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chickensarentcheap · 1 year ago

Text

In a Heartbeat- Part One

FANDOM: EXTRACTION

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

WARNINGS: angst. Big time angst.

SUMMARY: Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began. In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be. And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/122826046

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @secretaryunpaid @arrthurpendragon @karimac @ninjasawakenedmystar @starryeyes2000 @kmc1989 @timbradfordsboot @themaradwrites @asirensrage @residentdormouse @thesirenrealm @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @thebewingedjewelcat

My tag list is OPEN. Just let me know if you’d like to be added :)

*****

Author’s note: This is a little three-part companion piece to the Tyler and Esme series. However, it follows the timeline of Extraction 2 and contains canon events from the movie. So there are slight spoilers ahead! You’ve been warned :) You do not need to have read any of the other fics to understand this one.

This has been a ‘thing’ in progress for a while now. Something wanted to write about Tyler’s time in the hospital and Esme’s decision to give up her life as she knew it to stick around and support him through it. I think @tragiclyhip had probably heard about my plans for this about a dozen times in the past two years alone LOL. But the hospital scenes in E2 encouraged me to finally get off my butt and write it.

A huge thanks to @tragiclyhip for the incredible story cover and to @youflickedtooharddamnit for coming up with the perfect title! Love you guys :D

*****

She’s used to it now. The steady hums and beeps of the machines that keep him alive.

Every new day is like the one before it. Four months of repeating the same actions from morning until night. And despite the sterile confines of the Intensive Care Unit, she’s managed to settle into a familiar and somewhat comfortable routine; on a first-name basis with many of the nurses and support staff, and the ‘on-ward’ coffee shop baristas able to recite her usual order from sheer memory. Extra large tea. Three milk. No sugar. A toasted bagel with peanut butter for breakfast. A fruit and yogurt parfait for lunch. A bowl of soap or a salad for dinner.

Sometimes both.

Her brain is saturated with mundane and useless details; ridiculous little tidbits of information that help keep her sane and functioning. She knows it’s forty-seven paces to the private washroom, another hundred and ten to the kitchen and common area set up for patients’ family members. And that the vending machine by the communal laundry room is temperamental; every third quarter is only accepted if you first vigorously rub the edge of it along the metal slot.

It’s as far as she’s gone. She hasn’t dared to venture beyond the ward; filled with a sense of dread that the moment she steps foot outside of it, the worst will happen. As if the shadow of death is just lingering in the corner; licking its lips as it anxiously and patiently awaits her departure. Feeling as if she can somehow ward it off if she stays nearby; not giving that cold and unforgiven hand a chance to get close enough to grab hold of him. And she’s determined to fight the demon off as long as she possibly can.

Whether that’s weeks or months. Or even years.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Nik had lamented, attempting to cut through that wall built with immense stubbornness and unshakable paranoia. “You can’t let yourself get rooted to this place. This SPOT. This isn’t what he would want.”

She’d wanted to tell Nik that perhaps she didn’t know Tyler as well as she thought she did. After all, she’d never been privy to the sides of him that existed beyond being mercenary; at her beck and call whenever a job required ‘the best of the best’. Was it through her own disinterest? Did she simply not care about the human being and only the seemingly fearless ‘gun for hire’? Or was it Tyler’s doing? A case of not allowing or wanting her to get that close? A defensive mechanism perhaps; weighed down by layers of trauma and loss as he somehow tries to prevent himself from drowning in an angry, unrelenting sea of guilt and regret.

And she’d found herself irrationally angry at Nik’s mere suggestion; that somehow she knew him THAT way. After all, Nik hadn’t experienced those five days in Dhaka. Not in the way SHE had. It hadn’t been Nik sharing a bed with him; her body that his mouth and his hands roamed and expertly and effortlessly drove to the heights of a passion she’d never experienced. She hadn’t been the one he’d been kissing; her face cradled so delicately within the confines of rough, calloused palms. And it hadn’t been her that he had opened up to; openly talking about the death of his son and the horrible decision he’d made in the lead-up to his last weeks on earth. Nik hadn’t served as his confessional; her heart breaking as he poured out his entire heart and soul and trusted her with his deepest and darkest -and damning- secret.

Instead, she’d stayed civil; appreciating the friendship and the help too much to let her hurt feelings and wounded pride destroy her one and only support system. Remaining calm and quiet as she reminded Nik that the intimacy between herself and Tyler had extended far beyond the physical; they’d confided in each other and found a shared level of trust and faith that neither had ever experienced with another. They’d made plans; mused about visiting each other’s respective home countries and then taking some of their payouts and travelling the world. Making no concrete plans; instead packing lightly and choosing destinations on the whim. It would give them a chance to get to know one another; concentrating on nothing but each other and seeing if they could make something -something good, something permanent- out of the five-day whirlwind they’d experienced in Dhaka.

They’d been excited. Optimistic.

And then the world opened up beneath them and swallowed them whole.

******

Every morning begins the same.

Stirred awake by the arrival of the day shift nurse; a young woman fresh out of college that possesses both enormous compassion and remarkable wisdom. The only one that doesn’t look at her with a mixture of pity and irritation; who doesn’t sigh in annoyance when she’s asked the same questions during EVERY vitals check and who always has something positive to say instead of the usual doom and gloom. Always feeding into the hope that Esme so desperately clings to; sharing stories of patients who’d been through worse and had ‘been under’ much longer, but had one day come out of things and gone on to live healthy, successful lives.

She sees how the others look at her; the way they huddle together at the nurse’s station and whisper as she passes by. As of yet she hasn’t addressed the issue or called them out; too lost in her own little world powered by fear, worry, and stress unlike anything she’s ever known. But she has daydreamed about it; the moment when she’ll finally have enough and stand up for herself. How satisfying it will be to see their shocked and embarrassed expressions when she addresses them in Arabic; one of the six languages aside from English that she’d long ago mastered during her time in the Corps. And she’ll let them know that she isn’t the weak little girl that they view her as; that she is a grown-ass woman who isn’t delusional or crazy for clinging so desperately to any sign of hope.

Yes, it’s true; she and Tyler HAVEN’T known each other for long. Only a week if their initial meeting and the twenty-four hours of mission planning were taken into consideration. But she isn’t pathetic for fighting for the best possible care for him. Or for holding onto the optimism that one day she WILL get more time with him. That he’ll fight his way out of the coma and begin that long road of healing.

Sleep hasn’t been her friend since Dhaka; plagued by bloody and brutal nightmares that replay those desperate moments on the bridge. The events disjointed and out of place, but extremely vivid; witnessing him taking the bullet to the neck and seeing the fear and panic immediately take over his face. The terror in his eyes as he attempted to get get to safety; a hand clasped tightly over the wound as blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his arm. Her screams as clear as the day they’d escaped from her mouth; repeatedly calling out his name as fought her way out of Nik’s protective embrace.

It’s so real when it happens; as if she’s transported back to the exact place and the exact time. Able to smell the mixture of spent gunpowder and spilt gasoline and the polluted water wafting up from the river. Feel the oppressive humid and choking humidity; the sun ferocious as it pounded down upon her, and the cement so scorching that when she kneels upon it burns her skin through the fabric of her pants. The weight of his much larger, stronger body as it lays upon her thighs; a fear and desperation in his eyes as he clung desperately to the front of her t-shirt and struggled in vain to speak through the damage done to his body.

And the blood. So much blood.

Pouring through her fingers as she attempted to cover the wound and keep pressure on it. Her entire body and her voice trembling as she tried her best to remain calm; repeatedly assuring him that help was on its way while trying to succumb to the fear that no one was coming to save them. They’d be left behind with no possible means of escape. And Asif’s remaining men would find them; either putting bullets in their head to kill them immediately or leaving Tyler there to die while dragging her back to days, weeks, even months of sheer hell under their boss’ roof. Trying to ward off the thoughts of the ‘worst case scenario’, she’d instead focused on doing whatever it took to keep�� Tyler alive. Tears streaming down her face as she apologized for having to cause him more pain in order to help him, then proceeding to push two fingers through the bullet wound in an attempt to pinch off the flow of blood right from the source.

Asleep or not, she can still hear the strangled scream he’d given; see the way his eyes briefly fluttered and then rolled towards the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

It’s a sound…and a sight…she will never forget.

*****

She isn’t in the mood for being social. Normally she’d cheerfully greet the nurse and then force herself out of bed; her back and her neck aching from a night on the rickety folding cot as she made her way to Tyler’s side. It’s a mixture of things; the hope that she’ll be told of even the smallest improvement in his condition and a lingering fear…a paranoia…that someone will further harm him. That news of his survival will prompt the need for revenge; Asif sending someone under the guise of a nurse to perhaps put something…some kind of toxic…into his IV line to ‘finish the job’.

It’s absurd, of course. And a sign that she’s truly starting to lose it.

This morning she ignores the nurse’s arrival and opts to stay in bed; completely wrapping her body in her blankets as she rolls onto her side. Despite the sunshine that pours into the central courtyard, her mood is dark and troublesome; she feels empty and incredibly lonely and wishes she’d simply died that day on the bridge. It would have been so much easier; if death had just claimed them both instead of banishing them to a wasteland of fear and dread. Scared every time she even goes to the bathroom or to take a shower that something terrible will happen; her absence being the precise time that his body decides to give up the fight and move onto a far more peaceful, pain-free existence.

She doesn’t entertain those thoughts often; managing to hold onto that shred of hope that carries her from one day…one hour…one hour…one second…to the next. But every so often the doom and gloom creeps in; the times when she considers all the negativity that the doctors have been spoon-feeding her for months. The way they’ve gently pressured her to simply move on with her life; she hasn’t known him that long and surely his loss wouldn’t be THAT big of a tragedy.

They insist they know what’s best for BOTH of them; a peaceful demise for Tyler and her finding a way to forget that he ever existed. And when she refuses to budge and reminds them that she’s calling the shots, they change their tactics; speaking of massive brain damage and considerable loss of cognitive function IF he comes out of the coma. Issuing warnings that he’ll likely need one-to-one care for the rest of his days; someone that can help feed him and dress him and get him in and out of the shower. Is that really the kind of life SHE wants?

“I don’t care if I have to take care of him,” she’d angrily informed them. “I don’t care if I have to help with ANY of that. If I have to spend the rest of my life helping him to the bathroom, I’ll do it. In a heartbeat.”

It’ll be days before they approach the subject again. Allowing her time to ‘cool down’ before once more bringing it; the badgering to turn off the machines and let ‘nature take its course’. And they meet the same brick wall time and time again; unable to win the battle against her stubbornness as she digs her heels in even deeper.

Her eyes close as the nurse’s footfalls grow closer; smelling the aroma of freshly brewed tea as a cup and placed upon the window ledge. And she remains perfectly still as a hand is placed upon the top of her head; a fleeting yet affectionate and concerned moment before the blankets are tucked protectively around her body. Her chest immediately tightens and tears threaten; it’s been decades since anyone -outside of romantic partners- had shown that level of care and concern. Her own mother had been void of any kind of love and tenderness for her; showing nothing but the utmost disdain and showing no interest in bonding with her daughter in any way, shape, or form.

Yet here was a woman -younger than Esme herself- in possession of such tenderness and compassion; willingly accepting the role of caretaker in regards to a non-patient.

A complete stranger.

She wants to bury her face in her pillow and cry; let out all of the emotions that have been weighing her down for the last five months. A multitude of so many things; guilt and hopelessness and emptiness beyond anything she’s ever experienced. A stark contrast compared to what she’d felt in Dhaka; behind closed doors when the job could be temporarily forgotten and they’d become nothing more than two broken and lonely people finding solace in each other. It had been the first time -in what seemed like decades- that she’d ever felt that connected to someone; able to be honest and transparent and not feel pitied or looked down upon. Her ex-husband had destroyed her; mentally and physically. And she’d sworn that she’d never…ever…trust a man again; refusing to hand over her heart only to have it ripped from her chest and thrown on the ground and stomped upon.

Tyler was different.

Even with the mountains of baggage and his extreme self-loathing, he had shown a genuine interest in not only her, but in her interests and the things she had to share. Whether it was in that bar in Dhaka the first night -when they’d shared pitchers of beer and lost count of the number of tequila shooters they’d pounded back- or two days later; when they’d found themselves caught in a mess of tangled sheets and sweaty, naked limbs. Surrendering to an intense sexual attraction in the midst of the craziness and unpredictability of the job; unabashedly using one another for not only physical pleasure, but as an escape from the profound emptiness that haunted them both. And they’d somehow segued so seemingly and effortlessly into something much more meaningful; quickly trusting and opening up to one another and forming a unique and powerful bond within the confines of that dirty little hotel room.

He hadn’t been the least bit ‘put off’ by her backstory or the emotions she showed while sharing it; an infinite amount of patience and understanding in both his eyes and his touch. Making her feel ‘seen’ for the first time in her entire life; able to truly be herself and not feel judged or ridiculed for it. She was finally wholly and completely accepted. By a man with even higher and thicker walls built around his heart and soul.

And above all else, he’d made her feel wanted. Needed. Beautiful. Desirable. Looked upon as if she was the most incredible woman in the world.

How could she possibly give it…ALL OF IT…up?

****

Waiting until she hears the soft click of the door as it closes, she tosses off the blankets; yawning noisily and rubbing at her stiff neck and shoulders as she swings her legs over the side of the cot. She’s slept in worse places; off-the-grid caves and huts and bombed-out towns in both Afghanistan and Iraq. With not even the tiniest bit of comfort that the pencil-thin cot mattress provides her with; memories of using layers of broken down garbage boxes or piles of dry and withered leaves and even just the rocks and sand as a foundation to rest upon.

But she’d been younger then; fresh out of university and full of life and energy and possessed by an unshakable lust for adventure and danger. The intel field was her specialty; her tiny size and ‘girl next door’ looks and ‘apple pie’ personality opening doors that were inaccessible to others. Earning a well-respected and rock-solid reputation as she easily and effortlessly wormed and weaved her way into the tightest of circles. Surrounding herself with dangerous and shady characters that were enabled and empowered by even more deadly and vicious leaders.

It had been those experiences and their accompanying successes -along with her tumultuous, failed marriage- that had eventually led her to Nik.

And that little rundown shack in the Australian outback.

Shoving her feet into a pair of nearby Crocs, she gathers her messy, dark tresses in both hands; fashioning them into a ponytail that she secures with an elastic she keeps around her left wrist. And taking a single sip of tea, she returns the cup to the window ledge before approaching the bed; snagging that chart that hangs from a hook on the footboard and quickly scanning through the notes that the nurse had left behind. She’s not sure what she’s actually looking for; perhaps the smallest bit of information that signals some kind of change in his condition. It’s that hope again; the little shred she clings to when she’s at her lowest. Not a praying person by any stretch of the imagination, but always begging to some higher power to give her a sign…no matter how minuscule…that things are on the upswing.

Today is NOT the day.

Returning the chart to its resting place, she moves to the side of the bed and lowers the safety railing; frowning when she notices the awkward placement of the pillows meant to keep his upper body well supported.

“I’m just going to fix something real quick,” she says aloud, then carefully slips an arm between him and the bed; the back of his head cradled in her palm as her free hand fluffs and realigns the pillows. “I don’t do this? You’re going to have a hell of a stiff neck when you get up.”

It usually gives her a sense of normalcy; talking to him as if he’s going to respond. Helping to keep her sane; imagining his accent, what he’d say in return, and what his facial expressions would look like. In some ways, those five days in Dhaka had felt like a lifetime; feeling closer and more connected to him than people she had known for decades. Even for her entire existence. Able to read him so easily during both the quiet and more intimate times; every emotion and feeling laid bare on his face and especially in his eyes. But today she almost feels foolish; the pit in both her heart and stomach open and raw and allowing the negativity of all of the naysayers to ooze and fester.

Attempting to keep the darkness away, she places a knee on the mattress; allowing her to get closer to him as she navigates her way around all of the tubes and the wires connected to his body. A hand resting on his chest as she presses a series of kisses to warm, smooth skin; the middle of his brow, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Her eyes briefly closing as she rests her forehead against his temple and breathes in his scent; saddened that the familiarity of sandalwood, cedar, and slight citrus have long been replaced by the sickly, almost sweet smell of hospital.

Antiseptic. Illness. And lingering death.

The latter she refuses to consider. And she forces away the tears as she pulls back to look at him; her fingers moving slowly and adoringly through his hair. It’s so much fuller now; a testament to just how long it’s been since they escaped death on the bridge. The longer top strands continuously falling across his forehead and into his eyes; the shorter ones now tumbling down and curling over his ears and skimming the nape of his neck.

It’s so hard to see him like this. The change more apparent with every passing day. His skin gray and sickly; replacing that slight tan that had once given him colour. Dark circles taking up residence under both eyes and his lips painfully dry; his cheeks becoming hollow under the thicker, darker beard. And the loss of weight and muscle tone clearly visible; the hospital gown slipping off sharp, pointier shoulders and hanging loosely over a once broad chest and chiselled stomach.

But he’s still Tyler. The man that she’d been quickly and unabashedly drawn to the moment she’d met him. Nothing could EVER replace that person; those brilliant blue eyes that attempt to mask the pain of his past and the lingering humanity he possessed, that tightly drawn mouth that betrayed his sadness but -when she lightly teased him and flirted with him in the hotel bar- had transformed into a slow, almost boyish smile. Who tilted his head to the side while listening to her drunken rambles; shy and withdrawn at first, but the liquid courage consumed through the evening bringing out a more talkative and charming side. Surprisingly well-read and intelligent; a man that had seen, done, and experienced the worst yet hadn’t let it completely tarnish his spirit. Not as empty and hollow and dead inside as he believed; his laugh and the way he teased her and the moments when his fingertips intentionally brushed against hers paying testament to a man who was still very much alive.

Who could still FEEL.

“Good morning,” she greets, and places another kiss at the corner of his mouth, smiling as she lightly and affectionately tousles his hair. “First thing we’re going to do when you get out of here? Cut this mop of yours. I mean, it’s not THAT bad; it’s starting to grow on me and I guess it is kinda cute. But I DO have my preferences.”

She carefully lowers herself into a sit; folding her legs in her lap before taking one of his hands in both of hers. Tightly squeeze before using her thumbs to lightly massage his fingers; paying extra attention to each misshapen knuckle before moving down to his wrist. Last week he’d shown a small response to the ministrations; his fingers giving a slight twitch and his heart rate climbing several beats. It had given her a newfound sense of optimism; further fuelling the hope that he was fighting his back. Until the neurologist told her it was likely involuntarily; a common and unexpected hike in the numbers and nothing more than random nerve ‘flinches’.

She waits for it now; eyes on the monitor, anxiously chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Nothing.

“I don’t care what they say,” she informs him, and turns his hand over; setting it on her thigh with the palm facing upwards. “I know you meant to do it. It wasn’t just something random. It was totally intentional. I know it. I know YOU.”

For several minutes she sits in silence. Listening to the beeps and the hums of the various machines as her fingertips glide over his palm; alternating between repeatedly tracing slow, methodical circles and gently picking at the calluses at the bottom of his thumb and each finger. Such big, beautiful hands; able to inflict both immense pain and mind and body-numbing pleasure. Capable of not only taking a life in the most bloody and gruesome ways, but also possessing a tenderness unlike anything she’s ever experienced. Moments when he smoothes hair away from her face and loops wayward strands behind her ears. Or he cradles her face in his hands as he kisses her; her mind and her pulse racing from the juxtaposition of rough, battered skin and smooth, soft lips.

She’s looking at the monitor when she both feels and hears it; the slight bump of his leg against the side of her thigh and the quiet rustle of the skin against sheets. For a brief moment her heart stops and she forgets to brief; eyes snapping away from the numbers displayed on the screen to his face. Hoping and praying for something more; the flutter of eyelashes or the twitch of his lips or even the slightest murmur or mumble from around the tube held securely in his mouth.

“Do that again,” she implores, and tightly squeezes his hand in both her own. “I know I wasn’t imagining it. And I know it wasn’t what the doctor said; something random and involuntary. You MEANT to do it. I know you did. So do it again. Please?”

She returns to massaging his hand; focusing once more on fingers and wrist as a form of encouragement. Alternating behind studying his face for any subtle change and glancing back at his left leg; silently begging and pleading for it to move once.

“Tyler…” Sighing, she tightens her grip on his hand; tears burning her eyes, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. “...you need to give me something here. I’m not expecting much; I don’t expect you to open your eyes or squeeze my hand or anything big like that. But I need SOMETHING. ANYTHING. That lets me know you’re in there. That you’re not going anywhere. That you’re fighting your way back.”

She wants to break down but refuses to give in to the darkness; adamant to not surrender to her own issues and weaknesses. That’s the last thing he needs; sensing and hearing the pain and the desperation in her voice. Right now he needs her to be the strong one; the steadfast rock that he can depend on.

“I’m worried,” she admits. “They’re really getting on my ass now. About taking you off the machine. I can only fight and argue so much before they bring out the big guns. They’ve already threatened it; taking me to court and getting an order to halt all your care. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them just give up on you. I WON’T let them. But I need your help. I need you to show them that this isn’t a lost cause. That I’m not just fighting a losing battle. So if you could just do SOMETHING…just something really small…to show them that you’re still here. I know you don’t want to die. A man that wants to die doesn’t talk about the things we talked about. They don’t make the plans we did. So please…” She’s unable to contain the tears that slip down her cheeks. “...Tyler…help me. I need your help. I need YOU.”

She waits for several minutes and then issues a heavy, dejected sigh. The optimism quickly fading as he remains motionless; stuck somewhere between the living and dead, frantically searching for the correct exit. And she uses the back of her hand to swipe at the tears that glisten upon her cheeks; silently scolding herself for a moment of weakness during a time that calls for courage and strength.

“I’m going to let you rest,” she says, and slips off the bed. “I’m going to go and have my tea and do my yoga and then take a shower. Once that’s done, I’ll be all yours. But for now…” Her voice trails off as she feels the movement against her hand; the light and feathery brush of a finger along the side of her wrist. And it feels as if she can’t breathe as she glances over her shoulder and down at the mattress; choking back a sob -one of immense relief- at the sight of his hand partially covering hers.

The hope returns.

“I knew it.” Placing a hand on the top of his head, she tunnels her fingers tunnelling in his hair as leans over him. Her eyes closing as she presses a kiss above his left eyebrow and then nuzzles his temple with the tip of her nose. “I KNEW IT.”

*****

She’s asleep when Nik arrives in the late afternoon; awkwardly slumped forward in the bedside chair with both her hands clutching one of Tyler’s and her head resting on his forearm. And she’s stirred awake by a hand passing gently over the top of her head; sliding down her hair and settling in the middle of her back. The fatigue is crippling; emotional and physical exhaustion unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But the moment that morning has kept her spirits uplifted, and she glances up at Nik and gives her a sleepy smile in greeting.

“You’re going to end up in traction falling asleep like that,” Nik teases.

“Guess I dozed off. I meant to just rest my eyes, but…”

“You need to sleep. Properly. You can’t tell me you’re getting enough rest on that thing,” she nods in the direction of the cot. “Let me get you somewhere to stay. A hotel. An air BNB. Somewhere close by. I know you won’t come as far as my place; even a half-hour flight is way too long. Just let me…”

She’s made the offer several times over the past five months; gently suggesting one of the finer hotels or even a short-term apartment rental. Willing to pick up the tab; the weapons dealing gig and the mercenary business leaving her with a healthy share of disposable income. Despite a fairly lavish lifestyle.

Yawning, Esme smoothes wayward strands of hair from the side of her face. “I’m fine here. I don’t want to leave. I CAN’T leave.”

“He’d want you to take care of yourself. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

“My cup is nowhere near empty.”

Nik arches an eyebrow and stares down at her pointedly.

“It’s not,” she insists. “I know my own cup. I know how much it can take. I’m fine.”

Nik relents. The heels of her simple black pumps click noisily against the polished tile as she heads for the small sitting area; setting her purse and a small duffle bag on the sofa before shrugging out of her trench coat and draping it over the back of one of the armchairs.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back in until sometime next week,” Esme says, as her friend joins her at Tyler’s bedside; pulling over an extra chair and sitting down across from her. “Didn’t you have business in Brunei?”

“I got home last night; I was able to wrap things up quicker than I anticipated. I thought I would come by. Check on things.”

“Things have been good. Well, as good as they can be, I guess.”

Her entire body stiffens as she watches Nik engage with him; the way she smooths his hair away from his eyes and continuously brushes her thumb across his forehead. She tries to tell herself that she’s reading too much into it; the softness of Nik’s face and the tears shimmering in her eyes and tenderness in the way she touches him. She knows of their past; a strictly physical ‘arrangement’ that had gone smoothly until Nik developed feelings and suddenly wanted more than he was willing to give. His brutal honesty had caused friction in both their friendship and their work life; Nik understandably hurt when he’d informed her that he didn’t feel the same way. And never would. If she wanted something like THAT, she’d have to find it somewhere else.

She wonders now if there’s some kind of residual anger on Nik’s behalf. Maybe even some jealousy. It would be a bitter pill to swallow; the man that you wanted not feeling the same way in return. Who’d told you that he’d never be ready to commit to ANYONE that way. Only to do a complete three-sixty less than a year later.

“Any change?” Nik addresses her, a hand now resting on top of one of Tyler’s.

“No.” The lie rolls easily off of her tongue; not in a hurry to share what had taken place earlier. She needs more proof; more instances of voluntary and meaningful movement and interaction before she confides in Nik or even thinks of taking the information to the nurses. She’s been ignored and ridiculed before; excited about progress he seemed to be making only to be told it was ‘all in her head’.

Nik smiles. It’s meant to be comforting. Reassuring. But it’s laced with pity. “Maybe soon.”

*****

They sit together in the seating area on the opposite side of Tyler’s room while a personal support worker tends to trimming his nails and beard. And she has to struggle to hold back the urge to tell the woman to leave; much preferring to do even those tasks herself. It makes her feel useful; helping with even the most basic of needs. As if she finally has some kind of purpose in life; someone that she can nurture and care for and feel as if she’s achieving something meaningful.

Something GOOD.

Perhaps in a way, it’s a form of seeking absolution. A chance to prove that she’s deserving of forgiveness for all the wrongs she’d committed in the course of the last few years. She’s done some questionable things in the name of the job; the lying and the conning and the forming relationships and bonds with people only to lead them to punishment and certain death. The mercenary word is a double-edged sword; a life spent hunting down the most atrocious of people only to find yourself resorting to the most atrocious of behaviour to bring them to justice. And not a justice that involves due process or human rights or judge and jury. But one that included horrendous violence and bloodshed.

And an enormous payout.

Nik has brought food from home; Khoresht-e fesenjan, Persian rice and Sangak bread. Admitting -somewhat sheepishly as she loaded up two plates with the various offerings- that Yaz had prepared it. His interests extending far past soccer, TikTok, and pricey designer clothes. And they engage in small talk as they eat, Esme listening as Nik shares the details of her recent business trip to Brunei. Taking on an extremely high profile client in the weapons dealing department; someone needing to protect themselves and their family -via an army of heavily equipped bodyguards. And for a brief moment, she considers the surreality of the conversation, wondering when -and how- her life had gone off the beaten path and found its way HERE. In this business. Her closest friends…HER FAMILY…gun runners and mercenaries.

“I’ve been doing a little searching,” Nik announces, as pushes her empty dishes and containers of food aside; laying sheets of paper on the top of the coffee table. Images that she’s printed off the internet; different angles taken of a small cabin -situated mere feet from an icy lake- surrounded by towering pine trees and snow-covered mountains. “And l found a little place. It’s perfect.”

“I didn’t realize you were looking to add to your collection of houses,” Esme chides. “Doesn’t really seem your style. Unless maybe it’s for the job. A place to hide people away. A safe house.”

“It’s in Austria. Gmunden. On the outskirts of town. Remote. Peaceful. And it’s not for me. Or the job.”

“Nik…”

‘I know you think I’m overstepping. And maybe I am. But I care about you. And I’m worried about you.”

Leaning forward, Esme scoops up a handful of pictures. The cabin and its surroundings remind her of home. Or what USED to be her home. Raised in a small town in Colorado situated at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She hasn’t been there in years; estranged from an abusive mother and five older brothers. And she hasn’t had the desire to return; enjoying life in that small little apartment in Prague; settling down in the Czech Republic after troubles with The High Table had caused her to flee New York City.

She sighs as she tosses the photos onto the coffee table. “I can’t afford this.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a gift. From Yaz and I. Somewhere YOU can recuperate. Mentally.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a place to hide away. It’s beautiful and I’m sure I’d love it there. And I appreciate the offer. I appreciate EVERYTHING you’ve been doing for me. For US. But…”

“You don’t leave the ward. You barely leave this room. You haven’t seen the sun in nearly five months.”

“I see it every day.” She gestures to the wall of windows that give a view of the central courtyard. “Unless it’s raining, of course.”

“You haven’t felt it on your skin. You haven’t breathed in fresh air. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone NOT connected to all of this.”

“I’ll get a chance to do all of that when this is all over. When it’s all behind us. Once he’s better and he’s out here and we never have to see this place ever again. Once that happens…”

“And if he doesn’t?” Nik gently challenges. “Get better? Get out of here? What then?”

“He WILL. He’s going to open his eyes and he’s going to get off that machine and he’s going to breathe on his own and…”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that he won’t. Why are you giving up on him? Why is everyone in such a hurry? Why does everyone just want to wash their hands of him and count him out? Why…?”

“No one wants to do any of that. But some of us…as much as it hurts…are being realistic. We are being truthful. You’re hanging on to this very thin thread and it is getting thinner every day. We care about YOU. We’re worried about YOU. This isn’t healthy. This vigil you’re holding. Having hope is one thing, but THIS?”

“He’ll be fine,” Esme remains steadfast. “He’ll come out of that coma and he’ll be alright. It’ll take some time, but he’ll do it. He’ll be Tyler again. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

“Look at him! Do you really think this is fair? Leaving him like this? Do you really WANT him to be like this?”

“It’s not permanent. He’s not always going to be this way. This is just temporary. He’s going to be fine. He’ll get back on his feet and…”

“He has a machine breathing for him! Keeping him alive. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for him…”

“I AM. I AM doing what’s best for him. I’m the only one that is. I’m the only person not giving up on him. The rest of you are so caught up in just pulling the plug that…”

“Esme, I care about you. You’re my friend. You’re the closest thing that Yaz and I have to other family. And I am not saying these things to hurt you. I’m saying them to get you to open your eyes to what’s really going on. This isn’t living. He’s not doing this on his own. Machines are doing it for him. How long are you willing to leave him like this? A couple more weeks? Months? Years?”

“Just until there’s a sign. Until something happens where he shows that he’s going to be okay. I just want everyone to give him a chance. To prove you all wrong.”

“It’s been five months. Since you got here. And there’s been no sign. Not even the slightest. Not a twitch of his eyes or his fingers or…”

“His MRI last week showed brain activity,” Esme reminds her friend. “THAT’S something.”

“Then take him off the machine and…”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He needs more time. Just a bit. To get a little stronger.”

“You won’t do it because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen. Keeping him on it ensures he stays alive. There’s no guarantee that he’ll breathe on his own once he’s off it, and that’s what scares you; the fact he might die. As long as you keep him hooked up to that vent, he stays alive and you don’t have to face the worst-case scenario.”

“He just needs a little while longer. Once he’s a bit stronger, I’ll do it. I’ll tell them to take him off. I will. I promise.”

“You said that two months ago. You made that same promise.”

“And he’s improved. Even the doctors have said so. That there’s some sign; that things are functioning okay and there’s some healing going on and…”

“But there’s not enough. He’s nowhere where he should be IF things are working properly. How long are you willing to prolong this? To leave him this way? Another month? Two? Half a year? A year?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“Esme….” Standing, Nik pushes the coffee table aside and then kneels in front of her friend. “....look at me.”

She vigorously shakes her head in refusal.

“Look at me,” Nik sternly repeats, and takes her face in her hands; the light pressure of her fingernails in the other woman’s cheeks enough to force eye contact. “I am NOT saying these things to hurt you. I’m trying to get you to see what you are doing to him. And yourself.”

“I’m doing what he’d want.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t known him long enough. To know what he’d want in a situation like this.”

“I know what happened. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. You weren’t there. I WAS. I know the things we talked about; the plans that we made. And he’d want to go through with those. So I’m giving him a chance. To get better. So he can have those things.”

“So he can have them or YOU can have them?”

“What’s wrong with wanting them? With wanting time with him? It’s what we talked about; travelling the world, spending time together, getting to know one another. What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“You’re wanting them at his expense.”

“That’s not true. I just want everyone to give him a chance. That’s all I’m asking for. Why can’t you give him that? A chance? He deserves that. He paid his dues, Nik. He’s made his amends. Now give him a goddamn chance. Please.”

“I have been. For months.”

“If it’s the cost you’re worried about, I can find more money. You don’t have to pay for EVERYTHING. I can get it somewhere. I know Tyler has some; at his place in The Kimberley. I don’t know where it’s kept or how much there is exactly, but I know it’s there somewhere. He told me about it. Keeping a million stashed away. You know, for a ‘rainy day’. All you’d have to do is look for it. It’s not like it’s a big place and if it’s not enough, then…”

“I don’t care about money. I don’t want any from you. Or him. I said I would take care of things and I am. No matter how much it ends up costing That’s not what this is about. This is about YOU. And the decisions you’re making. I know you want to believe they’re what’s best for Tyler…”

“They ARE what’s best for him. I am doing what he would want.”

“You don’t know that. Not really. And I think if you were to be totally honest with yourself, you’d admit you’re really doing what’s best for you.”

“That’s not fair, Nik. I know you think I’m being selfish and that I’m…”

“I don’t think that. And I’ve never said it, either. I think YOU think it; when you really stop and you get a chance to realize what exactly is happening. I think you feel that way about yourself. Do you feel that way? Selfish?”

“Sometimes.”

“And then it makes you feel guilty; when you realize you’re doing it more for yourself than you are for him. You’re trying to hold off the inevitable. But for how long? How long can YOU live like this? Staying in this room? Putting your life…a REAL life…on the back burner? How long?”

“As long as I have to.”

“You think Tyler would want that? For you? This kind of life? Do you think he’d want you to spend years like this? That would make HIM selfish. And we both know that he’s not a selfish person. He’s selfless if anything. And he would not want this for you.”

Esme glances towards the bed; the PSW having long departed, leaving him in that lonely, terrifying void between life and death. It’s heartbreak unlike anything she’s ever known; watching someone waste away and become nothing more than a shell of themselves. He deserves so much better; his willingness to sacrifice his own life in order to save her and Ovi had earned him a second chance. An absolution. And despite his inability to interact with her, these last five months have brought them closer together than any amount of travelling could have ever possibly achieved.

******

“You love him.” It’s a statement. Not a question.

She chews on her bottom lip; shaking her head as she looks back at her friend. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. But for some reason, you don’t want to admit it. Especially to yourself.”

“There’s no way you can feel it this soon. Love. It takes longer than this. WAY longer.”

“It takes as long as it takes. Whether it’s a quick process or a long, drawn-out one.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a week. It’s not like you can count any of the time after Dhaka; he hasn’t actually been able to put anything into it, you know? It’s all been pretty one-sided; the time we’ve spent together here, the conversation, the bonding. It’s not like he’s been able to take part. Through no fault of his own.”

“I would say that under normal circumstances, perhaps a week IS too soon. But these are hardly normal circumstances. Look at everything you’ve done for him; everything you’ve given up. Do you really think just anyone would do this for someone? A person they barely know? Abandon their entire life…their entire being nearly…to stick by their side? Through all of this?”

“I don’t want him to be alone. Regardless of the outcome. He deserves so much better than that. I know he’s made some mistakes. But he doesn’t deserve to pay for them for the rest of his life. Or WITH his life? I wasn’t going to leave him here, Nik. I was going to let him go through this by himself. And I especially wasn’t going to let him die alone.”

“Because you love him.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m just grasping at straws or if I’m just imagining that we had something really good…really special…in Dhaka. Maybe I’m reading too much into it; the things that happened between us, the things we talked about. Maybe…”

“You’re not. You were there. You know what was said. What happened. In that hotel room. And you know what your heart is telling you. You just have to believe it. TRUST it.”

Heaving a shaky sigh, she blinks back a flood of threatening tears. “It scares me. Feeling this way.”

“Why? Because it is so soon?”

“The last person I trusted? The last person I gave my heart to? They broke me, Nik. Physically. Mentally.”

“Tyler isn’t Mark,” Nik reminds her. “He’s not even close to being him.”

“I told myself that I’d never get this close to anyone ever again. That I’d learned my lesson. That it was just better if I stayed by myself. Didn’t get attached. You don’t get hurt that way, you know? I’ve gotten used to fighting my own battles. Protecting myself. And then I met him and everything changed. I changed.”

“You love him.”

Nodding, a hand swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “I love him.”

“You should tell him.”

“I don’t even know if he can hear me. I want to believe he can; that all those little times he’s reacted to my voice weren’t just something random. Some muscle twitch or nerve reaction. I want to believe that they’ve been intentional; that he’s listening to me and he understands what I’m saying. That he’s fighting his way back. To ME.”

“Do you really want to take a chance? Not saying what you need to say? What if he CAN hear you? And understand what you’re saying. Do you really want to hold back? Because what if something happens and you never get the chance to say those things to him?”

Esme gives a dry laugh. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of better this way, right? Saying them while he’s like this? Can’t get rejected when the person you’re pouring your heart out to is in a coma.”

“That wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t reject you. Unconscious or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. I also know you’ll regret it; if he doesn’t make it and you never told him. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t let yourself live with that kind of regret. It’s a horrible existence, believe me.”

“I just don’t want it to blow up in my face. When he wakes up. I don’t want him turning around and saying, ‘I’m flattered. But thanks and no thanks.”

“I know Tyler. More than he even realizes. And trust me when I say that is NEVER going to happen.”

“So just spit out? Hope for the best? Hope he can actually hear me?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last five months? Hoping for the best?”

Esme nods; sniffling noisily as she uses the front of her t-shirt to clear excess tears from her face.

“I know you’re scared,” Nik sympathizes. “For a lot of different reasons. But trust me when I say that there’s no reason to add THIS to your list.”

“I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. Stay behind on that bridge. Stay here. I’d do it time and time again. No questions asked. You know that, right? That I’d do it a million times over?”

Smiling, Nik reaches out to loop wayward strands of hair behind her friend’s ears. “I know.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Tyler Rake fanfic #Extraction fanfic #Tyler Rake x OFC #Chris Hemsworth #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Nik Khan #Esme Drummond #Esme Drummond-Rake

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rxgueone · 2 years ago

Text

LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG PT. 3

Word count: 2,672.

Pairing: Austin Butler x oc

Summary: Austin is called for a certain job. Which requires him to be a Butler. In the process, he takes Aurilia (oc) on a date.

Warnings: mentions of violence, substance use, death, angst, fluff (?), human remains, manipulation, smoking, and guilt tripping. All I can think of.

Tags: none.

Note: LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG isn’t a story that’s meant to be happy. It does have love involved but please don’t get your hopes up for a happy ending whilst reading. This chapter was inspired by a scene in Fight Club. Thanks for 1 follower btw. PT. 2 PT. 3

—

Austin flung the door open to the basement, Nik lazily following behind. Al looked up at his kid brother. “What was that soap made of?!” He shouted, fuming with anger from what he had just done. Approaching his eldest brother, Keith the second moved in front of Austin. Pushing him back before a fight escalated between them.

“It’s just soap.” Al got up from the box he was sitting on. “Dun matter where it came from.”

“You were the one who taught me how to make soap Alphonse.” Using his brother's full name was weird for Austin. But he was serious, he wanted to know. “You were the one that snuck me out to a liposuction clinic to get fat!”

“Then you know how it’s made, Butler.” Al stepped forward, causing Nik to come in between the two. Keith remained silent, his brown eyes gazing at the three.

“I’m not fuckin’ sellin’ that.” Austin refused to sell something such as that. Something that contained things of corpses. Just the thought of it grossed him out.

“You’re gonna sell that!” Al had pushed Nik to the side. Who spat out his cigarette, grabbing Al as well.

“Aye back off tincan!” Nik shouted. Without any hesitation Keith pushed his way through. Austin could see them both fall to the ground, he wouldn’t get between them. Keith, who was much shorter, had already beaten Nik to a pulp. Holding Nik by the collar of his flannel, his hand balled in a fist. He was restraining Nik from doing anything.

“You’re selling it.” Al seemed to ignore them as well.

“No, I’m not.” Austin refused to acknowledge it, accept that he would stoop this low. “I’m not selling something with human fat!” He protested against this.

Alphonse grabbed Austin’s hoodie by the front. Yanking his brother towards him, gripping the hoodie so hard it seemed to be ripping just by how aggressive Alphonse was being. “You sell weed and heroin. Don’t forget the cocaine you use to sell too. You ruin peoples lives with the drugs you sell. You’re the reason Tyler overdosed, you’re the reason his mother had to bury her own son! You’re why Eddie dropped dead, you’re why Ryu dropped dead! Don’t you forget that.” He shouted from frustration. “And after all those overdoses from the shit you sold to them. What did you do?”

“…” Austin’s head hung from his shoulders as if he was admitting defeat. Slowly craning his head to face his eldest sibling. He opened his jaw, but not a sound came out. Looking to the left, avoiding Alphonse’s gaze. “I kept dealing.”

“Yeah you did… you kept ruining peoples lives. Maybe if Riley hadn’t been high with the weed you supplied her when she went out for a drive. Maybe she’d still be alive. But she ain’t. She’s dead.” Alphonse was now taking the piss out of his brother. Pouring salt on the wound. The guilt that they both carried grew bigger with each word Alphonse spoke. “You continued to deal after your clients died. Drugs kill. Soap cleans. So sell the damn soap!” Shoving Austin away. He shamefully looked up at his brother, for some reason Austin felt like crying from all the frustration and anger he was feeling.

His eyes welled up, his hands were balled. “At least you’re actually fucking cleaning instead of killing.” Alphonse turned his back on Austin. Knowing his little brother was too weak to even land a measly punch on him. Keith took Alphonse’s motions as orders, letting go of Nik. Who quickly popped up onto his feet, looking at his ride or die. That said ride or die, looked crushed. “Keith, give them the other pills.”

Keith reached into his pocket, taking out six pill bottles. Three for each of them. Five bucks per bag. Austin and Nik obediently took them, shoving them into their pockets. “I get that you don’t wanna sell.” Alphonse was glaring straight at Austin. As if he could see through. “But listen we’re blood, you’ve been doing this when you were twelve. You’re nineteen now, you’re too far gone.”

“I know Al— I apologize for that.” He was sincere with his apology.

“It’s fine kid, just come back tomorrow same time for the soap… get outta here.” With being dismissed, Austin and Nik were both gone.

Nik popped in another cigarette. Watching Austin who was screaming in the middle of the park from pure frustration. He was punching at the grass repeatedly until his knuckles bled. Austin caved in, his head hidden between his arms, with his forehead pressed against the grass.

Nik watched in silence, seeing the shoulders of his best friend shake. His body trembling from the anger he felt. Only to have it end with him audibly sobbing. Austin was pawing at the grass, trying to hold onto something. But- this only made him feel more alone than anything.

—

Austin opened the door to Aurilia’s place. She had given him the spare key. He was allowed to show up unannounced so he could sleep. Aurilia was still up, and she turned to face him.

Her dorm-mate poked their head up from their bed. They recognized Austin due to them sharing the same fourth period. “Hey Aus!” She greeted.

“Hey Steph.” It was a nickname he had given to her. Her real name was Stephanie, and she was on the basketball team. That’s really all he knew of her.

“You look like shit.” Aurilia looked at him.

“Hello to you too, Lia.” He looked at her, she was sitting at her desk. With a laptop in front of her, she had been studying. Aurilia didn’t say anything, she just sat and stared at him. Austin looked terrible. From looking like the handsome guy earlier in all black. He looked like he had just been crying his eyes out. His hands were stained with what looked to be dirt, they were cut as well. His black hoodie was covered in grass, and the front of his chest was wet with- she could only assume mud.

“What happened to your hand dude.” Steph flicked her head to Austin’s cut hand.

“Just a fight.” He brushed it off.

“Pull up a chair, from Steph’s desk. Sit with me.” Aurilia offered, which Austin took. Grabbing the spare chair, he pulled up beside Aurilia. She held her hand out, tilting her head with raised brows. He reached his hand out, placing it into her palm. She looked at it quietly, her palms and fingers tracing his veins.

His hand was bruised and callused. Looking at the back of his hand to see his cut skin. She could see a scar in the shape of an X across the back of his hand. Clearing her throat, she got up to grab cotton balls, gauze sponges, alcohol, and hydrogen peroxide.

When she came back, he held his left hand up. She poured pure hydrogen peroxide onto Austin’s cut knuckles, he showed no emotion. As if he was use to this. As she cleaned his hand, Austin sat there.

Why did he come here? He never came there on his own tuition. If he wanted to sleep, he’d walk to an empty alleyway. Sit down, and sleep. Maybe he was here because when he was with Aurilia, he felt comfortable. He didn’t have to put up a wall, she always kept it real with him. He appreciated that. He guessed, he was here cause she was his safe place. His home.

“Y’know if anything happens to you. You have my number.” Austin said, which broke the comfortable silence between all three of them.

“I know I know. Why do you think I called you when I got drunk last night.” She let out a measly scoff. “I knew I chose right.”

“Chose what.”

“You.” She looked at him dead in the eyes now. The measly scoff washed away. Her eyes were narrowed at him to show she meant it. Her face finally distorted after three seconds, a playful smile. “Y’know? As my best friend.”

“Yes, I suppose.” He agreed.

“What? You don’t agree.” After she finished, she held his hand. Her fingers were tracing the shape of his hand.

“No, I do.” He looked down at their hands. Gently, he held hers as if it was a delicate flower. “You and Nik, you’re all I have.” His tone was soft.

“You have your brothers don’t you?”

“No- nono they’d kill me.” He was firm on that. “They would… they would kill me. Like I never existed.”

“They wouldn’t do that to you. They’re your brothers. You love them and they love you.”

“I mean-“ he breathed in, collecting himself, “-yes. We love each other. It’s just- it’s hard to explain.” He murmured. “They know when to-“ he was cut off by his phone buzzing.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. Aurilia was still holding his hand, his grip relaxed after he read what was on his phone. Shaking his head, he slipped it back into his pocket. His left hand slid from Aurilia’s grip, as he got up. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah. I gotta go.”

“Can I come?” She asked. He stood there for a moment, listening to Steph drink her cup of joe. “Stephanie will be fine. Right, Steph?”

“Oh yeah y’know. Get it!” She responded with an uncomfortable amount of enthusiasm.

“…right…” He muttered, side eyeing her. Looking back at Aurilia, he prodded her over. She grabbed her sweater, putting it on and went to his side.

—

“Today, I’m gonna teach you how to make soap like how my brothers taught me.” Austin started, Aurilia was holding his hand. She was interested in this, being taught how to make soap. “We’re gonna have to do this quick.” He said calmly, quickly letting go of her hand to take his hoodie off. It was xxl, so he folded it up a few times to make a mat.

Without warning, he started sprinting at full speed. Aurilia reacted quickly, following behind.

Turning to the next block, he could see trash bins, around the bins were chain fences that were layered with barbed wire. Throwing his hoodie over the barbed wire, he grabbed at the fence. Quickly jumping over it, he watched Aurilia.

She effortlessly jumped over it, landing beside him. Grabbing his hoodie, she handed it to him. Where they both ran in front of trash bins, crouching down and leaning back. “Y’know consumers don’t give a fuck about what’s in the product, they just want it.” He began.

“How do you know that?” She countered.

“When was the last time you actually looked at what your bag of cheetos was made of? Or what your soap was made of?” He shot back.

She quickly backed down. “True.” Scanning her surroundings. She saw a huge biohazard warning. “Where are we-?”

“A liposuction clinic.”

“Huh-“ her jaw dropped.

“What? You expect me to kill someone and suck out their fat?” He retorted. Quickly getting on his feet, he turned around, grabbing the lid of the trash bin. He threw it open. Aurilia sat there for a moment. I mean… I’m pretty sure Austin could do that. He looks capable of killing. She watched him as he grabbed a transparent bag filled with fat. “Gold.” He looked at her, only to see her face retort and wrinkle in disgust. He passed the bag of fat to her, which she caught.

“Ew- oh my god Austin.” She closed her eyes, weakly fluttering them open. He threw another bag to her. Until she had in total five bags of fat in her arms, he jumped out the bin, closing it.

“Alright, you climb out first, and I’ll pass you the bags.” He grabbed them from her arms, putting them down on the ground. She gave a nod, Austin grabbed her waist, picking her up to give her a boost. She grabbed the top of the fence, throwing his ripped hoodie over the wires. She jumped over them, hitting the ground but jumped up to her feet. “Ready?”

“Yeah yeah just hurry up tin—“ a bag of fat hit her straight across the face, causing her to fall down. “Y’know what fuck you too tin—“ another bag hit her.

“Just catch them, Lia.” He teased, a small smile on his face. Throwing them over again, she caught them. When it was finally finished, he jumped on the fence, climbing out quickly. He grabbed his hoodie, pulling it back before it ripped any further. In fact, Aurilia watched as the hoodie ripped its sleeve off.

“Wow… you’re an idiot.” She proclaimed in confidence. Austin didn’t respond, simply ripping the other sleeve off to make a sleeveless hoodie. He tied it over his waist, picking up the bags.

“Alright lets go.” He started sprinting.

Pulling up to a parking lot, Aurilia recognized the tall figure. It was Nik, Austin’s best friend. He was smoking a cigarette, a strong one. He flicked it away, grabbing another then quickly lighting it.

Austin and Aurilia stepped in front of him. Austin dropped the bags, took his hoodie off, put the bags in, handed it to Nik. “Appreciate that.” Nik muffled through the cigarette, taking the hoodie that was filled with fat. Nik took out a bundle of cash.

“So it seems.” Austin nodded. Turning around, Nik threw the hoodie over his shoulder. Leaving the two of them alone. Aurilia looked over at Austin who unbundled the cash. 400 bucks dead. “Alright, here.” He gave her 300, and kept 100.

“No split fifty. You get two hundred.” She handed him five twenties.

“No no you—“

“Oh my god Austin. Just accept it.”

“Kay, my bad.” He apologized. Shoving the twenties in his pocket.

“So, you’re a night runner?” She asked. It was already 3:30AM.

“Yeah,” he paused, “yeah… yeah. I guess so.” He still denied it in his head. But he did work during the night. “I’ll walk you home.” Their fingers intertwined with each other, as they walked side by side down the street.

—

Opening the door to her place, he looked down at her, where she stood in front of him. “Thank you, for walking me home.” She leaned on the door frame.

He smiled a bit, giving a nod to show it was no issue. He wasn’t use to someone thanking him, especially if they weren’t his client. “Yeah you’re uh… y’know yeah, course. No issue.” He was tripping over his words like a new born foal. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to protect you, you’re my best friend.”

She lifted her hand up to cup the right side of his face. He looked over at her, a small smile on his face still as her thumb gently stroked. “You’re a good guy Aus… even though you’re a bit of a tin head.” She teased, stepping into her dorm. “See you tomorrow?”

“Cya.” He promised. Closing the door for her. Aurilia yawned, for some reason she had the biggest smile on her face. What Austin did- was ultimately… disgusting. But, was it fun? Yes. It was the most fun she had in a long time.

—

And for Austin? He had already forgotten the night. With his left hand in his pocket, he was fiddling with the bottles in them. He was already making his way to a club, a perfect place to sell everything he had.

“Hello Butler,” the bouncer greeted him.

“Hey Simon.” Dipping his head, he walked in

“Have fun in there!” Simon teased.

#austin butler #austin butler angst #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x oc

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