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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

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His Sunshine, Chapter 12

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: murder, gun violence, angst, mentions of kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of rape, PTSD.

“And you’re sure?”

“Seven and a half weeks along Mr. Hansen,” the doctor nodded with a smile as he looked between Lloyd and myself, “she seems to be in good health. Your soulmate looks like she is in excellent health, actually. You said you had concerns about her being sick? With what you’ve mentioned, it sounds like simple morning sickness.”

Lloyd smiled as he looked at me. And I felt it across the bond. Our love had multiplied and was growing in my belly. I felt overwhelmed and overjoyed at the thought, and it was clear that Lloyd did too.

“Our baby,” he cooed, rushing up to me. His hand gently traced over the flat of my stomach, “our baby is inside of you, Sunshine. And it’ll be here in just a few trimesters…”

“Our baby,” I repeated, my hand falling over his. His grin only grew, and I leaned up from my spot on the bench to kiss him, “we’re going to have a baby.”

“Now, I would suggest coming in to a hospital for some more tests, Mrs. Hansen,” the doctor said quickly, “just so that we can get a full workup to make sure everything is alright. That way we could put all of your anxieties to bed and prove that her illness was just morning sickness.”

Lloyd broke away from our kiss, his smile quickly turning into a frown, “she’s not going anywhere. We’re going to our home in Croatia…where no one can hurt her.”

“Hurt her?” the doctor asked, his brows furrowing, “Mr. Hansen, no one will hurt your wife or your child. I only suggested it bec-“

“Enough,” he growled, nearly in a feral state as he pulled his gun out, pointing it at the doctor’s head, “my wife isn’t going anywhere with you. She’s coming home with me…where I know that she’s safe.”

“Lloyd,” I whispered gently, my hand reaching out to his free one. Our fingers interlaced and he kept his eye on the doctor, “Lloyd…let’s just leave.”

The doctor stood stock-still as Lloyd swallowed, urging me to go behind him. I placed myself between him and the doctor, but he only laughed. My heart raced as the doctor went from nervous to cool and collected. I gripped Lloyd’s hand a little tighter once I realized that the man was clearly working for someone, “they’ll find her you know…now that she’s pregnant, your little deal with Carmichael will be off. They’ll all start coming for her like a pack of wolves. It’ll be worse than the bounty out that’s on six.”

Lloyd’s voice was tight and angry as he spoke, his gun firmly aimed at the man’s head, “who sent you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the doctor shrugged, “they’ll know the second that you pull that trigger, and I don’t report back…”

Lloyd angrily roared at the man, far too upset about giving in and taking me to a doctor after I’d been sick for nearly a week. He pulled the trigger, unloading the gun’s clip in to him and he quickly turned to me, “sunshine…we need to get home, baby…I need to know that you’re safe…and that’s the only place.”

I only nodded in response, following my husband out of the secret office that we’d come to, knowing that he was right.

“The package is secure,” one of the men said firmly over his comm. I frowned and he shot me a look before repeating it, “the package is secure in the nest.”

“I heave ears, you know,” I growled in reminder, “and I’m a decorated agent with more kills than you can imagine...just because Lloyd and I are hav-”

“Sorry Mrs. Hansen…it’s just a precaution,” the second man said with a tight lipped nod as he cut me off, “we don’t mean to-“

“Mrs. Hansen?” the first guy asked. You smile as he swallows his nervousness, “I thought she was the girl…the niece.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m more forgiving than the first Mrs. Hansen,” I smirked, thinking about the angry ex-wife downstairs, “but don’t cross me…and treat me like a human being.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I smiled, “now…can someone please tell me when she goes to her quarters so that I can go for my daily walk outside without her grating presence?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

“You said you thought I was a niece,” I commented, my gaze shifting to the man on Lloyd’s team once more, “has she arrived?”

“She has, Mrs. Hansen…”

“Take me to her.”

“Mr. Hansen said-“

“My husband just wants me and our child safe in the compound,” I reminded the first man, “now...I know that he’s left to go after six…but you don’t have to act this way with me…I can still tell him things when he comes back.”

“Things?”

“Things,” I said simply, insinuating that I would tell Lloyd that they were less than cordial to me, “so take me to the girl.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“A girl…like you…”

“Y-you have a wedding ring on your finger?” she said nervously, “a-are you married?”

I nodded thinking back to the morning in Paris when Lloyd proposed.

“Making love to my fiancé in a Parisian flat…showing her the world…I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Hansen. We’ll have a big cele-“

“Let’s get married here, Lloyd.”

His brow rose, “what?”

“We’re in the most romantic city in the world,” I reminded him, “let’s go find someone to marry us. I don’t want to spend another moment knowing I could be Mrs. Hansen. I want to be your wife, Lloyd.”

I could feel the admiration across the bond. He smiled at me, his calloused thumb grazing over my bottom lip. I gently poked my tongue out and swirled it around the digit. He gasped, shuddering as he lightly pressed his finger into my mouth.

I moaned against it, and he shuddered again, his eyes fluttering closed. I let his thumb slip from my mouth as I leaned up, pressing my own warm lips against his, “I want to be yours…completely, Lloyd.”

He nodded against my lips, and I rolled out of the bed away from him, “well come on, Lloyd…let’s go find a priest to marry us so that we’re not living in sin anymore.”

“I’d gladly commit that sin every day, pumpkin,” he growled seductively, reaching for me, “lets commit it one more time before we go?”

“Were you forced?”

My eyes snapped to hers, and I felt sad by the question. I shook my head, “L-Lloyd would never force me to do anything.”

Her eyes widened and she took a step back, “y-you’re married to him?”

I nodded, proudly showing her my mark, “he’s, my soulmate.”

“He’s evil,” she spat, pushing my arm away. But my own eyes widened when I caught sight of her mark. I reached out, and grabbed her arm, the familiarity of it seared into my brain. She tried desperately to wrench her arm out of my grip to no avail, “Let go of me!”

“L-let go of me,” I whimpered, trying to push him away. His grip only tightened on my hair, pulling me even closer to him. I cried out in pain as his hushed grunts were quieted only by the rhythmic slapping of the headboard against the wall, and his heavy balls hitting my tender southern regions. I winced as he bucked his hips even harder. My throat felt tight, and I could barely speak; the paralytic doing its job all too well. I fought with every syllable, “s-stop. P-please, stop!”

“Let me take care of you, Sunshine,” he groaned. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I stared off blankly at the wall, his mark in my peripheral. I felt his mouth nipping at my neck, creating the purple-blue bruises that would be there for days, “fuck…you feel phenomenal baby…keep sucking me back in.”

The sounds of the room started fading out and I focused not on the wall, but on his own soulmate mark, wondering how I had fucked up, believing that Six was going to help me, when all he was really doing was trying to find a way to rip my own soulmate apart.

“I said let go,” she whimpered, trying to pull away from me. I gasped, letting go of her and backed away until my own back hit the wall. She seemed to think something was wrong with me as her own scared look faded away and she began to look worried. She took a step towards me, “he-hey…are you okay?”

“Get away from me!” I called firmly, slapping at her hands. My eyes remained glued to her mark. She immediately hid it beneath the sleeve of her shirt.

“Y-you know my soulmate?”

I nodded, unable to find the words as I kept thinking back to when he’d hurt me. She bit her lip and took another step forward.

“W-why are you afraid of him?” she asked gently, “wh-why are you crying?”

I hadn’t noticed the tears that were running down my face. Not until she pointed it out. I reached up with my own sleeves and swiped at my face, trying to get rid of the evidence that I’d been crying, “my husband is going after him. He stole something from the agency…and your uncle knows it. But your soulmate…that’s not all he did. You can think that Lloyd is evil all you want, but it’s not him that’s in the wrong…his name is Court Gentry…and he’s the man that raped me…”

Chapter 13

Tag list: @lohnes16, @buckysteveloki-me, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @valhalla-kristin, @danielle143, @noseyrosey1597, @marve2014, @littlemoistcarrot, @minaxcarter, @ohtobehappy, @ebonynextdoor, @dforever15, @bambamwolf87, @bigcreatorwombatdreamer, @multifandom-world8, @gh0stgirl33, @mrspaigeomega, @grimistangel, @mlekozpudrem

#his sunshine #lloyd hansen x reader #soft lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen smut #claire fitzroy #gray man #the gray man #soulmate au #dark court gentry #court gentry #dark sierra six #sierra six

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proper-goodnight · 2 years

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On the Run

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, One-Shot (Two Part-er?)

-> Anon request (Requests are currently open. Other fandoms listed on my profile!)

Words: ~4.5K

Tags: @biblichorr, @ethanhawkestan, @medievalfangirl, @pyrokineticbaby

A/N: Apologies in advance if anyone else wanted tagged. I am still getting used to the tag list thing, and I'm not exactly sure if the people who enjoyed and wanted tagged for the Six x Reader fics also wanted tagged for the Six gen fics and vice versa. Thanks! (: If anyone knows how a tag list works, and how to note specific usernames for specific things, it would be very helpful!

~~~

Every day spent with Claire only made it abundantly more clear that Six didn’t know much about kids. Some days she was happy–ecstatic, and understanding of the things that he couldn’t control–other days, the revelation that anything inside the realm of normal was null and void where he was involved only made her more prone to being angry and spiteful. Most days he could keep up, and most days he was brought back to those first days when she was scolding him for chewing gum in Donald’s house or acting like he was an enigma because his name was filed down to just a digit.

Six wasn’t Donald Fitzroy. He never would be. He didn’t want to be.

There were things between him and Claire that he had no hope of understanding, let alone trying to recreate on his own. They didn’t have inside jokes, and he hadn’t known her parents–those were things that he couldn’t talk about like Donald. That kind of connection had never been meant for someone like him, the idea long gone when he’d been served life without parole.

But she’d said that they were like family, and to him that had meant something. An unshakable loyalty and a responsibility already embedded deep within him when he’d promised Donald that he’d keep her alive.

Other than that, doing what he knew, he was figuring the rest out one agonizingly slow step at a time.

And those agonizingly slow steps only felt slower in the humid air of a small, inconspicuous country in Asia. They had something off-brand to a McDonalds from the states, serving many of the same things with different variations of names. It didn’t make a difference to him, either way. Various jobs had taught him to eat whatever was available, and a greasy burger was the same as a steak dinner considering how much he was starving.

It didn’t embarrass him to engorge himself in front of anyone–food was a means of energy, and it hardly concerned him what he ate to get it. Regardless, he could see Claire watching him out of the corner of her eye, a vaguely nauseous look while she pushed her ice-cream around with a spoon. Sweat beaded her forehead, trailing in thin rivulets and staining a tank-top that he’d bought for her at a small corner shop for a quarter.

Her eyebrows were raised, mouth slightly parted where she’d hunched over the table, her temple laid to rest against an enclosed fist. The ice-cream had melted, and she couldn’t have looked more miserable than how she probably felt.

“It’s the best medicine,” he offered in between a mouthful of food, a lame grimace of a smile tugging at his lips while he gestured to her cup. “Ice-Cream.”

“Yeah,” Claire trailed off, looking down into the soupy mixture with apprehension. “I don’t really think it’s ice-cream anymore.” As if to further iterate her point, she lifted some of it into her spoon, then let it pour unceremoniously back into her cup. She raised her eyebrows at him, only to shake her head when he offered her a drink, her eyes darting back down.

Six finished it off, the sound of him slurping through his straw sounding much louder in the sudden quiet that settled between them. He set it back down with a soft tap, the Styrofoam cup scraping as he slid it across the table, then pushed it back a little further. What little bit remained of his lunch was forgotten, the sudden intrusion on his appetite overshadowed by useless attempts to say anything useful.

He tried to think of something Donald would say, but nothing sounded right coming from him.

Thankfully, Claire was the one to break the silence first.

“What are we going to do about money?” She looked at him in a way that ate right through him. He’d been shot, stabbed, tortured, nearly drowned, and yet one single look into Claire’s eyes–a kind of hopelessness that his concerns also had to be hers hurt so much worse. Parts of him thought that he was beyond all that; worrying. He’d built himself over the years to be unusually stoic, sarcastic at the most inopportune times, ready to die if that was something he had to do, but he couldn’t stop his expression from falling at the question, only because she wasn’t wrong.

He’d been forced to take the fall for all of Carmichael’s shit. He was a renowned fugitive, regular work and odd jobs far outside of his list of specialties. They didn’t pay enough. If it was just him, he could live off of a minimum wage, but with Claire, who was used to having so much. It was impossible. Dingy motels and take-out was already too beneath what she was used to.

Six didn’t have an actual plan. He’d made up one as he went, taunting the enemy forces in Iraq during a helicopter crash that killed several American soldiers. Traversing foreign territory with an entire army at his back, that had been easy. This? He didn’t know why this was so much harder.

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured her, only because the phrase you shouldn’t have to worry about that didn’t sound right in the moment.

“Are–are you going to put me in a home?” She asked suddenly.

“No.” He dipped his chin to meet her eyes, scrutinizing her worried expression with an incredulity so very unlike him. “No, Claire. Why do you think that?”

Claire appeared hesitant to answer, the melted puddle of her ice-cream suddenly more interesting than looking at his face. Her brows creased, her skin taking on a harsher shade of red than what he suspected was from just the humidity. Parts of her voice cracked on every other syllable, as if it was a possibility that she strongly considered before even he’d considered it. “You–you said that we were going to a hos–a hospital. To change my Pacemaker? You said that it could be tracked from anywhere.”

“It can. That’s how I found you.”

She looked up, brows drawn into a harsh scowl, a profound anger betrayed by tears brimming in her eyes. “Are you going to leave? Are you changing it out so that you can’t find me, too?”

“What?”

The tremor in her limbs had him angling his body toward her, the instinct to be there in case her Pacemaker were to act up again. He always had a hospital in mind, and an abundance of excuses if any of the doctors were to ask. Fake identities, fake IDs, passports… They moved, and they moved often. She needed direct contact with medical attention, and someone more well-adept at handling things like this. It had been selfish of him to keep her this long, but it was also selfish of him to think that he could have handled something like this in the first place.

“Claire–” He started.

Before he could get a word in, she was already moving from her chair, a harsh scrape against the tile grating against his ears as she shoved herself into his arms. On instinct, he pulled her to him, tilting his chin up to accommodate where she tucked her head. It was a gesture too familiar to fumble, and too brief to question.

Six remembered when she’d treated Donald like that, his own resilience the only thing that had protected him from her desperate kicking and screaming as he’d forced her away. He thought of something similar, doctors who would not have the resilience that he had, the begging and pleading like lead in his ears compared to people who had done the same in the past–for their lives–not his life, or a life with him. The image caused him to squeeze his eyes shut, ignoring the sudden twisting in his gut that felt like a knife.

It wasn’t fair, but most things in his life weren’t.

“I’m not going to leave you, Kid.” He assured her quietly, but the sudden tension in her muscles suggested that she didn’t believe him.

~~~~~

Six traversed several dozen stories with stone-faced seriousness, deadpan against the people who looked at him and Claire as an opportunity. Some heeded the obvious warning, others acting with false bravery before he’d tightened his hand around the gun hidden in his coat and let it slip from its confinement until they made the rational decision to back off on their own. His other arm was wrapped around Claire’s shoulders–catching her wide-eyed stare as she met strangers’ eyes in equal intensity. He burrowed her closer to his jacket, speaking low.

“Keep your head down.”

The Chongqing building in Hong Kong was renowned for operating outside the law, but even if that was the case, they had no obligation to help him. He was broke, and he didn’t want to sign himself over until he was sure that Claire was somewhere safe. After they’d mocked him for looking like the grungy version of a Ken doll, all it took was a mention of his moniker for them to sober up and offer their services in exchange for a decrease of fees from what they would offer their usual clientele.

He still couldn’t afford it, but it was more in the realm of believability.

The Gray Man had a reputation, even operating in the dark. His work across several continents had created ghost stories by word of mouth, and that reputation alone scarcely made anyone question his credibility. They’d asked him to carry out a few contracts with some debtors that they didn’t have the means to deal with, and he’d agreed under the condition that Claire get their best doctor. Hands had been shaken, and his agreement had been signed in blood.

This was more normal. This, he knew how to do.

“Are you sure about this?” Claire had asked, perched on the edge of one of the examination tables while they waited for a man who had referred to him as a ‘Guizi’ before leaving to prepare the operating room. She fumbled with the hem of a hospital gown, twisting wrinkles in the fabric from her nervous fidgeting.

Six knew there was no use in lying. She always saw right through him, and he had never tried lying to her in the first place. “No.” He didn’t sugarcoat the fact, the notion that he wasn’t allowed to stay for the operation already tipping a scale in something less favorable for him. “But you know we don’t have a choice.” He would go ahead and fulfill their contracts, then find a place for Claire to rest and recuperate. Close by, preferably, just in case there would be some kind of mishap. The doctor–who had expectedly been an asshole–had just as much of a credibility as a doctor as he did a killer.

That had to count for something, and he was running out of options.

Desperation wasn’t a good look for him.

“I know, it’s just…” Claire looked down, her eyes following her toes where she kicked her legs back and forth. Her anxiety was obvious, the way her breath hitched and she peered around as if there was a threat in every ill-illuminated corner, ready to leap out of the dark. She’d looked less scared when there was an actual threat in her house, but she’d also be alone for this one. “I trust you, but I don’t like this place.”

“Me either.” Six ducked his head, exhaling through his nose. He stepped on the foothold at the base of the examination table. Familiar with the gesture, Claire moved over to oblige his silent request as he lowered himself down beside her, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. It wobbled from the added weight.

His hand moved over hers where it gripped at the gown, and she reluctantly allowed him to peel her clenched fingers apart.

Claire looked more tired than usual, more small than how he was used to seeing her. Her playful attitude at Donald’s had been near damn non-existent in the last few months, moving from place to place leaving her jet-lagged and more prone to irritability. It didn’t stop his usual sarcasm, that dry wit that had annoyed her in the beginning, only for her to end up admitting that it was kind of funny. “I think everyone around here kind of looks like a criminal.”

Her head tilted back to look up at him. “More than you?” She gave a soft mock of a gasp. “No way.”

Six feigned a look of confusion, brows pinching. “Do I look like a criminal?”

“You do have the tattoos.” She chuckled. It was the first time he’d heard it in months.

“I told you it was a guy's name in Greek.”

She nodded, looking back down where his hand laid over hers. Even with both her hands, his fingers still managed to envelop them, giving them a reassuring squeeze. A wan smile pulled at her lips. “You never told me if he made it up the hill.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Six mulled it over thoughtfully, the next breath he exhaled more forceful this time, dragging along with his words. “Let’s get through this first, then I’ll let you know, okay?”

Claire pressed her lips together, minimizing the frown that’d slowly begun to spread across her face as her expression fell. “You promise you’re not leaving me?”

He held out his pinkie.

She rolled her eyes, curling it around her own. Her thumb pressed against his in a final declaration: A stamp, she’d explained that it somehow made it more official. There was something too endearing about it for him to question.

“Just another Thursday.” He answered.

“You say that every time something bad happens. I’m starting to see a pattern.”

“If I can get through this without getting in a fight, I think that this will be more successful than most Thursdays.”

“Ha-Ha,” she said sarcastically.

He quirked a smile despite himself, and her expression was quick to follow. The door swung open as the doctor walked inside, mask and gloves at the ready. Claire inhaled next to him, her arms wrapping around his bicep. He slid off the exam table, practically lifting her along with him

“You can’t be in the surgery room,” the doctor told him, voice flat and uncaring. It only further exceeded to twist a knife deeper into his gut.

“I’m going to escort her,” Six said. The nature of his tone was enough for the doctor to begrudgingly oblige his request, waving them out into the dark corridor and through the maze of hallways that he’d gotten lost in on the way up. Claire’s nails dug into his sleeve, and he offered what little comfort he could by placing a hand over her arm. “And this Pacemaker is untraceable?” He pressed the doctor.

“It does not have a registered serial number.” The doctor answered. “It cannot be traced on any national database.”

It offered very little comfort to Six, but they’d run into too much trouble with her current one. It was a big risk for a bout of selfishness, for giving in to Claire’s demands to stay. He did look at homes cross-country, and depending how the next few weeks went, he may have to make some kind of choice.

He strongly suspected that whether it went well or not, he may have to say goodbye anyway.

If she were to have any kind of life.

“I’ll be right here.” They came to a stop outside of the operating room.

“Six.”

“I’ll bring you some ice-cream. It’s the best medicine.”

She leapt onto her tiptoes and hugged him tight, with him leaning to accommodate her height. His arms wrapped around her back, never squeezing, but giving a firm enough gesture so that she understood that he meant it. Once they pulled apart, she was ushered into the operating room, sparing a glance over her shoulder.

Her index finger and pinkie raised, her other fingers curling in.

He copied the gesture as she disappeared through the door.

Six’s expression slipped as soon as she was gone, then despite his promise to Claire, he turned and walked down the seedy corridor. Fluorescent lights flickered incessantly, forcing him to squint underneath their harsh blinking and fight the urge to turn back around and deposit himself outside of Claire’s room. He convinced himself that she would be fine for the time being, especially after she was put under anesthesia. Hopefully, she would never notice that he was gone.

Various stalls lined the narrow bend of the hall, but he didn’t have the time to so much as spare any of the products a glance. His jacket swayed with his shoulders, a strong confidence taking to an equally strong frame. He wasn’t taller than most of the men in the building by any means, but he could say with a cocky confidence that none of them would be that difficult to take. He’d been ready to at any opportunity with Claire, but for the moment, for her sake, he’d avoid it if he could.

He turned his torso to avoid products being waved at him, at his face, darting around seedy characters that made grabs for his wallet.

He had an obligation.

They were paying him for this, and he had to get Claire somewhere safe after.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow split across the wall and dart around a corner. There was a fraction of a second, then it was gone, one glance over his shoulder confirming that it wasn’t one of the stall owners attempting to pressure him for a purchase.

Someone was following him.

Shit.

With a renewed urgency, Six traversed the remaining figures in the hallway, around a disgruntled patron to take his spot in the elevator, pressing his finger into the man’s chest and none-too graciously pushing him back–the man had shouted something at him in Mandarin, something that he only bothered to classify as some kind of insult–but he pressed the button that would take him down without bothering to grace the man with his usual wit. He jammed his thumb to prematurely close the doors, but someone else managed to slip through the narrow crack in the doors. The man pressed a button, then they were being taken down.

77…

76…

75…

Six had stepped to the far left side, his hands folded together in front of him, eyes fixed on a specific spot in an ugly swirling pattern on the rug. He mulled over his options. Unlike most places he’d found trouble in, this place was full of criminals. Unless he was some kind of big whig that had the staff of the entire building under his thumb, Claire was safe if this asshole wound up missing.

His eyes rolled back up to the ceiling, the light dim and flickering in there, too.

“And you are?” Six asked, glancing over to a darkened figure who towered over him. Graciously ignored, his only response was a twitch of the man’s muscles suggesting that his day was about to get a hell of a lot harder.

74…

73…

Deft fingers grabbed for the gun in his jacket at the same time his attacker jammed the emergency stop button. The two traded shots, a loud ringing that split through the air in perfect unison, just passing their left shoulders in perfect symmetry. A harsh shudder shook the elevator while it came to an abrupt stop, causing Six’s knee to crumple, stumbling through the small space.

He’d had his hand on his gun, his index finger grappling for the trigger again as the brunt of the man’s palm knocked the side of the gun’s barrel and sent it careening into a corner. It went off somewhere in the dark, shooting a light out in the ceiling, the other twitching, light and darkness blinking rapidly back and forth.

His eyes darted for the gun, following its flight path, only for a sudden blink of the light to illuminate ringed knuckles that came dangerously close to his face. He whipped back, his spine hitting the grip handle on the wall, managing to grab a hold of it just as another punch made impact with the side of his cheek.

Red exploded. Scarlet tasted bitter on his tongue, taking a few small but dexterous hops sideways to create distance.

Grimacing, Six spit into a corner, his words coming in soft exhales as he took that brief reprieve to catch his breath. He wasn’t given much, forced up against the wall with the handle digging into his spine. A knife pressed dangerously close to his throat, the side of the blade creating a sharp line. “Can we not do this right now? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

But there were certain elements that lied dormant until it heeded the call for survival. Dangerous instincts hardwired into his biological systems, tangled between societal standards and cultural acceptance. Suffering from the human condition. A fissure had opened between Six’s past and present, threatening to engulf his future.

Claire’s future.

“You’re worth a lot of money,” the attacker mused with a heavy timber accentuated with an accent that Six didn’t recognize. His expression twisted, a scoff ripping through his throat. “Two hundred thousand for the Gray Man’s head. I’m not impressed.”

Six resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that natural nonchalance that this man sported–an attitude with the knowledge that he would win.

“You’re no run-of-the-mill yourself.” He retorted, only to earn a punch that speared him in the gut as a consolation prize. A cough forced itself from deep in his stomach, groaning in irritation. His tongue caught a stray lop of blood on the side of his lip, and without warning, he jerked his knee up, slamming it into the man’s abdomen, darting sideways to one of the corners.

The man doubled over, spitting a slew of curses in a language that Six didn’t understand before charging him again. The full force of his weight knocked into his side and sent him into the wall. Six’s head hit it first, exploding with a sudden burst of pain at the side of his skull. Trembling fingers gripped hard, his eyes struggling to refocus through the ringing in his ears, a pounding sensation rocking against the back of it while his free hand fumbled for his gun.

Six pushed himself to stand again despite the disorientation. His free arm wrapped around his stomach, just barely stumbling sideways as a fist collided with the wall.

He swung at him again then again, the cramped confines of the space only growing smaller and smaller as they moved about.

A boot collided with his ankle. Hard.

Six buckled, his back hitting the floor and yanking what little breath he had from him. His blurring figure hovered over him, drawing his gun. In one harsh movement, he threw his foot up, knocking it out of his unsuspecting hands and sending it careening across the floor with a metal clang. He dove for his own where it lay neglected in a darkened corner, scooping it up into his hand, rolling forward, and propping himself onto one knee.

The desire to survive overpowered any hesitations he may have had.

Two gunshots rang out, echoing into the stillness, only to find his attacker not there.

In one fluent movement, the man appeared behind Six and grabbed his arm. He jerked him forward, one arm wrapping around his throat, another delivering a quick blow to the back of his knee, sending him down. His nails dug desperately at the arm that kept him trapped. The free hand grasping his gun was forcibly held still at his side.

It should’ve been easy. He’d done it so many times in half the amount it would take someone without the proper training. Except this time it was purely to defend himself. Six hadn’t possessed a strong urge to preserve his own life. It'd been all about following orders from the very start, and then he’d remembered Claire, preserving her life—everything the CIA had tried and almost succeeded in destroying in him.

That had been all that mattered, but now even more than ever, Six wanted to live.

And he would try.

For her sake.

The man’s towering form wavered just a moment, just long enough for another shot to echo out, grazing past his assailant’s right shoulder.

Missed.

Another passed the left shoulder.

Missed.

Blurred edges framed his vision, body warning him that he would pass out. Having the current upper hand, the gun was wrenched from his hand, placing the shaft against Six’s temple. He scratched at the tight hold around his throat that was restricting his blood’s flow, opening his mouth and breathing in. His nostrils flared, his insistent struggling becoming more weak.

72.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, and through his blurry haze, he came face to face with Lloyd Hansen

“Hey, Sunshine!” Lloyd–fucking Lloyd–greeted him, waving with fingers replaced by prosthetics. “Ease up on the Ken doll won’t ya? There’ll be plenty of time for foreplay later.” At his demand, Six was released, sent into the floor sputtering and coughing. He strongly contemplated that he was dead, that this was some weird type of hell.

But Lloyd knelt beside him, startling real, and just as annoying. “Have you met my friend?”

Six looked up, his shoulders rising and falling while he caught his breath. He squinted, lips parted in unbelievability, wanting more than anything to wipe the trash stache off of his smug face. With the possibility that he knew Claire was there, it was the only thing that encouraged him to stay on his best behavior until he was sure otherwise. “I’ve had the pleasure, yeah.”

“I paid him extra to choke you out like that by the way. I wanted to reminisce a little about the old days.” Lloyd gently chided. “Before that bitch Suzanne shot me.”

“I remember.” Six said, unable to keep his own version of a smug grin from creeping across his face. “It was kind of funny.” He wiped at his mouth, settling back on his haunches where he could look at Lloyd more fully, relishing in the feeling of just getting to sit down.

Lloyd lingered. Too close. They were almost nose to nose.

“What did I do to get graced with your stache now?”

“Oh, you’re going to find out. I’ve got a whole date planned, actually. Just you and me.” At the confession, Six had just blinked the haze out of his eyes, a burst of stars forcing them directly back in. Pain shot through the bridge of his nose, a nausea making him gag as he slumped back against the floor. A low growl rumbled within him, rapidly blinking fluorescent lights and Lloyd’s face swirling around him in those last few seconds.

Thoughts of Claire came to the surface of it all, praying to whatever God existed that she was safe being the last thing that graced his mind before he was gone.

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