment escaping his lips as his head falls forehead and his brows rest against her. It’s intimacy in its purest; her touch soothing as he completely lowers his guard and allows himself a rare moment of vulnerability. She won’t judge him for it; won’t scoff, scold or mock upon discovery of a chink in his armour. Not the type to view him as less of a man because of a show of weakness; instead preferring to nurture the rarer, softer fragments that linger under his tattered edges and worn and weathered exterior.

When she gently tugs on his hair, he tips his head back and gazes up at her; eyes riveted on hers as she affectionately strokes his ears and slowly traces the outer edges with the tips of her index fingers. It isn’t until she releases a sigh of her own and scraps her top teeth over her bottom lip that he physically reacts; his hands smoothing over the curve of her hips and down the sides of her thighs before slipping under the bottom of her shirt. He hears her sharp intake of breath when rough, calloused palms glide across soft, supple flesh. Sees the way her eyes darken when he traces a slow, methodical circle around her navel and gently tugs on the hoop that passes through it. Feels both the shiver that passes through her and the goosebumps that invade her skin as his fingertips skim along the waistband of her simple cotton panties.

“This is wrong.” Her voice trembles as she speaks. Barely above a whisper. “This is so, so, so wrong.”

“You could be saying that about the last five days.”

“I don’t mean that. Us. If there even is an us.”

His palms follow the curves and slopes of her ass and hips. Finding himself amused by her disappointed pout when his hands slip out from under her shirt. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“I meant this. Here. Your friend’s place.”

“If it makes you feel any better…”. His fingers tend to the buttons on the simple cotton garment. “…he doesn’t actually live here. It’s a safe house. He has no real ties to this place.”

“Always so rational.”

Allowing the shirt to fall open, his hands once more find her hips; fingers pressing into the supple flesh as he aggressively pulls her closer. She heaves a shaky sigh and violently shudders when his lips press against her stomach; her fingers burrowing in his hair as the tip of his tongue draws a lazy circle around her belly button and his teeth pull at the stainless steel hoop. Her nails digging into his scalp when he presses a series of kisses along her abdomen; slowly travelling from hip to the other, then stopping at the strip of lace that covers her pussy. And nuzzling his nose against her, he can smell and feel the moisture that dampens the thin fabric.

Her hands tighten their grip on his hair as he presses a line of warm, moist kisses across her waist; his mouth travelling slowly from hip to hip as his calloused fingertips drift over her ribcage. It’s a power juxtaposition; the softness of his lips paired with the roughness of his beard. She’s overwhelmed by the things he manages to stir inside of her; a level and ferocity of want and need that no one else has brought to the plate. On the good days, sex with Mark had been a chore; she merely tolerated it and certainly never initiated nor truly enjoyed it. On the bad days, it was expected of her; threatened and forced and punished -severely- if she had the nerve to say ‘no’ or push him away. After the marriage fell apart, she’d sworn off all forms of sexual activity that involved a partner; convinced she could happily live the rest of her life tending to things on her own.

And then she wandered into the debilitated shack in the middle of the Australian outback.

A violent shiver travels the length of her body as his hands and mouth travel upwards. Suckling and nipping at her collarbone while his palms cup her breasts; a whimper escaping her lips when his thumbs brush against her nipples. He reaches for her hair, his grip tight and unrelenting as he pulls her down into a kiss; his strength and power cause her to lose her balance and tumble into his lap. His hands aggressive and needy as they easily manipulate her much smaller and lighter frame; settling her on his lap, her knees on either side of him.

Both kisses and touch are rough and unapologetic. Bruising lips and duelling tongues as his hands dispose of remaining clothes and hers yank at shirt buttons and belt buckle and hurriedly open the clasp and zipper on his pants. There’s no romance; no extended foreplay, no whispers of adoration or praise, no tenderness or adoration. And she audibly gasps when he pushes into her with one strong, fluid thrust; her head falling backwards and her nails digging painfully into the bruises and cuts that mar the back of his neck and shoulders.

He remains undeterred; the pain is no match for the depth and the power of the want and need that take over every fibre of his being. His mouth finds the hollow of her throat; licking, sucking, and biting at the skin as his palms find the smooth curves of her ass. Fingertips biting into the soft, supple flesh as he controls every movement.

****

They sit in silence; basking in the afterglow with her sideways on his lap and her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, both his arms wrapped around her. Her head on his shoulder; one hand resting on his side, the fingers of the other repeatedly brushing the hair at the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Clothes discarded earlier in haste gathered up and put back on; avoiding the awkwardness if Ovi awakens and wanders downstairs or Gaspar shows up unexpectedly. His palm rests on the side of her left thigh; fingertips repeatedly moving over the skin in slow, smooth circles.

“Tyler?”

He turns his face into hers, lips meeting her brow. “Mmm?”

“Where should we head first? Where do you want to go the most?”

“What?”

“When we travel. Once all this is over. What should we put first on the list?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Wherever you want to go, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s it. Leave the hard work to me. I’m terrible at making decisions. I’ll pick something now and by this time next week, I’ll have changed my mind a dozen times.”

“Why don’t we get the hard stuff out of the way? I know you’ve been freaking out about the idea of going back to Colorado and having me meet your folks. If we do that first, you’ll be able to relax; have a good time when we go other places.”

“You know…” Esme presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “...sometimes you are wise. So wise.”

“Are you saying I’m a dumb ass all the other times?”

She nuzzles the sensitive spot under his left ear with the tip of her nose. “Never.”

He’s getting used to it; her almost overwhelming need to give and receive affection. She’s the first partner he’s had that’s been so needy in that respect, and decades of being touched starved has caused him to be standoffish at times; unsure of how to react to her not being afraid to seek out physical contact. But she’s patient and understanding and never takes initial resistance or hesitation as a personal slight. After only five days, he’s both accepting and responding with much more comfort and ease; not realizing just how much he’s missed tenderness and affection. And amidst all the chaos, unpredictability, and fear of what’s to come, her mere presence gives him a welcome escape. The touch of her hands, the feel of her lips, and the smell of her hair somehow easing the weariness and the tension. Even if only temporarily.

“You don’t really want to go there, do you?”

“I want to see the mountains. Go snowboarding.”

“You do realize we can do those things without going near my family, right?”

“It was your idea. To take me to meet them.”

“And now I realize what a shitty idea it is. And no…” Laying a hand on his cheek, she turns his face towards her. “...you are not the reason I don’t want to see them. I mean, you are . But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“I’m not ashamed. Or embarrassed. When it comes to how we met and how quickly things happened between us. And it has nothing to do with who you are and what you do or…”

“Esme, none of that shit crossed my mind.”

“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. I know what they’re like; I’ve put up with their bullshit all my life. They thrive on bullshit and drama. Especially my mother. Why would I want to subject you to that ? You haven’t done anything to deserve that kind of punishment.”

“Haven’t you been waiting your entire life for someone to come along and put your mother in her place? Well, the time’s come. Now’s your chance.”

“You have no idea what she can get like. Just how awful she is. She’s a miserable, evil bitch. And I can only imagine what kind of shit is going to come out of her mouth. About you, about me…”

“I’m not your ex-husband. I’m not the type that’s just going sit there and let it happen. She steps out of line, I put her back in it.”

Smiling, she reaches up to brush the longer strands of hair off his forehead. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I would. Someone’s got your back now. And she should know it.”

“My hero,” she playfully croons, and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin.

“You don’t have to worry about her anymore. I’ll let her know. And I won’t be nice about it.”

“You really are a knight in shining armour.”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Knight in slightly tarnished armour?”

“I’ll let you have it.”

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence; her head against his shoulder, the nails of one hand lightly and repeatedly brushing against his beard. His chin rests on the top of her head as calloused fingertips continue tracing random patterns on the side of her thigh and back of her knee. And he’s once more on the edge of sleep when he feels her move against him; eyes flickering open, finding her staring up at him. Those enormous dark eyes once more filled with concern, her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“Who?”

“Ovi.”

“We’re going to get him out of here. Get him back where he belongs.”

“I mean after . When this is over. What happens when you do get him home? His father’s in jail. There’s no one there to protect him.”

“ I haven’t stopped to think about that. Yet.”

“Asif will never let him live. Think of the disgrace. He isn’t going to give up, Tyler. He’ll go after him again. And this time, things will end up so much worse. It won’t be about money, or power, or influence. Or disrespecting or embarrassing Mahajan. It will be about revenge. And you know what people like Asif are capable of. They’re violent and depraved and the things he’ll do to Ovi…”

“This is why you couldn’t sleep, huh?”

“He’s just a kid. He doesn’t deserve this. And if there’s no one around to keep an eye on him…”

“What do you think we should do? How would you handle it?”

“I don’t know. But there has to be something, right? That we can do? That you can do?”

“Short of sticking around in Mumbai and keeping an eye on him until shit dies down…”

“Would that be something you’d be willing to do?”

“Would you? Be willing to do it?”

“I’m not sure,” Esme admits. “It wouldn’t be the safest place, you know? We’d all have targets on our backs. Hanging around, just waiting for trouble to show up? Not my idea of a good time.”

“What else is there? What other options do we have?”

“We could bring him with us. We could put off travelling. Spend some time hiding out somewhere. We could take him to your place; lie low in the outback for a bit. Or we could go to Prague. Stay at my place; just until we know the coast is clear and that Ovi will be safe back in Mumbai. It makes sense, right? For you to be the one to do it. I know there wouldn’t be any pay at the end of things, but…”

“It’s not about money. It stopped being about that hours ago.”

“I just think it makes sense; that we take him with us. You can keep him safe. He trusts you. And I think that…”

“You know what I think? I think it’s been a long day. And I think you’re tired and overwhelmed and you need to try and turn your brain off. Or at least quiet it down a bit. I know you’re neurotic as fuck sometimes, but…”

She grins. “You already figured that out, huh?”

“Less than a day into knowing you.”

Scowling, she tugs playfully at the hair covering his chin.

“Why don’t we just let it go for now; cross that bridge when we get to it. Because it’s been a hell of a fucking twenty-four hours and my brain needs some peace and quiet. And I know yours does too.”

“I just…”

“Not right now, okay? Let's try and get some sleep. We need it.”

Nodding in agreement, she nestles her cheek against his shoulder. Several minutes passing before she gives a loud yawn and once more sits up/

“Esme…” Tyler doesn’t open his eyes. “ I swear to God…”

“I have a lot on my mind, okay? It’s really noisy up in there. And I won’t be able to sleep until it quiets down a bit. Humour me? Please?”

Sighing, he opens his eyes and slides a palm to the back of her head; fingers pushing through her hair to gently massage her scalp. “What’s going on?”

“I need to ask you something. And it might cross a line or two or trample on a couple of boundaries. I know we haven’t known each other long and it’s kind of personal and you might want to tell me to mind my own fucking business, but I’m just asking because I’ve been getting some really bad vibes and I’m nervous and worried and…”

He chuckles; her tendency to ramble when excited or nervous never crossing the line between amusing and insufferable. “Just take a breath, yeah? It can’t be that bad.”

“It depends on what you consider bad. Or intrusive.”

“I think we’ve reached a point where nothing could be considered intrusive. Considering what’s been going on the last five days and just happened twenty minutes ago…”

“I’m only asking because I’m worried. And a bit scared. I…”

He squeezes the nape of her neck. “Just ask.”

“How well do you know him?”

“I take it we’re not talking about Ovi this time.”

“Gaspar. How close are you guys exactly?”

“We’re mates, I guess. If we’re in the city, we’ll go out and grab something to eat, have a beer or two.”

“Would you say you’re solely ‘work buddies? That the only time you see him is if there’s a job involved?”

“Yeah, I’d say. It’s not like we see each other regularly or we hang out when it’s our downtime. I don’t exactly call or text him or shit like that, if that’s what you’re asking. Why…?”

“So you’re not friends friends. You don’t visit one another, you don’t know much about each other’s personal lives, you’re not on one another’s Christmas card list or…”

“I barely see the guy. We’re work friends. Colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. We won’t be visiting each other any time soon.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m being a huge bitch and personally attacking your friend or assuming bad things about him or…”

“Are you going to get to your original question sometime today or…?”

Taking a deep breath, she releases it slowly, then chews pensively on her bottom lip. “Do you trust him?”

“He owes me his life.”

“That isn’t what I asked. Do you trust him?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

She sighs.

“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“I can’t shake this awful feeling that he’s up to no good. Something just isn’t sitting right; the way Nik was so resistant when you told her to call him, the way he looks at me like he wants to throw me to the wolves, the things he says…”

Tyler frowns. “He talked to you? When? What did he say?”

“He didn’t confront me or anything like that.” The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “ And it’s not so much what he says, but how he says it. He won’t even call me by name; when he’s talking to you he calls me ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’. That’s not a huge red flag to you?”

“Don’t take it personally. He’s always been a bit of an asshole.”

“Something’s not right, Tyler. And I know you’re feeling it, too. Nik never would have put up such a fight about calling him if she wasn’t worried about something. ”

“I think everyone’s on edge. We’re sore, we’re tired, we’re…”

“You just said you’re not sure if you trust him. So you’ve got the vibes, too. I know you do.”

“Whether I trust him or not, this is our only option. I have more control over things here than if we’re on the street, constantly looking for a place to hide out. Do you trust me ?”

“With my life. You know I do. But that doesn’t mean I can just ignore this. The way I’m feeling. Something is… off . I can’t put my finger on what , but it is. And the sooner things die down and we can get the hell out of here, the better.”

“If I start feeling worse about things…about him …I’ll get you and Ovi out of there. I’ll figure something out; find a place to lay low until Nik can get us out of here. I won’t let anything happen to you. And I will get you out of Dhaka.”

“Gotta get yourself out of here, too. Remember our deal? Both of us or neither of us.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“You said you’d think about it.”

“I have thought about it.”

“And?”

“And I can’t make any promises. Not when it comes to that. You know how bad things can go. And how quickly it can happen.”

She scowls. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

“It’s the only one I have to give you. Right now, anyway. Are we done? Did you get everything out of your head you needed to? Quiet things down a bit.”

“It’s a little better.”

“You’re safe, Esme. Nothing can touch you here. And if anything even tried…”

“I can’t pretend I feel good about this. About him .”

“You don’t have to. But for now? Try and get some sleep. It’s been a long fucking day. And if you don’t settle down, shut your mouth, and close your eyes soon…”

“You’re such a sweet talker,” she chides, and nuzzles the side of his neck with the tip of her nose. “Let’s stay here a little bit longer. Just like this. I need it. I need you .”

He obliges; wrapping both arms around her and pulling her even tighter against him. Laying a palm on the back of her head, he draws it down onto his shoulder; fingertips gently stroking her hair until her body relaxes against his. Her breathing softening and slowing as she finally drifts off to sleep.

****

Despite succumbing to exhaustion, Tyler’s senses remain hypervigilant. Aware of the slightest change in temperature, the softest of noises out on the street, every sigh and mutter Esme makes as she sleeps on the couch across the room, and each creak of a spring whenever she rolls over or adjusts her position. His hearing is keen. Picking up on the rumble of an engine and the opening and shutting of a car door; a dog in the near distance barking at the intrusion.

He senses the other man’s presence the moment he steps into the room; clocking the the shifting of floorboards beneath feet, the rustling of a brown paper bag, heavy, deep breathing, and a combined smell of cologne and perspiration. He remains silent and motionless; not wanting Gaspar to be aware of his wakefulness. The soft glow of the couch side lamp allows him to watch every move the taller, heavier man makes; his breath catching and his jaw clenching as Gaspar approaches the sofa.

His hands curl into tight fists as Gaspar briefly observes a sleeping Esme, then removes the throw from the back of the sofa; draping it over and tucking it securely around her tiny body. Feeling both nausea and fury building inside of him when his old friend touches her; smoothing her hair away from her face and running a fingertip over the bruises on her left cheek and above her eye. And he isn’t entirely sure what he feels; disgust, worry, rage. Possessiveness, even.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Gaspar gives a small start, then an awkward chuckle as he turns away from the couch. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Now answer my question. What are you doing?”

“The windows are open. It gets chilly at night. I was just making sure she was warm.”

His body aches as he stands. A throbbing that seems to spread outwards from his bones; travelling from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes. Reaching for the sling he’d discarded earlier, he winces as he pulls it over his head, gritting his teeth as he settles his injured arm into place. Approaching the couch, he places his body between it and Gaspar as he reaches down to wake her; grazing his knuckles along her swollen and bruised cheek.

“Hey…” Tyler softly jostles her shoulder. “...Esme…”

Giving a loud yawn, she stretches languorously and turns her face towards him; pressing her brow against his forearm.

“Tyler…”

It claws at his throat and heart; the way his name leaves her mouth so softly and tenderly. It’s terrifying; what should have been a ‘no strings attached’ arrangement quickly -and effortlessly- becoming so much more. She’s the first person to attempt to get past the walls he’d built in the wake of his son’s death; effortlessly managing to burrow beneath the layers of guilt and grief and regret. Breathing life back into him and making him feel again.

“Esme…” His voice is louder, pushing past the last remaining veils of sleep. “...you need to get up.”

Rolling onto her side, she peers up at him, concern immediately furrowing her brow. “What’s wrong? Is there trouble? Do we need to leave? Do we…?”

“There’s nothing wrong. No trouble. Why don’t you go upstairs?” Curling his fingers around her bicep, he guides her into a sit. “You’ll be more comfortable up there.”

“Okay,” she sleepily agrees, gathering the throw around her shoulders as he helps her to her feet.

Although Tyler notices Gaspar’s disgust when she briefly rests her forehead against his chest, he doesn’t hesitate; placing his hands upon her shoulders and gently squeezing. “Try and get some more sleep. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“Alright.” Yawning once more, she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes; wrapping the throw around her as she shuffles through the living room and up the stairs.

Both men remain silent. Until they hear the squeak of the bedroom door as it closes, followed by her soft footfalls overhead.

“Now it’s my turn,” Gaspar speaks in a harsh whisper. Shoulders tightly drawn, eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and disgust. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You and that girl . And whatever the fuck is going on between you.”

“Esme. Her name is Esme. And whatever’s happening between us? That’s none of your business, mate.”

“You’re my friend. That makes it my business. What is wrong with you? This ? This latching onto someone. Practically throwing yourself at their feet. It’s pathetic; watching you trip over yourself trying to get her to even look at you.”

“I’m getting it just fine. Without having to do that. And when have I ever had a job like this? Working with someone? This isn’t normal for me. She’s not normal.”

“It’s embarrassing; the way you are with her. I saw it the second you walked in here; needing to be near her all the time, always finding ways to touch, batting your eyelashes at her every chance you get. When did you get like this? When did you get so soft ?”

“Keep getting on my ass like this and you’ll find out who’s soft.”

“You need to get your head on straight. You’re a mercenary, aren’t you Tyler? Then start acting like a mercenary. Because this ? Her ? It’s wrong and you know it.”

“What’s going on with Esme and I has nothing to do with the job. And nothing to do with you . So if you don’t mind, mate, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her. Or go near her. Just keep your distance. Because if I see you touching her again…”

“Get your shit together!” Gaspar snarls. “You want to get out of here alive? Stop whatever is going on with that girl…”

“It’s too late for that. To stop it. So just back off and…”

“Don’t you understand that I’m worried about you? That I see what’s happening? What she’s doing to you? Are you that fucking blind that you don’t see it? She’s using you, Tyler. She’s lying and she’s manipulating and…”

“She’s not. She’s not doing any of that.”

“It’s what she does for a living. Did you forget that? Why she’s even involved in this job in the first place? It’s who she is. In the same way being a mercenary is who you are. She cons people for a living. And now she’s conning you . Because you’re her only chance of getting out of here alive.”

“That’s not what she’s doing.”

“Do you think she loves you?” Gaspar gives an incredulous laugh. “Is that what you think? That she sees you as some knight in shining armour that’s come along to sweep her off her feet?”

“You need to let this go, mate. Because there’s nothing you can say or do…”

“This is what she does, Tyler; what she gets paid for. She wanders into people's lives and turns them upside down. She lies and she uses and she…”

“That’s not who she is away from the job.”

“It’s exactly who she is. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

“You don’t know her, Gaspar. You don’t…”

“And you do? It’s been what? A week? If that? You think you know who she really is? That she isn’t using you and playing you the same way she has so many others? Why are being so fucking naive? Are you that lonely? That desperate? That you can’t see what’s going on?”

“You weren’t there. Back in that hotel room. You don’t know the things that happened or…”

“Oh, I know what happened. You’re a red-blooded male, she’s an attractive woman. It’s not hard to figure out. And it must have been really damn good. Bceause for you to be so naive and so fucking blind…”

“...or the things we talked about. You need to let this go. I don’t know what you’re trying to do or why you’re doing it…”

“She is going to ruin you, Tyler. She is going to lie and manipulate and tell you everything you want to hear. She’s going to keep whoring herself out to you so…”

His fists clench. “I’m warning you, mate. Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t talk about her at all .”

“Do you honestly believe someone like her would want someone like you? That she doesn’t know what a mess you are? Look at her; she’s way out of your league and can do so much better, Why would she want you ? All your baggage, all your bullshit. The pain meds and the booze and…”

“She knows I can change. That I will change.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to run off with her? When all of this is over? You’re going to get out of Dhaka and the two of you are going to live happily ever after? That’s bullshit and you know it. Everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie; all the sweet nothings, all the pillow talk, all the promises. And if you yanked your head out of your ass long enough to realize it…”

“I’m only going to tell you this once more. It’s none of your business. Don’t talk about her again. Don’t go near her. Don’t touch her. Don’t even look at her.”

“You’re in for hell of a rude awakening the second you leave here. When you finally realize that everything she said…everything she did…was nothing but shit. She’s using you, Tyler. Doing whatever she has to make sure she gets out of here. And when she does, she will leave you an even bigger mess than you were before.”

Smirking, he gives his head an incredulous shake. “We’re done here.”

Gaspar snatches him by the arm, preventing him from leaving. “This is going to blow up in your face. And she’s going to leave you an even bigger mess than you already are.”

“Mind your own business, mate. That’s the last time I’m going to warn you.”

“Two broken people can not come together and make a whole. It doesn’t work that way. You know what happens? In the end? They end up making each other worse. They destroy everything.”

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