churbooseanon

Wherein David meet examples of the support network that mercenaries develop, and loses himself in a wait.

To Get Out Alive [Part Four] - (A Guns for Hire Fanfic)

Cooperation isn’t enough to make a job easy. David had that lesson reinforced throughout his life, but nothing quite compared to the task of getting Karim into his truck. As much as his ex-boyfriend tried to work with him, tried to move how he was told and struggled to keep pressure on the wound, David knew it wasn’t exactly helping that he was getting stressed out over it. Thing was, he used to be equipped to handle this, and now… And now he’s just a bartender in over his head with a new gun that he’s putting into the toolbox under a tarp in the back of his truck, and all he can do is hope he’s doing this right.

“Hold on, Karim. The hospital isn’t far,” David said as he got the seatbelt on and moved to close the door of the truck.

Truth be told, he wasn’t expecting Karim’s hand to flash out, grab him by the neck of his vest, and pull him in close. The fact that Karim had mustered the strength for that was promising, the way that his hand was shaking in its grip was not. Quite the opposite in fact. What were the chances of shock? But taking the time to check for shock wasn’t as important as getting him to a hospital.

“No,” Karim rasped out in pain. “You can’t.”

“I have to,” David protested, reaching up to easy Karim’s hand off of him. “I promise they’ll take care of you. I promise…”

“Need to finish the job.”

It was a stupid thing for him to demand, and David just breaks Karim’s grip before closing the door. How could this asshole be so stupid as to insist on finishing a completely illegal job when his life was on the line? David shook his head and ran around the truck, tugging his vest off as he went. Once he was in the truck the vest went into the back seat, the pistol and ammo into the glove box, and the grenade he wrapped in the scarf he had been wearing and tucked into the back behind his seat. Safe disposal of that would have to be dealt with later. Then he was throwing the truck into gear.

And Karim’s hand settled on his arm.

“David, please. Hospitals…”

“I could care less if they ask too many questions,” David dismissed as he started down the street. “They can help…”

“They’ll keep me,” Karim protested as David turned left onto a major street. “Overnight.”

“So?”

“Gotta… finish job.”

David tsked at that. What could be so important that the job had to be finished now? Reputation? What use was that if Karim was dead? He’d heard the job description from the old man at the bar too, but it hadn’t seemed like a pressing job. It was something Karim could easily do once he was better, or that the man could find a new merc for.

“No,” David snapped as he instructed his GPS to find the least time route, accounting for traffic. “No, I’m not letting you die because you’re stupid.”

“Kamilah needs the money.”

Part of David wanted to slam on the brakes at that comment. Kamilah, Karim’s beloved little sister. When they’d broken up Kamilah had been perfectly fine. What the hell had happened?

“She’s sick,” Karim grit out, his voice more strained than before. “Need the money. Got back into business for her. We need the money.”

Fuck. Dammit, that… The payout the man had been offering, it probably would help the girl. Or Karim was lying to manipulate David. God help him, he didn’t want to risk it.

David pulled the car over on the side of the road and opened a message to Trace’s work helmet.

Please tell me you know a good street doctor.

* * * * * *

It was far from easy to balance a whimpering, bleeding man in his arms and knock on the door of the rather non-descript slums looking building. Already he’d wasted too much time getting here. Getting to the hospital would have happened in no time flat, but the place Trace had given him wasn’t exactly in the way. So, frustrated and scared, he started kicking at the door.

“Open up!” he shouted. Actually, really, that was probably a bad idea. Might make whoever was behind that door hide rather than opening up. “Please, he needs help!”

Maybe that was what did it, because there was the sound behind the door, a metal click and then a clang. The slip and slide of a few bolts and then the door was opening, a small woman in white and purple. She was small but stunning, her eyes a rich green that sparkled with amusement, her hair up in an off-center and very messy bun. And she looked tired. Young and tired, and not shocked at all to see him there.

“Ouch, that doesn’t look good,” she said, standing aside and gesturing for David to come in. “Don’t say anything. I don’t wanna know. You’ll see the table to put him on when the airlock cycles okay?”

There wasn’t really time to question, so David slipped past her into the airlock and waited for her to close it behind them. Once the outer hatch was closed she hit the filter and then punched the comm in the airlock.

“Bones, dear, you’ve got a visitor. Looks sorta bad,” the small woman said before turning her attention David. “What happened?”

“Shot,” David answered briskly. “He passed out once on the ride over. Please, he needs…”

“I know,” the small woman said, reaching up to touch his arm lightly. “I know. We’re going to do our best for him, okay?”

David didn’t have a chance to answer before the inner door opened and he was faced with the sight of another woman, this one taller and looking far more conscious than the small woman at his side. She too wore white, but she was already pulling on latex gloves. When she gestured to a steel table though an arch covered with heavy plastic curtains, David moved forward to lay Karim out on the table. Then he was being pushed aside by the tall woman with the military short cropped hair and the disapproving look on her face.

“Emmie, take him to the kitchen. Get the kid some coffee, and then get back here to help.”

As much as he wanted to protest, David saw the tall woman moving to pull a metal tray full of tools out of a steaming box, and he had to hope they would be enough. When the smaller woman, Emmie, pulled at his sleeve, David let himself be dragged out of the surprisingly clean and organized side room, and into a small kitchen. Emmie closed a swinging door behind her when they entered, and herded David to a chair. As she went to the coffee pot he reached up and took off his helmet.

“Bones will do her best,” Emmie promised when she came over with a cup of hot coffee. “We’ll talk payment later, but not until he’s okay, alright? We don’t like twisting people’s arms on this, not when they’re vulnerable.”

“Will he be okay?” David asked. Because the idea of what could happen to Karim just…

“I don’t know,” Emmie admitted. “I really don’t know. But I can tell you that Bones has been doing this for a long time, and we’re going to do everything in our power to get your friend on his feet, okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? David just set his helmet aside and took the offered mug. Watched as Emmie slid the sugar bowl across to him, and carefully measured out his four scoops.

“Sweet tooth,” Emmie chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s not good for you. Anyway, if you’re hungry, check the fridge. There’s a TV on the counter if you need it, and if you check behind the breadbox, we’ve got magazines. I know it’s really terrible to have a doctor point you at magazines, but if you need them…”

David waved her off. That Bones woman had seemed to want Emmie back to help with Karim, and the last thing he wanted was to hold her back. Maybe the woman sensed that, or maybe she just took him at the implied word of the gesture. Because Emmie just reached up to pat his shoulder and then she was heading for the kitchen door.

She stopped only briefly at the door to point at another. “Bathroom and laundry room are through there. In case you want to get cleaned up.”

It wasn’t until the door had swung shut behind her that David looked down at himself and realized what good advice that was. Sure, most of Karim’s blood from the first time had gotten on his vest, and he was certain his coat was now soaked with it and discarded on the floor of the clean operating area the street docs had set up, but that didn’t mean he was clean. Carrying Karim in from the truck had been without anything between him and the man, and when he looked he could see the blood that had seeped into his shirt, leaving an oblong shape that made him suddenly feel almost violently ill. Strange to think that he could be so easily upset by something like this. He was in the military. He should be better at processing these sorts of things, right?

Slowly David pushed to his feet and made for the room that Emmie had pointed him to. Sure enough it was a bathroom, a rather large one for a place that had looked rather disappointing from the outside. As Emmie had said there was a small washer and dryer in the room, and David pulled off his shirt to throw it in. Of course the process of peeling it off only revealed to him how it stuck to his skin, showed him the blood that had gone through and was now on his skin. He needed to be clean, so desperately needed to be clean. Within moments David had stripped down and was climbing under the hot water that came from the small shower in the back corner.

For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back in his apartment. That this was a normal night and he had just gotten off a shift at Errera, that his body needed to relax. Usually he didn’t mind that at all. He’d stand there with his eyes closed under the hot spray and revel in the fact that he could do that for more than just a few minutes, he wasn’t limited by military regs. His hands came up and slowly massaged through his hair, wanted to just reach for that illusion of comfort. Not that it worked. No amount of hot water and quiet could make it better, could make him forget. With a sigh David opened his eyes and reached for the soap, focusing his attention on getting the blood off of himself.

A few minutes later he fumbled for the towel he had seen next to the shower and shut off the water. In the silence of the room he moved to dry himself off, trying to lose himself in the repetitive action of rubbing himself dry. Even as he did his mind wandered back to the plastic covered arch and the table beyond it, where Karim lay. Who were these people that Trace had sent him to? They seemed well prepared, hadn’t they? Bones at least had that quiet confidence he’d seen of medics back in the service, the sort of people who were trained to operate in a crisis, to not give up that calm until lives weren’t depending on them. Surely that was for the best?

Slowly he pulled his clothes back on before draping the towel over a bar in the bathroom. His eyes flicked to the washer and found nearly ten minutes had passed while he was getting clean. Still a while to wait then. With a sigh he just focused on making sure his pants, his socks, his shoes were all straight, then returned to the kitchen.

It was silent. There wasn’t any shouting beyond the door, not a noise. Perhaps, he thought, the door was heavy enough to drown out the sounds. Since he couldn’t bring himself to push the thing open to look, he returned to the table and his cold coffee. Too cold to drink, too sweet to abandon, he found himself getting up after another minute to reheat the thing in the microwave. And while he was there he turned on the TV, grabbed the remote, and took a pile of magazines from behind the breadbox. Maybe if he distracted himself long enough they could come in and give him the good news.

The magazines were old, months old, and the channel he chose showing reruns of the latest popular cop drama, a revamping of some centuries old cult classic called ‘Law and Order’. The news was old, the story lines tired, and David was into his third mug of coffee before there was a noise at the door. When he looked up what he found wasn’t Emmie there, but the tall woman.

She didn’t have to tell him. He could see it in her posture, in the way she wasn’t looking straight at him, in the way all of her drooped.

David had to give himself credit. He didn’t flip the kitchen table.