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chickensarentcheap · 6 months

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In a Heartbeat- Chapter 6

Fandom: Extraction

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

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.

Warnings: mentions of childhood cancer and death (canon), spousal abuse, miscarriage

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @munstysmind @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @karimac @theesirenteller @kmc1989 @alisbackalleybbq @asirensrage @ninjasawakenedmystar @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/129945505

My tag list is OPEN. Please just let me know if you want to be added :)

****

He wakes at two a.m.; confused and disoriented. After three-quarters of a year, he’s no longer engulfed by the sights and sounds within his hospital room. While stark white walls have transformed into dark wood panelling, the overwhelming and nauseating combined stenches of antiseptic, sickness and death have been replaced by the fire that keeps their little home warm. Gone is the cramped, single bed with its metal safety bars and pristine, uncomfortably stiff sheets; he’s graduated to a double king covered in layers of colourful quilts and blankets. At last able to share a bed with the woman he loves; finding himself caught up in her familiar smell, the brush of her body against his, and the sighs, murmurs and giggles that she emits in the midst of the deepest of sleeps.

It was during the first hours in Dhaka that he’d discovered an ease and comfort with her that he’d never experienced before. He had smiled and laughed for the first time in what felt like forever; a pure and genuine contentment that he hadn’t experienced since childhood. When his father was away on one of his infamous week-long benders and his mother ‘ruled the roost’. For seven days, there’d been no fear lingering under that roof; he felt safe and secure, and he was able to enjoy the company of his mother without having to worry about his old man ruining every single moment. Forever wanting him to ‘harden up; degrading his only child for showing emotion and both accepting and handing out affection.

With Esme, he’d felt very much like that little boy again. Realizing through every kiss and every brush of her hand and the press of her body against his that he’d been living for years…decades…completely and utterly touched starved. Even with Mia, his wants and needs were kept frustratingly out of reach. Outside of sex, she had zero interest in physical intimacy; she preferred he didn’t enter her ‘personal space’ and let him know from very early on that she disliked even being embraced. Esme however, simply couldn’t get enough of it; she loved everything from the simplest, most innocent of touches to the most invasive and raunchy of sexual encounters. In turn, he had thrived alongside her; enjoying the fact that she needed and wanted him and wasn’t afraid to show it.

In turn, she’d made him realize that he was still very much alive; he could still FEEL. Not just intense desire and animalistic lust, but complete and utter devotion; quickly smitten by her bubbly personality and these enormous dark eyes, the way she chewed on her bottom lip while immersed in deep thought, and how she would give a tiny squeal and a bounce of her heels whenever they received good news or something appealing caught her eye. She was strong in ways that were solely her own; not business savvy or a physical powerhouse like Nic, nor cold and calculated like Mia; years spent working in the law field had made her incredibly jaded and cynical. But a strength that seemed to come straight from her soul; seeing the beauty in the world despite years of torment and punishment that had been dumped in her lap. Everything that had been down to her at the hands of her ex, and she still saw the good in everyone; perhaps naive and childish at times, but both utterly appealing and highly addictive.

She was the first person since his mother that he’d allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with; permitting her past the walls he’d long ago built up to contain the immense heartache, guilt, and regret that he’d burdened himself with. And she hadn’t looked at him like a monster when he told her about his biggest mistake; fleeing when his son was at the tail end of his courageous -and extremely painful- battle with cancer. Admitting that he’d gone to the hospital just hours before being shipped off on his third tour of Afghanistan; brave enough to put his own life on the line but too weak to stay behind and hold his son’s hand until the bitter end. And speaking the truth had been both incredibly painful and cathartic. Revealing that he’d simply stood at the window of his son’s room and watched the six-year-old colour; not having the courage to step through the door and give a ‘face to face’ goodbye and instead simply turning and walking away.

His little boy watching the entire time.

Esme is the only living soul who knows THAT part. He’d never been brave enough to say it out loud; the heights and the depths of his brand of cowardice. While she immediately held him accountable and agreed that, yes, it was a horrible mistake, she also sympathized with him; the loss of a child was extremely difficult and nearly impossible to bear for even the strongest of souls.

And she’d cried along with him; feeling his grief and his sorrow so profoundly. “I’m sorry, Tyler,” she had managed through a flood of tears and sobs that wracked her entire body. “I am so sorry you lost your little boy.”

It would be the first time, and the last, that they’d speak of Austin. She refused to press him for any more information and strayed away from asking anything about his former life. Instead, giving him the space and respect he needed on his journey; acknowledging his boundaries and refusing to trespass against him. She knew that if he needed and WANTED to, he’d approach HER. And in response, she’d be a safe person…a safe PLACE…for him. More than willing to help him carry his baggage; lend an understanding ear, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to merely vent to.

Yet somehow, over the course of five days and while allowing him space, they became messily and irreversibly tangled up in one another. Two broken, world-weary people finding solace in one another; finding comfort, pleasure, and safety in one another’s arms. And laying the foundation for a bond that was far stronger and ran much deeper than anything they’d ever experienced before.

*****

She sleeps soundly beside him. Tightly wrapped in one of the patchwork quilts; only the top of her head and her toes visible. It’ll take some getting used to; all the quirks and habits that make Esme who she is. Her tendency to steal every blanket, the way she quietly hums while working in the kitchen, how the labels on cans of food have to be perfectly lined up in the cupboard, and the towels and face cloths in each bathroom have to be an exact match. And he wonders how much of her idiosyncrasies come from the years spent under Mark’s extremely volatile and controlling behaviour; forced to have even the tiniest of details picture perfect.

The damage runs deep. It’s evidence existing even in the most innocent of moments. When he raises his voice or looks at her a certain way; noticing the way her entire body stiffens, and her lower lip and chin begin to tremble as she struggles to rein in her emotions. How she flinches if he moves too quickly beside her or simply reaches overhead. It’s what he hates the most: seeing the fear and the trepidation that immediately takes over. She had taken countless beatings over the course of three years, resulting in multiple trips to the ER, split lips and broken bones, a busted eardrum -and mild yet permanent hearing loss- and two stays in the Intensive Care Unit. Being treated as a punching bag stays with you; the trauma and lingering anxiety are both deeply rooted. And to have her react that way with him is a kick in the gut; the knowledge that while she claims to feel safe and protected in his presence, the ghost of her ex is always hovering close by, ready to make an appearance.

He’s unsure how long he stays in bed. One forearm slung over his eyes, the other across her pillow; his palm on the top of her head as his fingers continuously skim through her hair and his thumb repeatedly brushes against her brow. Hoping to be lulled back asleep by her soft, warm skin and a combination of noises; Lucy’s sot snoring from her spot at the end of the bed, Esme’s occasional murmuring and giggling, the whistling of the wind and the rattling of the windows. But when rest continues to evade him and discomfort begins to settle in his shoulder, back, and knee, he forces himself to move. Wincing as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed; briefly closing his eyes as fights off the pain and blindly reaches for the cane he’d stashed by the side of the nightstand.

It’s easier now; taking only one try -and tremendous trust in both the assistive device and his good leg- to get himself up onto his feet. His confidence slowly returning as each day…each minute…passes since he came out of his coma; he feels stronger and more optimistic and views each step as a tremendous milestone. Now able to walk small distances without the brace or the fear of the unsupported knee giving away underneath him; taking is slowly and easy as both strength and stamina begin to slowly return. And the pain is tolerable; relying solely on the prescriptions written by the specialists and adhering to the strict schedule they’d constructed and presented him with.

A hell of a feat for a guy who, just ten months ago, was a hard-core alcoholic and addict.

While the cravings remain and come out to play when he’s feeling his lowest and most defeated, he’s managed to keep his demons at bay; managing to find much healthier and productive ways of coping with the amount of guilt, grief, and self-loathing that still weigh him down. Reminding himself at the start of each day that it’s no longer ‘just him’; that there’s someone not only relying on him to stay clean and sober, but who vehemently BELIEVES in him. There’s too much to lose now; a new life that he’s building with a person that doesn’t necessarily need him, but WANTS him. Who admits to being safe and secure in his presence; two things she’d never experienced before and never realized how much she needed to feel them. And it was her that he fought his way back for; hearing her voice and feeling her touch and desperately wanting to see her again. To once more experience those feelings she so easily and effortlessly managed to bring to the surface. Love and lust. Want and need. And so many damn things in between.

Dressing himself is what takes the most effort; having to fight through the pain that inhabits his surgically repaired left shoulder to even slip a shirt over his head and do up his pants. Esme, despite her tiny size, usually helps out; making him sit in a chair so she can properly assist him; patiently tending to things like zippers and buttons while never treating him like he’s a burden. Refusing to let feelings of frustration or helplessness fester inside of him; consistently reminding him -in the tender, loving way of hers- that this was all just a small bump in the road. Pointing out that he’s lucky to even still be alive; lesser men would have perished on that bridge, not fought their way back, especially for a woman they barely knew. She had been the only one who had seen him at his lowest in the hospital; the person that he could be completely vulnerable with and not live to regret it. Such a small and seemingly fragile woman that was tougher than any soldier or mercenary he’d ever known; putting her own ass on the line in order to save his. And then putting her entire life on hold in hopes that she’d be able to create something new with HIM; a man with mountains of baggage and addiction issues and a six-year-long death wish.

Planting his palm on the mattress, he leans over the bed; his eyes briefly closing as his nose nuzzles her temple with the tip of his nose. Breathing in that familiar scent: milk and honey and coconut. A smell that isn’t particularly unique, but represents everything that is good and beautiful that continues to thrive between them. They’re both a mess; they willingly and easily admit to that. But they hold onto the hope that maybe…just maybe…two broken people CAN come together to make a slightly tarnished, dented whole.

Limping out into the dimly lit kitchen, he makes himself a cup of coffee before retreating to the sofa; wasting half an hour alternating between watching the local news channel on mute and browsing the web on his phone. Boredom quickly sets in and he renders him anxious and fidgety; the frustration growing over the reality that none of his usual activities -all centred around keeping his body busy in hopes of distracting his mind- are unavailable to him.

It’s a difficult and bitter pill to swallow; used to leading an active lifestyle, yet now relegated to doing little more than limping around the house and feeling sorry for himself. The latter is what he’s desperate to avoid; warned before his release from the hospital that he was very likely to experience some level of depression. The deep and profound sadness that comes with remembering what your life was like…what YOU were like… before landing in their care, precariously teetering on death’s door. He had wanted to laugh in their faces; he didn’t WANT to remember the man he was prior to the events in Dhaka. That guy had died on the bridge; succumbing to multiple gunshot wounds and severe blood loss. And he no longer wanted to be HIM. Instead, determined to be the kind of man that Esme needed, wanted and deserved. It wasn’t the loss of his previous life that he mourned, it was what he couldn’t yet do with the new one he’d be given.

Unable to get comfortable on the couch, he makes a second cup of coffee and walks down to the lake; a mere fifty yards that may as well be fifty miles. It’s an incredibly slow and tedious journey; the combination of the ache in his knee and across his lower back, his diminished muscle tone and stamina, and the amount -and thickness- of the snow that has fallen over the past several hours. But once down there, it’s a hell of a view; the sky as black as freshly poured ink and embedded with a multitude of stars, the shadow of the mountains looming on the horizon. And the enormous full moon reflected on the body of water that has yet to freeze thoroughly.

It’s peaceful; with no neighbours for miles, and far enough away from the hustle and bustle of Vienna. And what could have easily been an incredibly isolating and lonely place to seek rest and refuge in, feels anything but. Just the mere thought of the comforts of home just yards away: good food, a loyal dog, a warm fire and a comfortable bed.

And the love of his life.

He’s not afraid to admit it. At least not to himself. But a fear lingers just under the surface; the worry that if he speaks the words aloud and puts them out into the universe, something will go disastrously wrong. As if it’s all too good to be true; surviving what would undoubtedly kill many and living to tell about it. Finding someone in the midst of all of the messiness and madness; someone willing to help shoulder and carry his burdens and who accepts every broken piece of him. Guys like him don’t deserve that kind of life; the blood they’ve spilled and the ‘body count’ that they’ve racked up. Most are proud of what they’ve done; the tallies they keep, the stories they share, and the memories of all the gruesome and painful ways they punished people. The thought of that life leaves him feeling hollow. Ashamed. He’s not proud of the things he’s done; the lives he’s taken, the families he’s ruined, and the money he’s taken in the process. But it was all he’d known; a soldier from the time he was eighteen years old. Strength and agility and speed and immense power and skill.

Since the moment he’d been lucid enough to comprehend what had happened and the toll it took on his mind and body, he’d wondered where he’d go from there. If retirement was truly the only option. He didn’t feel defeated; Esme made sure of that as she served as his one-woman cheering section. She kept him going on the days he didn’t think he could; reminding him of how far he’d come, how many people he’d proven wrong, and just how strong and resilient he is.

“You’re stronger than you think you are, Tyler,” she’d informed him, shortly after a more painful and tedious than usual physiotherapy session. “You shouldn’t even be here, but you ARE. Don’t let Dhaka win. Not now. You’ve come too far to give it that satisfaction.”

So he keeps going. For her.

Taking one last swallow of coffee, he carefully gets to his feet; dumping the remains in the lake and then turning towards the house. Facing the lone, now empty chair on the edge of the deck.

He’ll have to change that. Add to it. Get her a chair of own. In her favourite colour, if he can find it.

After all, it’s not just him anymore.

****

“Tyler?”

He gives a small start; her voice quiet and tired as she stands on the threshold between the master bedroom and kitchen. Unsure of just how long he’s been sitting at the table; feeling empty and numb as he stares at the black, blank screen of his laptop. Has it been just minutes? Hours? How much time HAS passed since he returned to the cabin and stumbled upon the box Nik had brought from his old place? The moment he’d stepped inside, he’d come face to face with his past. Sitting right where he’d left it; on the table by the door, surrounded by car and house keys and cell phones and various items to throw into the recycle boxes out on the porch.

He doesn’t even remember picking the box up. Never mind sitting down to rifle through it. Everything is muddled and running together: the sound of his son’s voice and giggle, the sight of unruly, blond hair and enormous hazel eyes and a beautiful smile. Images and memories that have been fading with time; adding more pain on top of the grief, regret, and guilt that he can’t seem to shake.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” He tries to keep his voice even. Emotionless. But his throat burns, and his chest feels tight, and he’s not sure he can be convincing in the slightest. “ It’s late. Or really early. Whatever way you want to look at it.”

“I woke up, and you were gone. It scared me. I got worried.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

“Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream? Like the ones you had in the hospital?”

“I just woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I think it’s just a matter of adjusting; to how damn dark and quiet it is here. It’s like night and day.”

“It is kind of weird,” Esme admits. “I noticed it right away, too. It wasn’t like this. There were always lights on and always some kind of noise. Or people waking you up. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I was just watching something. On the ‘net.”

“Are you okay? Any pain? Do you need some meds or…?”

“I’m fine,” he assures her, tone more curt than it needs to be. She doesn’t deserve that; her fears and concerns come from a place of genuine love and adoration. And she’d spent the better part of a year by his bedside; not only fighting for the best possible care but refusing to give up long after everyone else had all but ‘pulled the plug’. “But thank you,” he quickly adds, glancing over his shoulder to where she lingers in the bedroom doorway. A tiny figure illuminated only by moonlight and the glow of the bedside lamp; diminutive frame all but swallowed by a pair of blue and red plaid pyjamas. “For worrying about me.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“I can think of a few things you do best. Better than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

She gives a small laugh. “That’s a hell of a compliment coming from a ‘total male slut turned one woman man’. Unless…”

“Don’t even finish that. There’s only you. There’s only EVER going to be you.” It’s the truth; knowing in his heart that this is it. This is the ‘one.’ And it’s going to move fast. Taking on a breath-stealing, almost terrifying pace that is impossible to stop. Not that he wants to.

“Do you need some company? I could make some tea and…”

“Just go back to bed. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Okay,” she relents, and then hesitates. Chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, her hand remaining on the doorframe as she watches him from across the room.

He wants to tell her. He NEEDS to tell her. Fill in those last remaining gaps that separate his former life from his present; unable to fully move on until he closes the final chapter. And it’s something he so desperately desires: the ability to completely concentrate on what he has in front of him. Those things that are real and tangible; the sound of both her voice and laugh, the familiar scent that clings to her body and hair, that special little smile that is reserved solely for him, and the way she cradles his face in her hands and kisses with a softness that takes his breath away. They…SHE…deserves all of him. And he can’t give her that, unless…

“Esme?”

The soft creak of the floorboards again. And out of the corner of his eye, he sees her in the doorway once more.

“Will you do something for me?”

*****

She sits at the kitchen table nursing a mug of tea, the laptop open and waiting on the tabletop. And she gives him a smile when he joins her, unzipping his hoodie and draping it over her shoulders before sitting down next to her. Tightly huddled together; both shoulders and the sides of their legs pressed against each other.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Before I show you this, a word of warning: my ex is in it.”

“Okay…”

“I just didn’t want you to be surprised by it. Or have it upset you. To see her.”

“Why would it upset me? You had a life before me. Just like I had one before you.”

“If I’m honest, I’m not exactly thrilled at ever seeing what your ex looked like.”

“It’s not like you can compare the two. I know things weren’t perfect; you guys had your problems long before your son ever got sick. But Mark is in a league all of his own. He’s his own brand of evil. No one can even come close, believe me.”

“Maybe it’s better I NEVER see him. Or find out where he lives.”

“If anything…” She sips at her tea. “...it’s better for HIM if you don’t.”

“My son’s in it too. He’s the reason I want you to watch it. Because he was my life, and now you are and…” Tyler swallows around the lump of emotion that sits square in his throat. “...and I need you to see him.”

“Alright.”

“But only if you WANT to. See him. I don’t want you doing it because I’m bullying you into it. I don’t…”

“I’d love to see him. I WANT to see him.”

It’s just as painful -if not more- to watch the second time. The emotions heightened. Flooded by the memories of his son and overwhelmed by the added element; Esme beside him as he shares an enormous part of his life BEFORE her. He’s filled with a level of anxiety that he can’t quite explain; teetering on the threshold of fear as he anticipates her reactions to the things she’s seeing and hearing. The image of him twirling his son high in the air, his ex-wife smiling and talking to the camera as she splashes in the surf, Austin with his shrieks and his giggles, and his shaggy hair and enormous eyes as he races towards the camera.

She’s the first person he’s ever shared his son with; others in his life not caring to get that ‘attached’ to him or his past. And if he’s honest, he can admit that he’s never been with someone he WANTED to share those memories with. Nik viewed him -at times- as nothing more than a nuisance and a way to scratch her own itch, and Yaz and him have never been close enough to consider each other friends. And all the women he’d bedded after his divorce were nothing more than conquests; opportunities to be physically satisfied without the added strings attached.

Although he’s vaguely aware he’s holding his breath the entire time the video plays, he hears every little laugh she gives and sees -out of the corner of his eye- every smile that curves her lips. And when it’s over and he can finally breathe again, the silence in the cabin is deafening; somehow eerily drowning out the howling of the wind and rattling of the windows and the crackling of the fire. He finds himself unable to move or speak for what seems like a lifetime; frozen and rooted in place. Unable to speak or form even a coherent thought until Esme gives a choked sob beside him; her entire body shaking as tears spill down her cheeks.

“Hey…” Laying a hand on the back of her head, Tyler gently pulls her towards him. “...don’t…”

“It’s not my place. To be feeling these things. It’s not my loss or my grief. I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know him. I didn’t…”

“It’s okay…” He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose, then rests his forehead against hers. “...you don’t have to explain. You don’t…”

“It’s because of how I feel about you. I hate that you went through this. That you lost your son. And I’m so sorry, Tyler. That this happened. That he got sick and he died and…”

“Shhh…” Pushing his fingers through her hair, he gently kneads at her scalp. “...just breathe, Esme. Just breathe…”

“You didn’t deserve that. None of you did. Not you, not Mia, and especially not your son. And if there was any way I could go back and fix things so it never happened…”

“Listen to me,” Pulling away, he takes her face in his hands; voice stern, eyes locked on hers. “Don’t you EVER say that. I don’t want you even THINKING it. Because if you change one thing, you change everything. That means you wouldn’t exist. We wouldn’t exist. And I wouldn’t give this…YOU…up for anything. Or anyone.”

“Really?”

“I know that probably makes me sound like a really shitty person. A really shitty DAD.”

“It makes you sound honest. Even if it were possible, you wouldn’t…?”

“Even if it were. I still wouldn’t change a damn thing. ‘Cause I’m in way too deep. With you. And it’s fucking terrifying.”

“It is. But not in a bad way, you know? Not in a way that makes me want to run away from it. Because I know I’m okay. I know I’m safe. With you. And you’re the first person to ever make me feel that way. And I never realized I NEEDED to feel that.”

“I don’t know what good I’d be right now. Can’t do much when it comes to the whole protecting thing.”

“If you had to, you’d find a way. If there was some kind of threat or I was in any kind of danger, nothing would stop you from keeping me safe.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Someone has to. And it’s not just a physical thing. Feeling safe with you. I can’t explain it. I just know that I’m okay. That nothing bad is going to happen to me. No one is going to hurt me. I don’t have to worry about having my heart broken. Or my face, for that matter.”

“Not all men hit.”

“I know. And for the longest, I always thought they did. That's all I knew. About love. I thought it was ugly and painful and that I didn’t deserve anything better than that. And then I met you. Now I’m not scared anymore. At least, not of that.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared you’re going to run. I mean, you just said it was terrifying; all the things you feel for me. What if it becomes too much? What if…?”

“I’m not that guy anymore. I haven’t been him since I met you. Do you think we’d have gotten this far…that we’d be here right now…if I were still him?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s all going to be okay. It’s not a bad scary. Not in the slightest. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming.”

He nods.

“But like in this amazing way. It’s scary, but it’s not a horrible scary. Does that make sense?”

“To me, it does. If you were to tell anyone else that, they’d probably think you’re nuts.”

Giving a small laugh, she uses the sleeves of her pyjamas to wipe away her tears; a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she regards the now blank computer screen. “Your son was so beautiful, Tyler. He looked so much like you.”

“Everyone used to say that. He had his mum’s eyes, though.”

“This might be way off base, but why did you only have one? He was six when he died. How come you and Mia didn’t have another baby? I mean, it’s hard to judge off a three-minute video, but you both looked like great parents. Why…?”

“We realized that we were better as friends than as husband and wife. It’s pretty much how we lived. For the last couple of years before he got sick. We weren’t bringing another kid into that. It was hard work; keeping up appearances for him. We didn’t want him to know that we were sticking together for him. Maybe when we got a little older, he could have handled knowing that, but…”

“Why did you get married? If you weren’t that compatible, why…?”

“I thought we were. I thought I loved her. I mean, I did. I DID love her. But not the kind of love that’s enough to have more kids and keep a marriage going. The funny thing is, it took me until I was thirty-five to realize all that.”

“What happened when you were thirty-five?”

He stares at her pointedly.

“I’m kidding.” Pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose, she turns back to the laptop; chewing on her bottom lip as she drums her fingernails on the lid. “Did you go to the beach a lot? Was that a favourite thing to do?”

“Once we moved to Australia, we went there quite a bit. He loved it. Anything to do with water.”

“You didn’t live there? When you got married?”

“We got married in Brussels. I was stationed there. When we met. And it made sense to extend my posting; her career was there, and I didn’t have any family or anyone else waiting for me back home, so…”

“How long did you stay?”

“Seven years. My boy was three when we moved to Australia.”

“Took you guys long enough to have kids. Why…?”

“She wasn’t sure she wanted any. Mia was always about her work. It always came first. Even after we got married. Even after my boy came along. We were both bad for that; putting other things and other people before each other. That was probably one of the biggest issues. Other than me being a fucking asshole.”

“There’s no way you were THAT bad. You’re not a horrible person, Tyler. You’re a good person who made a bad mistake. So I highly doubt you were some evil being while you were married to her.”

“I wasn’t a good husband. I didn’t know how to be one. I told you about my dad. I didn’t exactly have a role model growing up. When it came to how I should treat a wife.”

“You didn’t…”

“Hit her? No. Fuck, no. I’ve never been THAT messed up. I just wasn’t present. Like I should have been. And maybe part of it was because SHE wasn’t? So I figured, why should I be? I don’t really know. All I DO know is that she deserved better. And that she was worth a lot more than I was ever willing to give her.”

“Where is she now?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Do you ever think about finding her? Contacting her?”

Tyler shakes his head. “That chapter is closed. And trust me, I’m the last person she wants to hear from.”

“Do you miss her?”

“No.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I love YOU.”

“You feel nothing for her?”

“I don’t think I ever really did. Not if I go by what I feel now. For you.”

“Do you ever think about having another kid? About being a dad again?”

“I’ve thought about it a couple of times. In the last few weeks, anyway. Before that? No. I mean, I fucked it up once. Why would I want to fuck it up again?”

“You weren’t a horrible father. You were a really good one who found himself in an awful situation.”

“It was the worst mistake I ever made. Abandoning him.”

“If you could go back…”

“Esme…”

“Just hear me out. IF you could go back and change just that one thing? If you found a way to rewind the clock and stay until the bitter end, do you think things would have been different? For you and Mia?”

“No. Because we ended a long time before his life ever did.”

“And that was a mutual thing or….?”

“We had already talked about it: getting divorced, custody, support. We were ready to start the process. And then he got sick and everything changed. We decided to stay together for him. First, it was until he was finished treatment and he was cancer-free. And then when we realized he wasn’t going to get better, it was until he died.”

“Are you angry? At her? For things not turning out the way you wanted them to? Relationship wise?”

“I have no reason to be angry at her. We both made mistakes.”

“I can’t imagine going through all of that. That’s a parent’s worst nightmare. Their child getting sick and seeing them waste away, and then watching them die. I…” Taking a long, quivering breath, Esme swipes at her tears with the back of her hand. “...I feel sorry for her. That she lost her baby. I know what it was like to lose one in the early stages; before I ever got to know if it was a boy or a girl or even plan a nursery or think about names. I can’t imagine having a child…this little being I carried inside of me for nine months…and losing them.”

“Just because you didn’t go all those months and give birth, doesn’t mean you weren’t a mum.”

“It was so early into things. I didn’t even get out of the second trimester. And it’s not that I did anything wrong…”

“That thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

“...it’s just that the baby was sick. They did some tests after I miscarried, and they admitted they missed a lot of things. During the ultrasounds. The baby had a lot of things wrong with it. That it couldn’t possibly survive even if I DID carry to term. Not compatible with life, they said.”

“I’m sorry. That you went through that. That you didn’t get to see your baby.”

“I would have had it anyway. Or tried to. Had things been different and I’d been able to carry to term. Or close to it. He blamed me, you know. Mark. He said it was my fault. That I was ‘paying for my sins’. That it was because I was a terrible wife and I was being taught my lesson. That I needed to be a better person and listen to what he said and do what I was told…”

“The more you tell me about this guy, the more I WANT to find out where he was. So I CAN kill him. But not before I torture him. Slowly and extremely painfully.”

“I believed it. For the longest time. Even after I’d gotten away from him. It took me longer than it should have to realize he was the problem. Not me. And I’m not perfect. By any stretch of the imagination. But I’m not the things he said he was. I’m not.”

“I know that. You don’t have to convince me.” And if you DO want me to track him down and kill him…”

“I want him to stay in the past. It won’t do any good, Tyler. Letting him in here. To this place. To this life. That we’re making together. He doesn’t deserve to be part of it.”

“But you know you can talk about it, yeah? When you need to? Because keeping that in? That’s not good. Esme. And it won’t lead anywhere good. Believe me, I know.”

“There’s not much more I need to say. I’ve told you everything. Even the ugliest and most brutal of parts. Yet you’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A lot wouldn’t stay. Most men would see how big of a mess I am and cut their losses and take off.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m not like most men.”

She manages a laugh. “You can say that again.”

“And you’re not that big of a mess, trust me. You’re talking to a pretty big one.”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? What was it that Nik said? About the blind leading the blind?”

“What the fuck would Nik know? She doesn’t love anything but her work. I don’t think she’s capable of it.”

“She loves you.”

“Don’t start with that. Don’t…”

“I don’t mean in THAT way. She could, for all I know. But it’s not like she’s ever confided in me about it. I just meant that she cares about you. She wants what’s best for you.”

“She wanted to pull the plug.”

“Well, lucky for you, I wouldn’t let her. And she knew better than to fight me about it. She knew it would be a losing battle.”

“You are tough for a little thing.”

“I have five older brothers. Believe me, I HAD to be tough.”

“Yeah, well, even the tough ones need someone else to baby them from time to time.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“I only admit to that if it stays between me and you.”

“Another secret I have to keep for you? Jesus! It must be exhausting having to keep up your reputation.”

“It’s a twenty-four-hour job.” Cradling her face in his palms, he uses the pads of his thumbs to clear the last of her tears away. “Do you ever think about it? Trying to have another baby?”

“I’ve only thought about it every day. Since it happened.”

“And is there a reason maybe you can’t? Some kind of health thing that says maybe you shouldn’t or…?”

“It had nothing to do with me. I CAN carry to term. Or so I’ve been told. My body is fine. Everything is in working order. It was one of the first things I asked; if there was a reason I couldn’t be a mom.”

“And you want to be, yeah? A mom?”

“I’ve only wanted to be a mom since I was a little girl. Probably for the lack of a decent mother in my life. Why?”

“Just curious. Something I thought was important to know. I mean, I’ve thought about it. Us. Babies.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t?”

“A couple of times. Here and there. I wouldn’t object to it…” She pushes a hand through his hair; holding the longer top strand off his brow. “...you putting your big-headed, big-footed babies in me.”

“Excuse you?”

“You have a big head. And big feet. REALLY big feet, actually.”

“You’re just abnormally tiny. Maybe our kids would be, too.”

“One can hope. For my poor vagina’s sake. And you have to admit, we’d make really beautiful babies.”

“If they look like their mother, yeah.”

“Do you not look in the mirror? How do you not realize how good-looking you are? I don’t understand it. Why is it that some of the most beautiful people never understand just HOW beautiful they are?”

“I’ve lived with this face for thirty-five…’

She noisily clears her throat.

“Thirty-SIX years. I know what I look like. I know my shortcomings.”

“Baby, there is nothing short about you in the slightest.”

“And you have the nerve to call ME the dirty one?” Pushing wayward strands away from the sides of her face and out of her eyes, he holds her cheeks in his palms and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “You okay?”

She nods. “Are you?”

“I am now. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything, Just…everything.”

Smiling, she pecks the tip of his nose. “I should be thanking YOU. For sharing your son with me. For letting me see him. It means a lot, you know that. That you trust me with that. With HIM.”

“Like I said, he was my life. And now you are. It was important to me. That you saw him. And found out more about him.”

“I know how hard it is for you, Tyler. Talking about him. Never mind letting me see him. So for you to do that? To WANT that? That’s huge. I’m proud of you.”

“Now you’re going to make ME cry.”

“Well, that’s another thing you’re learning. That it’s alright to do that. It’s okay not to be the big, bad, mercenary man all the time.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Wrapping her arms around his torso, she rests her head upon his shoulder, her nose pressed against his neck. The boss.”

“If it helps you sleep better at night….” Repeatedly running his hands along her sides, he places a kiss on her temple. “...you should try getting some more.”

“Only if you do.”

“I’ll be in a few minutes. After I tidy things up out here.”

“Alright,” she reluctantly agrees, and slides off her chair. “Will you check the doors again? And the windows?”

“Babe, we live in the middle of normal. So unless the bears know how to open shit…”

“Please? Just check again? For paranoid little old me?”

“Just for you.”

Tugging affectionately on his ears, she drops a kiss on the top of his head. “Thank you. Don’t be long, okay? I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Believe me, neither do I.”

He watches as she goes; listening to the patter of her bare feet and her tiny yawns and seeing the way she pauses to stretch while on the threshold between kitchen and master bedroom. It’s the first time he’s ever really ‘noticed’ someone; the things that make them tick, their quirks and eccentricities. All those little things that make them, THEM.

And he loves every single one.

****

It’s daylight when he wakes; sunlight streaming through the curtains, the snowstorm having stopped in the wee hours of the morning. He can’t recall the exact time he returned to bed, but Esme had immediately responded to him slipping under the blankets, squirming her way across the mattress and snuggling in as close and as tight as she possibly could. Her face buried in that favourite spot of hers between the side of his neck and shoulder; arm over his chest and a leg over one of his. And the last thing he recalls before once more succumbing to sleep is wrapping both arms around her; chin resting on the top of her head, his joined hands at the small of her back.

Now he wakes to an empty bed; the pillowcase and sheets on her side wrinkled, yet all the blankets pulled up to his chin and tucked tightly around him. And he immediately regrets tossing off the mound of quilts and comforters; violently shivering as reaches for a discarded pair of sweatpants slung over the bedside chair. It’s easy to slip into them, but getting to his feet is an entirely different story; a throbbing, stabbing pain in his knee on the initial bearing of weight. But it thankfully doesn’t threaten to buckle. That’s a good sign. He’ll take that as a ‘win.’

He finds her in the kitchen. Standing at the table, making him a cup of coffee with the French press, and still clad in her pyjamas, woolly socks, and one of his hoodies. Her hair twisted and piled onto the top of her head; crafted into a makeshift bun held together by two ballpoint pens. And her own laptop now sits open in the middle of the table, accompanied by a pad of paper and a pencil

Sanding behind her, Tyler lays a hand on her stomach and leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Mornin’.”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile up at him. “Good news! We won’t have to make coffee like we’re in the Stone Age for long! I ordered a coffee maker AND an espresso machine.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Spending money. Well, YOUR money, technically. Sorry. I’m still having issues getting everything from my US account to the one here. As soon as it happens, I promise I’ll get that money back to you.”

Dropping two spoons of sugar into his coffee, he stirs vigorously. “Why would you need to do that?”

“‘Cause that money is yours and…”

“That money is in an account with BOTH our names on it.”

“But it’s all YOUR cash that’s in there. None of it’s mine and…”

“And what? That’s OUR money. Not just mine.”

“It’s the payment you got from Mahajan. Or part of it, anyway. You’ll never see the other half.”

“It’s OUR money,” he forcibly repeats, then fills her mug of tea from the pot on the stove before sitting down across from her. “Don’t ever call it just my money again.”

“You’re bossy.”

“Just telling it like it is. There’s nothing separate. Not anymore. Everything’s ours. There’s no yours or mine.”

“What about my cramps, my cravings for chocolate, and my pimples?” She gives a dramatic pout. “ I break out when my period is coming.”

“Okay, so all of THAT stuff is yours. How long have you been up?”

“A couple of hours. I did my yoga, took a bath. Then Lucy and I went for a walk; just down to the lake and back again. It’s not that cold out; it shouldn’t be too bad for walking around town for a bit. If you’re up to it.”

“I’m up to it. The knee’s feeling pretty good; didn’t try to give way when I put weight on it. That’s a good sign.”

“You still have to wear the brace, though. At least for a few more weeks. Give it a chance to toughen up some more. And the sling…”

“I promise I will put both of them on before I leave the house.”

Stretching her legs out under the table, she jabs him in the stomach with one of her feet. “I nag you because I care.”

“And I put up with it because you’re insanely hot and give fucking amazing head.”

“Jerk,” she grumbles, then aggressively presses her heels into his crotch. Giggling when he softly tickles the bottoms of her feet before taking them both in one hand and settling them in his lap.

They easily and comfortably lapse into their usual morning routine. Something they’d established in Dhaka and had continued when he’d woken from his coma and could stay awake for prolonged periods of time and hold a lucid conversation. Him grumpy and silent as Esme -her ever cheerful, bubbly self- talked his ear off about everything under the sun. And while it had initially annoyed him and at times -in the midst of horrendous pain- he found himself praying she’d just ‘shut the fuck up’, he’s grown to enjoy it. Knowing that living with her chattiness and enthusiasm is a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Not living with her at all.

“And I started a list!” She announces as she switches from one topic to the other; making the effortless switch about having to shovel out the truck to her plans for the cabin. “Of things that we can tackle first in here. That won’t require too much manual labour.”

“Like…”

“Well, it’s really just ideas. For paint colours and flooring and if not new furniture altogether, at least covers for what’s already here. Modern it up, a bit.”

“I think we should go new everything. If we’re going to make this place a home, might as well go all out.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Which means we’re going to need a stove. Right now, we’re just dealing with two hot plates and a toaster oven. And I’m sorry, but those just aren’t going to cut it. I can’t bake in a toaster oven.”

“You bake?”

“I thought I told you that. I DO bake. And not to toot my horn, but I bake VERY well. I actually held a record in Colorado! Voted best pecan butter tarts in the entire state FIVE YEARS running!”

“I’m banging a celebrity.”

“A small-time celebrity, mind you. But yes, I do bake. And I LOVE doing it.”

“What else do you make? Besides these butter tarts?”

“Anything and everything. Cakes, pies, dessert squares, bread. Nothing is off limits.”

“Boston Cream pie?”

“That was my dad’s absolute favourite. He’s the one who taught me how to make it. I still use his recipe.”

“I’m going to gain a lot of weight, aren’t I.”

“You might. Although you’re a pretty active guy. You work out a lot and run and….”

“I’m not doing any of that right now.”

“Maybe not, but you’re not feeble. I can think of other ways…” She once more digs her toes into his crotch. “...that you can work up a sweat. Keep the pounds off.”

“You mean my favourite form of cardio?”

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, laughing when he reaches further under the table and tickles the back of her knee. “You would have liked him. My dad. He was a good guy.”

“How could he not have been? He raised you, didn’t he?”

“He did a lot more than my mom ever did, that’s for sure. We were a lot alike; we were both outgoing and chatty, and we enjoyed meeting new people everywhere we went. And we loved the same things; hockey and dirt biking and rock climbing. Fishing. We were ALWAYS outside. And we used to take trips, just the two of us. We’d rent a trailer and drive all over the state and visit all different kinds of different RV parks. Sometimes we even went further. Right into Kansas or Oklahoma or Nebraska. Even New Mexico. We did it just do it. Get away from it all. And especially to get away from my mother and brothers.”

“Yeah, she sounds like a real piece of work.”

“You remind me of him. In a lot of ways. How much you love the outdoors and animals, how far you’re willing to go to protect people. You’re all about rooting for the underdog. Sticking up for them when no one else does or when they can't do it for themselves. He was the same way.”

“That’s a hell of a compliment. Being compared to him. Considering everything you’ve told me about him…”

“I think he would have liked you. Maybe not a first; at first, he might have had a hard time. I mean, you being the one that managed to scoop up his baby girl and take her all the way to the other side of the world in a quest to make an honest woman out of her.”

He grins. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“But he would have warmed up to you. Eventually. Not sure how he would have felt about the mercenary thing…”

“That might have been something to keep quiet. Spare him from having a heart attack. Your mother, on the other hand…”

“She has been leaving me all kinds of messages; voice mails, texts, emails, even. She is not buying the whole ‘meeting someone on a business trip and deciding to shack up with them’ story I handed her. I guess I’ve underestimated her; she IS smart enough to put the pieces together.”

“You’ll have to talk to her sooner or later.”

“Can I choose later?”

“Not unless you want her to keep calling and bugging the shit out of you.”

“I just don’t know what to say. What more does she need to know? I met someone, and I’m not coming back to the States. It’s as simple as that.”

“As evil as she is, and I’m in no way on her side, I think you owe her more than that.”

“I can’t tell her how we met. I can’t tell her what I really did for a living. And I definitely can’t tell her that you’re a mercenary. Because that will go through the family like wildfire, and believe me, that is not drama either of us deserves to deal with.”

“I’m not a mercenary. Not anymore. I WAS one. Is there a reason you don’t want her to know that? Does it embarrass you, or are you ashamed of it or…?”

“Oh my god, no! No! It’s nothing like that. I’m neither of those. Not when it comes to you or what you do for a living. It has nothing to do with you and EVERYTHING to do with her. She will raise hell. And then she’ll get my brothers involved and…”

“What can they do? They’re in Colorado. We’re in Austria. It’s not like they’re going to show up on our doorstep.”

“I just know what she’s like. How she blows things way out of proportion. And right now? I just do NOT want to deal with her shit. I don’t want her causing issues and then having it trickle all the way here and cause problems with us. That’s all I’m concerned about. You and me. And this happy little bubble we’ve locked ourselves into. Can’t we at least try and keep it intact?”

“You’re going to have to tell her sooner or later. The WHOLE truth. Because it’s going to get it one way or another, and I just think it’s better if you’re the one that tells her. She’d lose it more if she found out from someone else.”

“She’s just so evil. And if you never meet her, trust me, it’s for the best. You don’t deserve to put up with her shit.”

“How worse could it get? She already hates me, doesn’t she?”

“She doesn’t even know you.”

“I’m the one that stole her little girl away. By gunpoint, if you go by her reaction. She probably thinks I’m holding you hostage. That I don’t let you leave the house. Or…in your case… answer the phone.”

“I will talk to her. I promise. Just not right now. Not for a few days. Can’t we settle in? Somewhat, at least?”

“You know I’m going to nag the shit out of you until you actually DO contact her, yeah?”

Esme sighs. “I know. In the same way, I will consistently nag you about taking care of yourself. What’s that saying? All is fair in love and war? If you have to put up with me, I guess it’s only fair I put up with you.”

“We both know that I’m the one suffering the most.”

She once more digs her toes into his stomach. “As if!”

They once more fall into a companionable silence. Even from the beginning, there’s never been a need for mindless chit-chat; both extremely comfortable in the other's presence. No feeling of awkwardness or the need to put on airs and hide even the messiest and most complicated parts. While living with someone will take a considerable amount of both work and sacrifice, the foundation has already been laid: an ease and trust that should make any hurdle easier to get over.

There’s contentment in merely sharing the same space with her. Whether it be sitting across the table from one another or lounging on separate ends of the couch, or listening to her hum as she busies herself in the kitchen or the bedroom. Even seeing her belongings nestled beside his on the bathroom counter or her clothes hanging near his. And he’s discovered that he’s plagued with a constant need to touch her in some way; whether it be their toes against one another under the table, sides of their legs pressed together while watching TV, or brushing up against while she stands at the sink or the stove DESPITE there being room for not to even come in contact with her. Perhaps it’s to prove to himself that she’s indeed real; she truly HAS become a part of his life. She’s there willingly and happily. And while she doesn’t necessarily need him, she WANTS him.

He watches her now as she alternates between scrolling through a webpage on her laptop and jotting notes in her memo book; the way she chews on the inside of her cheek or taps the pen against the paper, those freckles -in all their glory- that are splattered across the bridge of her nose and travel onto the tops of her cheeks. Fresh-faced and beautiful; she seems years younger with her wild hair and the piercing just below the middle of her bottom lip, and the small, silver hoops and various sparkling studs that travel from the lobes of her ears to the very top of the cartilage. She’s both girl next door and filled with oddities and eccentricities; a mix of both polished and ‘rough around the edges’.

And to him, she’s perfect.

“You feel like going out for lunch today? When we’re in town?”

She looks up from her notebook, dark eyes gleaming. “Are you asking me out on a date, Tyler Rake?”

“Guess it’s about time. Didn’t exactly get the chance to nine months ago. And I’ve been a little…busy…between then and now.”

“Where are we going to eat?”

“Anywhere you want. Mind you, I’m not sure how many options we’re actually going to find, but…”

“What do they think they eat here?”

“Probably what people all over the world eat. All different kinds of things.”

“But I wonder what their specialty is. What they’re known for. There must be such a thing as Austrian cuisine, right?”

“I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we? So is that a yes, or….”

Sighing, she sighs dramatically and returns her attention to her notepad. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

Scowling, he pinches the back of her calf.

“Of course, it’s a yes! Did you honestly think you’d get a different answer?”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“It comes in handy.”

“I bet you get away with an awful lot because of it.”

She smiles mischievously and then reaches for her tea, winking at him from over the brim as she presses it to her lips. “That’s something YOU’RE going to find out.”

#tw:childhood cancer #tw:child death #tw: miscarriage #Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Esme Drummond #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Rake

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