#I just needed to draw Nik's chest and belly .......................

[nekrosmos]

Nik taking a little break after working on his helo all morning 🔧​🚁

[mahizli]

Reckless (There Is No Chaos, There Is Harmony)

Beautiful art that can be found here, and that shows what happens *after* and not *during* this story, that is also Part 3 of Threading The Way.

26 BBY.

“Why don’t you ever say something nice to me?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin…”

“See what I mean? It’s never enough for you, is it?”

“Now don’t pull that card on me, Padawan–”

“No, you don’t get to Padawan me!”

Anakin paused, out of breath, cheeks flushed with rage, facing Obi-Wan whose eyes had started to brighten as well but still stayed infuriatingly calm. He had crossed his arms, though, fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic, meaning even perfect-and-tidy-Master-Obi-Wan could get upset. And Anakin wanted his Master to get upset. He wanted him to feel just as angry and betrayed and hurt as he was.

“You don’t get to tell the Council my actions were a bit rash. I saved your kriffing life, Master, I prevented a whole building from collapsing on you, and just because you’re too weak to do the same, you don’t get to be jealous of me and belittle me and call my actions rash in front of stupid Master Windu!”

He was as tall as his Master now. And he would get taller than Obi-Wan, that much was obvious, because he had already outgrown him in matters of boot-size. Meaning he was on eye-level with his Master. Meaning he had a full view of the whirlwind of emotions blossoming in Obi-Wan’s stormy eyes, and the way every bit of colour left his Master’s cheeks.

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around his arms, and for a few seconds, even the Force felt still around them, leaving Anakin quivering with rage and something uncomfortable feeling a lot like shame.

“Master Windu is not responsible for the way you feel about me”, Obi-Wan finally managed to push out, in a somewhat breathy voice.

And the angry beast deep within Anakin raised its tail again, clawing its talons deep into his chest and belly.

“No, because you are”, he spat out, and of all the things he could have done, his Master blinked.

It made Anakin even more angry. He wanted Obi-Wan to roar, to stand up against him, to yell at him, to call him names, to fight. Not to stand there looking like a small, breakable thing that could be crushed in an eyeblink, if Anakin wasn’t watching – and Obi-Wan had not a clue, Obi-Wan never had a clue…

“Anakin, my intention never was to belittle you.”

“Well I don’t believe you.”

Something in Obi-Wan’s face closed then, and Anakin felt his Master’s shields slam shut, leaving their bond blank, like the aftermath of an explosion. Obi-Wan’s hands left his arms, and then his Master simply walked past him, leaving their sitting room for the kitchen.

It was always the same, whenever Obi-Wan felt overwhelmed. He would simply stop talking, leaving the argument like he would leave a room, and it drew Anakin nuts.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, angrily, watching his Master open a cupboard, fetching a sponge and an old cleaning rag, without even using the Force – sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to forget it even existed.

“I’m clearing the dust”, Obi-Wan rasped, in that strangled tone of voice he had whenever Anakin had pushed every possible button to draw him ballistic. “It’s been weeks since we’ve been here, and I’m not sleeping in a dirty room.”

“Have you listened to a word I said?”

“Have you?”

Strange, how Obi-Wan’s fierceness could sound so much like sadness. Strange, also, how luminous his eyes could look whenever he finally chose to stand up, to fight back – and he didn’t even use his lightsaber, just some ratty sponge and rag, wiping the table with enough strength to wipe out every possible stain.

“I’m clearing the dust. I suggest you do the same, literally or metaphorically.”

“Typical.”

And with that last insult, hissed like a fire-breath from whatever nasty beast was feasting on sadness and hurt behind his chest, Anakin left their quarters, slamming their door shut, heading straight for the hangers where droids and speeders were waiting for him, and could do nothing but agreeing with him.

It had been six years. Six kriffing years, since Anakin had arrived at the Temple, had heard Master Windu tell him he would never become a Jedi, and yet there he was. There he was, going on missions with his Master, flying their ship, fighting alongside Obi-Wan and saving the day whenever his Master’s disturbing habit of talking them out of trouble backfired on them.

And yet, Anakin could not shake the nagging feeling that no one really wanted him there, that they were all watching him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to slip up, to prove them they had all been right, no matter how hard he tried.

And Obi-Wan did not help. Not anymore. He was trying to reign Anakin in, instead of letting his power grow, instead of letting him prove himself, talking about balance and reason and mindfulness, when all was just a piece of rubbish.

“How is mindfulness going to keep you from getting crushed?”, Anakin muttered, teeth gritted around a nut he was determined to screw deep within the speeder’s core.

His hair was soon matted with dust and oil, and his skin salty with sweat. He was about as far he could get from Obi-Wan’s notions of cleanliness, and it felt so deeply satisfying that the beast behind Anakin’s chest finally quietened.

He spent enough hours under that speeder to get hungry, but it was out of the question to go back to their quarters and to Obi-Wan – because going back was almost like apologizing, and Anakin did not want to.

So he did what he always did, whenever he fought his Master and wanted to vent about him. Master Quinlan was useless in such cases, getting all stern and serious to the point even Aayla was beginning to look worried – but then, Master Quinlan was always a bit overprotective of his friends, so…

No, the best person whenever he wanted to talk, and explain just how betrayed and misunderstood he felt was Master Luminara, who somehow always managed to calm him down, and to silence the beast within him.

“Hello, Padawan Skywalker”, she greeted him, night-like eyes sparkling with unspoken fondness. “I see you have made it back from your mission.”

“Hello, Master Luminara. There is no need to Padawan me, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But I, too, do enjoy a tease every now and then. Do come in.”

“Thank you. Oh.”

Master Luminara’s usually impeccably tidy rooms were crowded with two empty shelves, what looked to be parts of a desk and two mechanic droids adding to the mess and bustle.

“Don’t tell me you are dusting as well”, Anakin muttered, dejectedly.

“Because Obi-Wan is?”, Luminara asked, cheerily, moving to the kitchen to brow themselves a cup of caff.

“Mhm”, Anakin let out, allowing his long, gangly limbs to cram themselves between the bench and the table, and to let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh. Sponge or rag?”

“Both.”

“That bad, then…”

She was not laughing at him, though. Master Luminara never was. She always listened to him, and she never judged, unlike Master Quinlan who didn’t hesitate to yell and occasionally even shake him – not that Anakin minded, because it was always somewhat amusing to watch him loose his cool.

“He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how I feel. He thinks I’m acting rashly, that I only follow my instinct and my whims instead of thinking things through, that I rely too much on my emotions, and not enough on the Force. But it’s not true! I’m the one who saved him from being crushed, last mission, and he keeps pulling stunts like that, getting into trouble and then lecturing me because I got him out!”

“What happened, Anakin? DUM, NIK, would you please put those shelves in the spare room – and the desk as well, opposite the bed…?”

“Why are you refurnishing that room, Master Luminara?”

“Never mind now, Anakin. Please tell me, how did you prevent Obi-Wan from getting crushed, exactly?”

And so, Anakin finally got to tell someone about how that building exploded, how his Master was standing just below, having been talking to officials, and how Anakin prevented the building from collapsing, holding it up with the Force for almost twenty minutes.

“He just lectured me. In the med-centre. Of all the things he could have done, he lectured me.”

“In the med-centre?”

“Yeah. I… sort of collapsed, after that. But it was okay. The medics said I just had some Jedi-Force-exhaustion, and I slept it off, and that was it.”

“I see… And how long, exactly, were you unconscious, Anakin?”

Anakin watched the caff swirl in his cup, as he moved it around in small circles, until he finally let out two pitiful words, refusing to look up.

“Two days.”

Luminara let the words sink in, and gently placed a soft, cool hand on his. But she didn’t say a word, just waited for him to rise his eyes and let out a small, undignified breath sounding a lot like a sob.

“I just wanted to make him proud”, he whispered, and Luminara drew him against her, allowing him to hide his burning face against his neck. “I know I should have thought of something else, I even know that he probably would have jumped away, but I… I knew I could do it, and I wanted to save him. And instead…”

“You saved him, Anakin. And I do not think Obi-Wan denies it. I think he was as scared of losing you than you were of losing him. I think that, whenever Obi-Wan calls you reckless, he is chiding himself for not protecting you better. For exposing you. He knows just how many eyes are on both of you. And I think your Master is trying to shield you – to make it appear like he is the one failing to hold you back, whenever you get passionate, so that you can continue to be who you are deep inside.”

Anakin frowned at that, and then he shook his head.

“I’m too chaotic for him. Sometimes I think he’d be better off without me.”

“Nonsense, Anakin. Obi-Wan thrives in chaos, believe me. Quinlan, Master Qui-Gon, and now you – he needs someone reckless enough to draw him out of his shell.”

That made Anakin smile, and unfold from Luminara’s embrace.

“So. Why are you putting those shelves and desk into the spare-room?”, he asked, and he watched Luminara’s face soften in quiet joy.

“Because tomorrow, Padawan Skywalker, I will welcome my very own Padawan into those quarters. I have waited for her to become of age, and tomorrow, we will finally start our apprenticeship together.”

“Your apprenticeship, Master Luminara? You are no apprentice anymore…”

“But I am, Padawan Skywalker. I am going to begin to learn what it means to be a Padawan’s Master and companion – it is not something we are born with, you know… And the Master learns just as much as the Padawan, on their journey together.”

It was late already when Anakin finally left Master Luminara’s quarters. He had helped her move the furniture where she wanted them, and had even managed to empower the droids so as to allow them to fix some of the shelves to the wall, standing one on top of the other. The room was clean and tidy, just like his had been when Obi-Wan had open his door to him – and Anakin remembered, with a sinking heart, just how different things had been for both of them, and just how much time it had taken for Obi-Wan to claim his own room and find the courage to clear it from Master Jinn’s things with him.

He opened their door with a slow, controlled Force-brush, and closed it noiselessly behind him, tiptoeing inside. The sitting room was clean, without a speck of dust, the plants were watered and even the holobooks and holovids had been dusted and put lovingly back into place. The kitchen was spotless as well, spoons and cupboards neatly stored in the cupboards, and even the ground was shiny and smelt of cleanliness. Anakin’s room was untouched though – Obi-Wan having learned very early that Anakin was very peculiar about boundaries, storing treasures and droid-parts – save for the bed that had been made with fresh sheets.

He found his Master in his own room, not even needing to open the door. Obi-Wan had dusted and cleaned his own room, and Valentine was letting out small, regular puffs on the windowsill – her very own way to snore.

Obi-Wan himself was stretched on his bed, feet still brushing the ground and arms circling his face, like someone who had sat down, then let himself fall backwards, without moving ever since. He was still holding the infamous rag in a loose grip, but he was fast asleep, hair still a bit sweaty from exertion, features lax behind the stubble he kept growing to hide just how young he looked.

Anakin shook his head, and took the rag from Obi-Wan’s hand, wrinkling his nose.

“Gross, Master. And ridiculous”, he whispered, careful not to wake him up.

He managed to shower and change without Obi-Wan even stirring – and Anakin realised then just how tired his Master must have been. He had not really noticed, but in hindsight it was obvious. Because his Master never slept whenever he was ill or injured, always hovering anxiously at his side, even pretending not to be.

He came back to Obi-Wan’s room with a data-pad, and had managed to reach level 72 of his newest game, when he finally heard a deep sigh leaving his Master’s chest, and realised Obi-Wan was waking up.

“Hello there”, Anakin whispered – and his own chest felt oddly tight, remembering the dreadful words he had thrown at his Master.

His Master whose first reaction was to smile at him and reach out for his hand, placing warm, loose fingers around his wrist, in an instinctive gesture of love or care that made the knot in Anakin’s chest even tighter.

Obi-Wan sat up, and then only seemed to remember that they had fought and were supposed to be at odds, his face getting all tight and apprehensive once more. But his hand was still around Anakin’s wrist, and Anakin did not let him speak – he just embraced him fiercely with everything he had, hiding his face deep into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I am so, so sorry, Master. I never meant any of it. I promise. I promise.”

Obi-Wan just breathed out and hugged him back. They stayed like that for some time, and their bond was no longer silent and cold, but simply there, like it had been for six years – tying Anakin to the Force and to his Master.

“Have you eaten?”, Obi-Wan finally asked, ever practical, and Anakin shook his head.

“Shall we, then?”, his Master asked. “There’s pie in the cantina tonight.”

“Wizard”, Anakin muttered, but he didn’t let go.

Not before he managed to ask that very important question, the one that had fuelled the beast’s anger deep within him.

“Master, do you think I’m… too chaotic? Do you think… Do you sometimes think about… how different life would have been… without having to take me in?”

This time Obi-Wan straightened. And this time his Master’s voice was as fierce and powerful as it could get – just like it was whenever he put a stop to all the nonsense the Galaxy allowed to happen during their missions, just like it was whenever he did something so great Anakin could just stand there and gape and think about just how awesome his Master was.

“I don’t even want to begin considering it.”

Anakin’s throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, feeling his Master’s hands on his back, gently tapping him.

“I’d die of boredom”, Obi-Wan whispered, grazing Anakin’s hair with his stubble, laughing silently at his indignant squawk. “Besides, Padawan mine…”

He let go of Anakin, just enough to be able to look at him, and to place Anakin’s braid back behind his ear.

“There is harmony to be found, even within chaos.”

He placed something into Anakin’s palm, smiling softly at him, and watched him discover a small black bead harbouring a beautiful golden streak.

“What is this one for, Master? I… I just yelled at you. I called you… I told you some horrible things.”

“But you also saved my life. And you taught me that sometimes… sometimes I still put things the wrong way, whenever I try to talk to you, and about you.”

“I do so as well, Master”, Anakin whispered, fingers closing shyly around the bead.

“Well then, Padawan… I think we still make quite the pair.”

And we can both become better Jedi together.

His Master’s voice was warm and loving in Anakin’s mind. And so Anakin smiled, and pulled his Master up, determined to pull him towards the cantina as fast as he could.

Because, tonight, there was pie, and after all, Anakin was starving.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 48

Warnings: angst

Tags: @alievans007​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @thunderintheshadows​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @valkyrie-of-the-light​

An incessant knock at the door rouses her from her sleep, and she groans in protests as she rolls over onto her back and stares up at the cove ceiling. She's unsure of how much time has passed since Tyler left to attend to the drama with McMann, but the sun has changed positions and is now at full force as it streams through the window and onto the bed.  She presses the heels of her palms on her eyes in an attempt to both clear the sleep out of them and rid her brain of some of the lingering fogginess. Hoping that if she stays as motionless and as silent as possible, whoever is trying to contact her will just go away.  She's exhausted;  a fatigue that she's come to recognize as a late first trimester side effect. With each of her pregnancies it had set in at the same; somewhere between the middle and the end of the second month.  She does the math in her head; figuring out the exact dates that conception was the most possible. He'd just gotten back from El Salvador; a simple (for once) in and out assassination of a known human trafficker.  Sarge had picked the kids for a rare weekend at his and grandma's house, and he'd given her a wink as he'd teased her about being able to spend 'noisy adult time' with her frequently absent husband.   Which they'd managed plenty of; wild and uninhibited, intense and passionate, often rough. And it was the first time in a long  time she had actually been make the noises that she'd gotten so used to hiding behind her hand or a pillow.    

Condoms had become their go to for protection after Declan had been conceived when she was on the pill. And seeing as neither of them at the time had been one hundred sold on whether to have more children, that ruled out getting her tubes or a vasectomy for him, so something had to be used.  So she thought they'd been careful.

Apparently not careful enough.

She places both hands on her stomach; still flat for now (aside from the baby weight she hasn't managed to lose since having Declan), but if her intuition, calculations, and pregnancy history were correct, she'd be just beginning to show around the beginning of the fifth month.  It wouldn't be much; just a little bump that would be visible underneath tight fitting clothes.  But it would seem much more real than it did right now; when all she had to show for growing a life inside of her was fatigue and horrible all day sickness.  It was something she always marvelled at; the changes in her body as the weeks and months progressed, the way her hips and her breasts would fill out, the way her hair would become thicker and more vibrant, the way her skin seemed to glow. And it was always magical, no matter how many times she carried a life inside of her, to feel that little person moving around. The kicking and the squirming, the way -in the last trimester- you could sometimes see the entire outline of a hand or a foot when room was starting to run out and they had no more vacant space to move into.  And above everything, she couldn't get enough of the way her husband 'softened' over the last three months; the way that big strong man would lie in bed at night with those calloused and battered hands resting on her belly, the most gentle smile curving his lips and the utmost excitement in his eyes every time the baby kicked or seemed to respond to his voice.

And she smiles as she thinks of those times past and those moments still to come.  When they'd be in the comfort and security of their own home, back under the same roof as their children, finally able to relax and enjoy the new life that they'd be bringing into this world. Things would be different this time; he'd be around for the majority of the pregnancy, able to attend more appointments and ultrasounds, no going out of the country for extended periods of time, no worry every time the phone rang that he'd run off and put himself in danger.  

The knocking has ceased, and she once again closes her eyes, hands still on her stomach, attempting to fall back asleep once more. Sleep gave her the opportunity not to worry about him. The only time where she isn't stressed out and her mind is imagining all the worst case scenarios.  And she feels as if she's just on the brink of sleep when she hears the faint scratching of a key card being slid through the security slot, followed by the click as the system unlocks the door. She quickly jumps off the bed, feeling temporarily dizzy as she scurries through the door; she'd put the chain lock and the deadbolt in place, exactly as he'd instructed her to do if he ever left her alone.

“Wait...wait...” she implores, and hurriedly draws back the chain and snaps open the bolt. “...usually you call when you're on your back so I know to unlock everything, why...”

She stops mid sentence when she comes face to face with Nik.  The other woman's lips set in a grim line, dark eyes troubled, And immediately thinks the worst. All those times she's spent imaging that knock on the door; how Nik would be standing there with that exact same expression, preparing to give her devastating news.

“What happened?” she can't help the panic that settles into her voice. “Please tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's not...”

“Tyler's fine,” Nik assures her, yet her expression doesn't change. “I'm here to talk to you.”

“About?”

“About Tyler.”

Esme frowns. “Look, if you're here to tell me you've been fucking him and he's leaving me for you, I'll kill both of you. Just saying.”

“He would never do anything like that to you and you know. Can I come in? This is a conversation we need to have behind closed doors. This isn't something you want your neighbours hearing.”

She senses the dire importance in the other woman's voice, and then steps back and holds the door open, motioning for her to step into the room.  Closing the door, she resets the chain and the deadbolt. Just in case.

“I heard the good news,” Nik says, as she surveys the room, hands on her slender hips, expression still cold and unnerving. “About the baby.”

“You talked to Tyler?”

“A little while ago.  I ran into him. Where they're holding Michael McMann.”

“Yeah, he left a while ago.  I guess Mark and his guys were having some issues with McMann and Tyler's the one that puts the  most fear into him. Why were you there? Just checking up on things?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Nik, what's going on? You seem...I don't know...pissed.”

“I'm just a little upset,” she admits. “About this whole situation. With McMann.”

“I know it's taking a long time. Especially to find out where the kids are. But we've been doing everything we can. We've been  running intel around the clock and Yaz has tech in every possible place he can think of. And Tyler can't do much until he actually knows where the kids are, so...”

“Did you know?” Nik interrupts.

“Know what?”

“About McMann. About where he is.”

“I know that Mark and his guys are holding him somewhere until the IRA makes up their mind. I know that they've been trying to get information out of him; about where his kids are.”

Nik's eyes narrow. “That's all you know?”

“”What more is there to know? That's all I've been told.”

“And who told you? About what was happening with McMann?”

“Tyler did. Why? Shouldn't have he? Was he supposed to keep a secret?  Look, if you're pissed at him for telling me, he's been having a hard time...mentally...since McMann told him what he would have done to me had his people caught me. He's been having real low moments and he's just not himself, Nik. He's obsessing over things and he misses the kids and he hasn't been taking his meds and....”

“Esme....” she begins, choosing her words carefully. “...what am I about to tell you? I'm not doing this to upset you. Or hurt you.  And the last thing I want to do is cause problems for you or that baby. Because you're my friend and I love you and...”

“I love you, too. I know we have our problems, but...”

“....I need to stay as calm as you can. Can you do that for me?”

“You can't expect me to be calm when you have that tone in your voice or that look in your eyes. What's going on? He is cheating on me, isn't he. That fucking bastard.”

“No. It's not that. Believe me when I say that Tyler would never, ever do that to you. And he's had the opportunities.”

“Thanks to you,” her tone is accusatory.

“And I'm sorry for that. I really am.  For ever crossing those boundaries. But this something you need to hear. Something that is far worse than the thought of him cheating on you, believe me.”

“Okay...” she crosses her arms over her chest. “....what the hell has he done?”

“You honestly do not know anything else about McMann and what's been happening to him?”

She shakes her head. “Just what I told you. I don't have a reason to know.”

“Actually, you do.  Tyler hasn't been telling you the truth. About the McMann thing. About what really happened. About where he's being kept. And what's going on while he's being kept there.”

“Nik, what the hell are you talking about? What would Tyler have to lie about? So what if the Marines are holding this guy and maybe roughing him up now and then. He's a sick and twisted fuck nut that deserves a good beat down. You  know what he said about me? What he would have done to me? How he would have made Tyler watch? That is sick shit. And he deserves to have his ass handed to him.”

“This goes way beyond someone having their 'ass handed to them'.  I want you to look at something...” Nik pulls her phone out of the front pocket of her pants, tapping on the icon for her photo gallery and then scrolling through pictures before holding the phone out to Esme. “...just keep flipping through them.”

Sighing, Esme holds the phone in the palm of her hand; a frown spreading across her face at the first image. Of a man restrained in a folding metal chair; a heavy chain around his torso keeping him in place, hands restrained behind his back, ankles bound, a hood over his head.

“That's Michael McMann,” Nik explains. “He's being held in a storage locker on the outskirts of town. In an industrial area. Do you know how he got there?”

“I know Tyler went to meet him and there was a plan arranged for Mark and his buddies to help grab him and that they were going to take him somewhere to hold him. I had no idea where.”

“He was drugged. Do you know who drugged him?

“How would I know? I wasn't even there. I just told you that I...”

“Tyler did. Tyler drugged him. And he could have killed him with how much he gave him.”

Her frown grows. “Where would Tyler get drugs from? He doesn't do drugs. He won't even take medication that's prescribed to him.”

“Billy Flynn gave them to him. That's where he met McMann. At Flynn's bar. Did you know that?”

She shakes her head.

“See this?”  Nik uses her index finger to switch pictures. “That's Michael Flynn's throat. See how bruised it is? Someone just about snapped his windpipe.  See the fingerprints on the side of his neck? That's when someone was choking him to restrain him.  And this...” she brings up the next picture. “...is the inside of McMann's mouth. Someone pulled three of his molars out. With pliers.”

“Why are you showing me these?”  Esme pushes the phone back into her friend's hands. “What does this have to with me?”

“It was Tyler. Tyler did these things.”

“What?” she can't help but laugh at the absurdness of it.  “You're kidding, right? Tyler? My Tyler? He did all that?”

Nik nods.

“You're telling that my husband drugged someone, kidnapped them, and is holding them hostage...in order to torture them...in a storage locker?”  

“That's exactly what I'm telling you.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? This has to be some kind of joke. Did Mark put you up to this? Because this is something Mark would do. This is the kind of sick shit he'd get off on. And I wouldn't put it past him to blame it on Tyler.  There is no way my husband would do this. This is not who he is. He doesn't torture and maim people. He kills them;when he has to.  But he doesn't do this,” she gestures towards the phone. “You know him, Nik. You've known him for even longer than I have. And you know that is not Tyler.”

“Esme, I would not come here and burden you with this. Especially now. Especially when there's a baby inside of you and I know you've had problems in the past with the others. But he won't listen to anyone. We've tried to talk him out of this. Mark, Yaz, myself. We've all tried.  And he won't listen. He won't budge. Regardless of what McMann did, this...” Nik holds aloft her phone. “....this is not right. This should not be happening.”

“There's no way he would do all that,” Esme argues.  “Not Tyler. He kills because he has to. Because it's either him or them. He doesn't do shit like this. That's not who he is and you know that.”

“You just said he's been having some issues. Mental ones.”

“Yeah, with his PTSD and not taking his meds. But he doesn't go Reservoir Dogs on someone because he's off his meds. He gets moody and depressed but he's more liable to kill himself than someone else. This he would not do. I know him, Nik. I know what he's like. Whether it's when he's at the highest of his highs or the lowest of his lows. And I know he would not do this.  So I don't know who told you all of this; that he's doing this. But it's not him.”

“He told me, Esme. Tyler told me. After I heard it from Mark. It's why I came here.  To confront Tyler. To try and talk some sense into him. He's not in his right mind. If he was, there's no way he would do this.  You're my last resort. I wouldn't have to come to you and put this on you if I had another way of handling this.”

She doesn't know how she feels.  Shocked? Numb? Disgusted even? None of it makes sense. None of it seems real. Even with the proof right there in those photographs.  And she feels nauseous; the distinct burn of bile as it rises in her throat.  “He would not do this,” she says, even though her gut knows it's true. That Nik would not do this to her; purposely make up something so outrageous just to hurt her.  “Tyler would not do this.”

“He would. And he is. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

“I don't know....” she admits, and lays a hand on her stomach.  “....I don't know what I need to do.”

“Sit down,” Nik takes her by the arm and guides her towards the bed, still holding onto her as she lowers herself down onto the edge. “I'll get you some water. Just try and stay calm, okay?”

Esme nods, then grabs the phone out of Nik's hand before she can depart. Tears clouding her vision as she returns to the photo gallery and sends each of those disturbing, nauseating photos to her own cell phone.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Nik asks, as she returns with a glass of water from the bathroom. “Maybe some fresh air will do you some good. I know it's hard being cooped up like this and you've been under a lot of stress. It will be good for you to get out. Get some exercise. Some sunshine,” she attempts a reassuring smile, and rubs her friend's arm comfortingly. “I know how hard this is. To hear this. To see those pictures.”

“I can't believe he would do this,” Esme's hands shake as she lifts the water to her lips, and Nik puts a supportive hand under the bottom of the glass.  “This is not Tyler. He doesn't do things like this, Nik.”

“Not normally, no. But he has been under a lot of stress. A lot of tension. Worry. And now you're having a baby and he has that on his plate too....”

“Don't bring the baby into this. If anything, that's something he should be happy about.”

“He's been off his meds?”

She nods. “I don't know how long for. I've been so caught up with worrying about the kids and worrying about him not getting killed that I haven't been paying attention.”

“It's not your fault,” Nik rubs her back now. “You're his wife, not his babysitter.”

“I always know if he's going through a crisis. Always. And I'm always there for him. To help him through it. And maybe if I noticed sooner...”

“Esme, don't do this to yourself. None of this is your fault.  You can help him, but you can't fix him. He has to want to fix himself.”

“I told him not to take this job. I begged him not to take it. He'd just gotten back from Guatemala and he promised me...he promised the kids...that he would stay home. That he wouldn't take anything else for at least two weeks. And then McMann showed up in Telluride and everything went to shit.”

“That was McMann's plan. When he couldn't kill Tyler in Guatemala, he changed his entire plan. He concocted this elaborate story about his wife and his kids because he knew that Tyler would cave in at the mention of kids. He wanted to bring him here to start shit with the IRA. So the IRA would kill him and McMann's hands would be clean. No connection to Tyler's death. But when he brought you in and you started digging around....”

“So it's my fault?” the tears fall in earnest now. “He's doing this because of me? Because I got involved in this?”

“No. Esme, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that McMann had to make things even more complicated and twisted to get his hands on Tyler. Including targeting you and the kids. And that's why Tyler is doing this. Or at least that's his rationale. He feels he needs revenge.”

“For what? I'm fine. The kids are fine. What...?”

“The threat was even worse in his mind because he's not in a good place. You know what he gets like that, when he's off his meds.”

She nods. “He obsesses over things. He thinks things are a hundred times worse than what they are.”

“It's Tyler doing these things, but it's not Tyler at the same time. He's not the Tyler you know.  He may think he is, but he isn't.”

“What am I supposed to do? If he's that unhinged, I won't be able to get through to him.  No one will be able to get through to him.”

“Tough love?” she suggests.  “What is he most afraid of? Not just now. But always.”

“I can't do that him, Nik. I can't hurt him like that. If things are that bad now, what will he get like if I do that to him? I just can't. What he's doing is wrong, I'm not denying that. But I can't break his heart.”

“Esme, this is what he needs. To snap him out of it. If he has something he's afraid to lose, that will be what forces him to save himself. You know I'm right. Remember when you kicked him out? Six months it took. But he smartened up, didn't he? Because he was afraid you'd never take him back and he'd never see his kids.”

“I can't,” she insists. “I can't hurt him like that. Of all the things that would break him...”

“It will force him to get his shit together. It will make him realize that he's out of control and he's need to get his head on straight. I know you don't want to do it. You don't want to use yourself and your kids...his kids...as weapons, but you need to. If you want to save Tyler, you have to do it.  Or he'll become someone you don't even recognize. And you won't have a choice to walk  away for good. I know you don't want that.”

“No, I don't...” she uses the back of her hand to brush tears off her cheeks.  “...I don't want to walk away. I love him. And I know he loves me. I know he loves his kids. And I'm having a baby and I can't do it alone. I can't do it without him.”

“You'll have to if this goes on. Because you're going to loose him. To whatever the hell is going on inside his head. If you want to help save him, you have to do this. He needs you to do this.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees. “But it isn't going to well. It's going to go to shit. And then what? When he loses his mind? I'm not afraid of him. I know he won't hurt me. That's one thing I do know for sure. But he's going to flip out, Nik. And this place will be a battle zone.”

“If that happens,  you call me and I'll come and get you. You can come stay with me in my room until he calms down., okay?”

Esme nods.

“It's going to be alright,” Nik assures her, as she wraps an around her friend's shoulder, pulling her tight into her side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Everything is going to be alright.”

****

She's sitting at the end of the bed when he returns, nervously bouncing her legs up and down and chewing on her bottom lip; cell phone clutched tightly in her hand.

“What's going on?” Tyler asks, as she slips his feet out of flip flops, leaving them by the door. “I thought you were going out with Tanis?”

“I changed my mind,”  her voice is strained, the emotion evident. And she doesn't look at him, even when he walks further into the room and lays his hand on her back and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “Where were you?” she asks.

“I told you. I went to help out with McMann.”

“What kind of help?”

“What does it matter?”

“I'm just curious, I guess.  I mean, if three Marines can't handle him, what are you supposed to do about it?”

“Just an extra pair of hands there, I suppose. What's going on? You okay? You seem a little...”

“Upset?” she finishes for him.

He nods.

“I need you to be honest with me, Tyler. I don't want you lying to me. Where were you?”

“I just told you...”

“I know where you were and who you were with. But where were you? As in location? Why is it big secret? Why am I not allowed to know these things? How come every time I ask you, you either totally ignore me or you just change the subject?”

“You don't need to know. Your part in all of this is done now. There's nothing left for you to do. Why would I get you involved in anything else? You need to be taking it easy. For the baby.”

“Don't do that,” she shakes her head, and finally turns her face towards him, her eyes darker than he's ever seen them. “Don't you use this baby as an excuse to keep things from me.”

“What are you talking about? What...?”  he attempts to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she aggressively pushes it away and stands up, facing him.

“I am going to ask you one more time,” she says, voice trembling. “Where were you?”

“I fucking told you. I was helping with McMann. Where the hell does it matter where the actual place is?”

She inhales deeply, pulls her lip between her teeth, and then exhales sharply.  “What the hell is this?”  she brings up the photos on her phone, tapping on the one of McMann restrained to the chair, hood still over his face. “Can you explain this? Tell me what this is, Tyler.”

He sighs heavily, fists tightening by his sides. “Where did you get that?”

“Nik. She sent me a whole bunch. See...” she scrolls through the pictures, and when he attempts to reach for the phone, she yanks it away, holding it behind her back. “...tell me you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't drug someone and kidnap them and tie them up in a storage locker. Tell me you didn't do those things.”

He stares at her; long and hard, blue eyes never leaving dark brown.

“Tell me,” she orders. “Tell me it wasn't you. Tell me that she's wrong. That it was someone else and they're just wanting you to take the blame. Tell me.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I can't.”

“So this was all you? All those pictures? All those things done to him? All those bruises and all the blood and the missing teeth? That was all you? You did all of that?”

He nods.

“Why? Why would you do this? What the hell,Tyler? This is not you! You don't do shit like this! You don't hurt people. You help them!”

“I've hurt plenty of people. I've killed even more. You know that.”

“You kill because you have to! Because you don't have a choice. Because it's you or them . But this! What you're doing now? You have a choice! You're choosing to do this! You're choosing to hurt someone!”

“He fucking deserves it,” his voice is low and steady, giving no evidence to the rage that's building inside of him.

“Why? Who the hell are you to say someone deserves this? Jesus Christ, Tyler! You ripped someone's teeth out of their mouth with goddamn pliers! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. He deserves this. I'm doing this for you.”

“For me?” she laughs incredulously. “For me? Why do you think I would want this? I don't want this! Put a bullet in his head and call it a fucking day! Don't do this! This is sick! This is fucked up and you know it!”

“You know what he was going to do to you? To the kids? Our kids?”

“Don't you dare use them in this. Don't you dare use them to justify this. You think this is what they would want? Their daddy doing these kinds of things to people? You worry about what Millie will say when she grows up. How she'll react when she finds out about your past as mercenary. You worry about that then you go and do this? This is somehow better?”

“She'd understand. That I did it for her.”

“You aren't going to rationalize this. No matter what you say to me. This ends now, Tyler. You hand him over to whoever is going to take him and that's it. This ends. You stop this right now.”

He shakes his head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing this? What am I doing? Holding you accountable for your bullshit? Like I've been doing for five and a half fucking years! When I have I never not called you out on something? Did you really think I wouldn't call you out on this?”

“You weren't supposed to find out.”

“Oh and lying about it makes it so much better. You know, when Nik showed up here and said we needed to talk, I was almost hoping she was going to tell me you were fucking her. Because that would have been so much easier to deal with than this. And how sad is that? That I'd rather you fuck another woman than do something like this?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that this stops right now. That you don't go near him ever again. That you let Mark and his guys handle this from now on. This ends here.  Tell me this ends here.”

He shakes his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Look at these pictures!” she throws the phone at them. “Look at them, Tyler! Look at them and tell me that this is okay! Fucking look at them!”

“Don't...” he takes a step towards her, a fist clutched at his side. “....don't fucking talk to me like that.”

“What are you going to? Are you going to the same thing to me? Are you going to lose your shit on me too?”

“I'd never do that. I would never, ever hurt you.”

“Really? Are you sure? Because I thought you'd never turn into this. I never thought you'd turn into someone who would do this kind of thing. After all the years you've spent getting people away from sick fucks that do these things, you turn around and you become one of them.”

“I'm nothing like them,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“Why are you doing this? Why? Give me one good reason. Look me in the eye and give me one good reason.”

“I told you!” he finally snaps. “He was going to hurt you. He was going to hurt our kids. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Let it happen? Be okay with it?!”

“He can't hurt us because you've got him locked up in that fucking storage place! He can't hurt anyone! So just leave him there to rot if you have to. But don't do this. You don't need to do this!”

“I do. For you. And the kids.”

“No!” she snarls, and jabs him in the chest with her forefinger.  “You don't use us like that! Don't you dare use us to justify this! We don't want you doing this! I want you to stop, Tyler. I want you to just walk away from McMann. From the job. I want you to tell Nik to find someone else to get those kids. Because you are in no way healthy enough to do this job.”

He smirks. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Talking to me like this? Who...?”

“I'm your wife, you fucking asshole!  I'm your wife and I'm worried about you! Because you're becoming someone I don't even recognize! You're slowly becoming a completely different person and I can't watch it happen. I can't just stand back and let you do this to yourself.”

“The person you remember is gone, Esme. You're remembering someone that existed for five days. In Dhaka. That's who you remember.”

“No,” she shakes her head, remaining defiant.  “I remember the person after that. The person who chose to keep going when he could have given up. That's who I remember.”

“The guy you fell in love with? He died that day on the bridge. You know he did. That's who you remember. That guy you were fucking for five days. That's who you remember.”

“No, Tyler. That's not who I remember. I remember the guy who saved a fourteen year old boy even though the job went to shit and there wasn't going to be a payout.  I remember the guy who busted his ass to get Ovi and I across the bridge. That's who I remember!”

“Do you remember the guy that got shot in the throat? That fucking bled out all over you? Do you remember him? Look at it!” he points to the scar on his neck. “Fucking look at it, Esme. You can't, can you. You can't even look at it because it because too real to you. Do you remember that guy?”

“Of course I do.”

“Because that guy died that day. And he took those other guys with him. What you got in the end? That's not the same guy.”

“You're better than that guy.  You became a better man. Do you remember saying that to me? That I made you want to become a better man? Do you remember that?”

He nods.

“You are a better man. And that's the man I want. I don't want the man that does shit like this to people. And you don't want to be that man. I know you don't want to.”

“I'm sorry,” he snarls. “That I can't be that person for you.”

“You are that person, you dick! And I want you to stay that person, Tyler. I need you stay that person. Your kids need you to stay that person.”

“You should have let me die. On that bridge. You should have just let me die.”

She fights back the tears despite the devastation his words inflict upon her heart. Her entire body. “How can you even say that? Is that really what you wanted? You wanted me to let you die?”

“It would have been better if you'd just let me go.”

“Better for who? You? You were the one that wanted to keep seeing me after Dhaka. You brought it up first. We made plans. Together. To travel and enjoy getting to know each other and see where things took us. A guy who wants to die does not do that. And you can't convince me otherwise.”

“It would have been so much easier,” he speaks with a quiet resolve, despite the rage that causes his entire body to tremble.

“For you? That's bullshit, Tyler and you know it.”

“You wouldn't have wasted the last five and a half years of you life.”

“I didn't waste anything. I married the love of my life. I had his children. There was nothing wasted. I've spent these last five and a half years loving you with everything I am and everything I have. And I spent them being loved by you. I wasted nothing.”

“None of this would be happening. This bullshit with McMann. People going after my kids. Threatening them. If I hadn't survived...”

“But you did,” she hisses. “You did survive. You didn't die because you're a stubborn fucking asshole who refuses to give up. The same stubborn asshole who coded three times in the OR and still came back. You have me. You have your children. Aren't we enough? Aren't we enough to make you want to live?”

“Of course you are. But....”

“There's no 'buts', Tyler. I know how stressed you are right now. I know you're going through a fucking nightmare mentally. And I know that it frustrates you and it confuses you and I know it scares you. But you're not in this alone. I am right here with you. And I'll fight your fight with you.”

“You shouldn't have to!” he argues. “Don't you fucking get that? You shouldn't have to keep doing this!”

“I don't have to do anything. I want to. Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you swallow your goddamn pride and let me in? Just let me help you. Please.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to stop this. This McMann bullshit. Because that's not you. Regardless of what you say, regardless of your stupid ass reasonings. That's not the man I fell in love with. That I married. That I gave children to. It's your brain, Tyler. It's messing with you. So you need to stop right now. And you need to tell Nik that you're done. Someone else can find those kids. You tell her and we leave. We get the first flight out of here and we go and get our kids and Ovi and we go home.”

He shakes his head, voice choked by emotion. “I can't.  I'm sorry.  I can't.”

“You still want to finish the job,” it's a statement, not a question. “You still think you need to stay and get it done.”

He nods.

“Well I guess you've made your choice then. It was always going to be this way, wasn't it, Tyler. You were always going to chose the job over me, weren't you.”

“That is not what I'm doing. I promised you, at the end of it, I was done.”

“I am sick to death of your promises. Of you breaking them all the time. I'm tired.  I'm tired and I've got another human being inside of me that I'm trying to keep alive. I'm tired and I'm done. You made your choice,” she steps past him, aggressively shoving her shoulder into him.

“What are you doing?” he watches as she grabs one of her suitcases out of the unlocked second closet in the hall. “Esme...what the fuck? Stop your fucking games, okay? Just stop this shit and just sit down and we will talk about this and...”

“We are way past sitting down and talking about anything,” she tosses the suitcase onto the bed, angrily yanking on the zipper to open it, then stomps to the dresses and begins tearing open drawers; gathering up various items of clothing and messily tossing them into the case.

“Just stop!” he orders. “What are you doing?!”

“I'm leaving. I'm going back to Colorado. I'll stay with my mom until Ovi brings the kids back.”

“You don't need to do that. Stop...” he stands behind and reaches around her slight frame to grab both of her wrists in one of his hands. “You don't need to leave. I don't want you to leave.”

“If I stay, I'm only going to be in your way. Just like I was in Dhaka.”

“That's not true. You were never in my way in Dhaka.”

“It wouldn't have been so hard if I'd died in that forest too. If Saju had have just done me in when he had the chance. Things would have been a lot easier on you and a lot easier on Ovi.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“Why am I even here still? My usefulness ran it's coarse, right? You don't need me anymore.”

“Of course I need you. You're my wife.”

“You chose, Tyler,” she manages to yank her hands out of his grip. “You made your choice. Now you can live with it.”

“Don't do this. Please. I never chose the job over you.”

“You just did!” she bellows, and pushes him away with her elbow, tears flowing freely down her face. “You just did!”

“I promised you I'd be done after I was finished her. That was what our deal.”

“Well fuck the deal!” she shoves him away once more when he attempts to get closer. “And fuck you too, Tyler!”

“Esme...stop...don't do this. Don't leave.  I don't want you to leave.”

“You need to get your shit together,” she orders. “You need to figure out what the hell you want.”

“You,” there's no hesitation.  “I want you. I want my kids.”

“Then come with me. Tell Nik that you're done. Tell her you're finished and come home with me.”

“You know I can't. You know I can't leave those kids.”

“But you can you leave yours right? That's a never a problem to you.  It's never a problem when you walk out the door while they're sleeping and leave me to clean up your mess. You can leave your own kids...that you helped make...but not complete strangers. Makes total sense.”

“Just give me to the end of the week. Like we agreed on. That's all I'm asking for here. Just five more days.”

“And then five days become ten and ten become twenty and on and on and on.”

“Not this time,” Tyler insists. “This time I'm done. I meant what I said.”

“I'm not staying here. I refuse to stay here. I'm not hanging around to get that phone call or that knock on the door letting me know you're dead. I'm going home. To Colorado. To my mom's. And you get a hold of Ovi and you get him and my kids back. Do you understand me?”

“Esme...” he lays his hands on her shoulders. “...just stop.”

“You track down Ovi and my kids and you get their asses back to Colorado. Or I will never, ever forgive you. I will spend the rest of my life hating you if you don't  get my kids back where they belong. And stop!” she uses her elbows to knock her hands off her shoulders. “Stop touching me! I don't want you touching me right now. Just get my kids back, Tyler.”

“They're my kids too,” he angrily reminds her.

“Yeah, well try being a father once in a while. Not just when it's convenient for you and fits your schedule.”

“That's fucking low and you know it, Esme. That's really fucking low. I do what I do for those kids. For you!”

“You do what you do because you like it. You just won't admit. Because it makes you sick to admit it so you use me and the kids as an excuse. Because it makes you feel better. Quit your shit, Tyler. Just admit. For once, just admit you do this job because you enjoy it.”

“I don't enjoy it. I do it because I'm good at it. No. I'm fucking great at it. And the money...”

“Fuck the money. There is not enough money in this world to replace you! I don't care about the money. I would leave  with you right now and go back to Australia and live in that goddamn shack with you and four kids and fucking chicken in the bathroom if that's what you wanted. If that is what would make you happy. If that's what would you keep you home and safe!”

“Esme....please...just stay here with me...we can sit down and talk about this. Like rational adults.”

“Tyler, I am way past feeling rational. I'm not staying here with you.  I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.  But I can't be around you right now. I just can't. You need time to think. Without me around.”

“No,” he remains steadfast. “I don't.

She finishes throwing the clothes into the suitcase and zips it closed. “I'll be there. When this is done. I'll be waiting for you to come home. But if in your heart you do want the job over us, don't even bother coming back. Move. Get out of my way.”

“Stop. Right now. Stop whatever fucking game this is and...”

“This isn't a game!” she screams. “I said move!”

He holds his hands up in surrender and steps backwards. “You're leaving now?” he asks incredulously, as she grabs the suitcase and heads for the door.  “Right now? Where the hell are you going?”

“I'll stay with Nik.  Then I'll get a flight back first thing tomorrow.”

He crosses the room in three long strides, slamming a palm against the door to prevent her from opening it. “Stay here. With me. Then tomorrow you book a flight and I will take you to the airport. Just stay here. With me.”

“Why? Because you think fucking me a few times will make everything better? It doesn't solve everything, Tyler. Regardless of what you think.”

“I never said that. I never even thought it. I just want you to stay. I just want to sleep here. With me. In the same bed. So I can wake up beside you. That's all I want.”

“I can't.  You need to respect that. That I need to be away from you right now. This all too much. Finding out what you've been doing. I need time to come to terms with that and I need to take care of myself and this baby and I can't do either of those things if I'm with you. You have to let me go, Tyler.”

“No. I don't, And I won't.”

“If I stay, this won't end well. Because all the worry and the stress is going to get to me and I'm going to lose this baby and you won't ever forgive yourself for that. So please. Just let me go. If you love me, if you love this baby, just let me go.”

“Fine...” he relents, removing his hand from the door and stepping back far enough to allow her to open it.

“I'm sorry,” she says,  and he reaches out to clear the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “This is not about not loving you. Because I do. I love you so fucking much. And it's because I love you that I'm doing this.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Do you? Because I need you to understand that. I need you to know that I love you and I'm not leaving you. I don't want this...us...to be over. I just need to take care of myself and this baby. I can't do that if I'm here. And you know I can't. You know right, that?”

“Yup.”

“I want you to find those kids. I do. And then I want you to come home. To me. To our kids. Your kids. Promise me, Tyler. If there's ever going to be one promise you make and keep, make it that one.”

“I promise. I'll come home. To you. To the kids.”

“Be careful, okay? And stay safe. Come home in one piece. And breathing.”

“I will,” he assures her.

She manages a small smiles, then reaches up to push his hair off of his forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he leans down to kiss her.  Long and languid. Tender.

“I'll see you when I see you,” she says.

He grins. “That's my line.”

“Well, I beat you to it this time.”

He lays a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her into him, pressing his lips to her brow.  “Stay,” he says. “Just tonight. Tomorrow I'll let you leave. I'll take you to the airport.”

“If I don't leave now, I never will. And that's not good for either of us. But I'll be waiting for you. I promise,” she places her hand on the side of his face, running her thumb over his lips and then the bristles of his beard. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too. At least call me. Before you leave tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promises, and briefly leans her forehead against his chest before stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind her.