No One is Bulletproof
Title: No one is bulletproof
Pairing: Mac/Arsenal (Yoko/Subaru).
Genre: Angst, action, friendship, mild romance?
Warnings: Slight coarse language, mention of alcohol, minor character death
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 8Uppers verse: A job goes horribly wrong at Mac’s hands and Arsenal tries to make him understand that not everything can be controlled; no one is bulletproof.
Notes: My entry for the Kanjani fanfic exchange over at k8-rabu-rabu for my recipient harin91
NO ONE IS BULLETPROOF
It wasn’t your fault.
The words lodge somewhere around his throat, refusing to be spoken out loud. It does not matter, though. It will not change anything anyway. He knows that.
And Mac knows that. Everyone knows that.
But, as they watch Mac slam the door to his room so hard that the noise echoed hollowly down the hallway, Arsenal wonders if he should have said those words to Mac anyway.
He wonders if Mac would have believed them.
~***~
The plan had been good.
Hell, their plans are always good. With Mac and Jacky playing devil’s advocate on each and every detail, and coming up with counterplans for every single possibility that could go wrong on their missions - it is next to impossible for any enemy syndicate to take them by surprise anymore.
Their client this time had been a politician, who had anonymously contacted them via his underground network. None of them had lifted an eyebrow at this; it is hardly uncommon for desperate statesmen to seek out “cleaners” to take care of civic messes that linger just beyond the blurred boundaries of “legal”. It has happened before.
What had raised eyebrows was when the anonymous politician, instead of trying to procure a quick assassination as was the norm, had requested help in bringing down a group of smugglers.
‘Legal prosecution will take months and these bastards will escape before the authorities can get to them!’ He had insisted over an untraceable phone call with them. To the end, he had maintained that the only way to take the gang out would be action outside the law.
He is one of the very few politicians they have ever accepted as a client. Mac - and the rest, but mostly Mac - has one indomitable rule when it comes to their line of work: only accept a job if it does not involve the murder of innocents.
Any work that will end in killing is only accepted if their target were, to put it simply, deserving of death. Murderers, rapists, torturers, corrupt corporate leaders whose cruelty had ruined lives beyond repair … oh, they have certainly taken out such types before. But Mac has always point blank refused assassination requests to fulfil clients’ personal vendettas.
Arsenal has often thought that it is Mac’s - and theirs, but mostly Mac’s - way of drawing a moral line for them to toe. God knows that what they “clean up” has never qualified as legal, but Arsenal figures that this one rule is a rock to ground them in the grey shadows between good and evil.
A rope holding them back from being entirely lost to sin.
He stopped analysing this rule a long time ago. To date, he has shot more men than he cares to count, and he remembers every single one of their faces - to dwell on whether those deaths were justified or not, or his sins can be absolved or not, or he will ever find peace of mind or not … going down that road will lead to nothing but madness.
So he had simply stopped questioning it. He accepts at face value that whatever jobs Mac takes on for them are within their loose moral scaffolding, as are any deaths that result from them.
As far as Arsenal is concerned, the people he has shot deserved to die.
(To think otherwise will be to lose his mind.)
Things, however, had taken an unprecedented turn for the worst in their latest job that night.
An innocent had been killed.
And the man behind the trigger - Mac.
~***~
It is Jacky’s idea to open the bar tonight, late though it already is.
Arsenal does not think that anyone will be willing to do so, considering how their mission had turned out only mere hours earlier. But no one refutes Jacky’s suggestion.
‘I’ll get started on the drinks,’ says Johnny quietly, his handsome face cool and unreadable, while Toppo mutters something about changing out of his suit before going to the deejay table.
Gum says nothing and just nods at the ground, his usually cheerful face so emotionless it is almost terrifying, while Ace stomps off, swearing under his breath.
They are all shaken by what had happened earlier, Arsenal knows. Maybe that’s why Jacky suggested opening the bar, why none of them argues against it … they all need something to do in order to take their minds off that horrible moment until they are calm enough to come to terms with it.
The group disperses to their own rooms, to change out of their formal suits and get the remnants of sweat, smoke, death and a job gone wrong off their skins. Arsenal does the same, knowing that no amount of scrubbing and cologne can remove the stink of murder off him.
Even washed and clean, his hands will always be dripping with blood.
And now Mac will see the same image every time he looks down at his own hands … only, the blood dripping off his fingers is innocent, reeking of endless remorse and regret.
Arsenal pauses outside Mac’s door on his way down to the bar, torn between checking up on him and giving him time alone to mourn and repent.
Mac is not just their leader. He is also one of Arsenal’s oldest and closest friends, someone who has always been there as long as Arsenal can remember. He has an idea how Mac must be feeling right now; he remembers his first kill, remembers the face of his victim, remembers the twisting feeling in his gut and how he had thrown up afterwards, shaking with fear of what he had done.
He remembers the long dark nights he spent afterwards, contemplating whether he should just end it all, and he fears for Mac.
A hand grips his shoulder suddenly.
‘He’ll be alright,’ murmurs Jacky, his voice unusually low. Dressed in casual clothes and smelling of his usual cheap cologne, he stares at the door with Arsenal.
‘Will he?’ Arsenal looks back at Mac’s closed door.
‘It’s Mac. He’s always held strong. Stronger than the rest of us.’
‘Don’t let Ace hear you say that,’ mutters Arsenal, just for the sake of saying something, because there is nothing to argue with. Jacky is right.
Jacky hesitates a second before voicing his next thought, as if unsure whether he ought to say it, ‘It wasn’t his first kill…’
Arsenal looks him straight in the eyes. ‘It’s his first time killing an innocent.’
There is nothing to be said after that. They stand in silence for another minute, before Jacky tugs lightly on his elbow.
‘C’mon. Leave him alone for a while…’
Reluctantly, Arsenal follows him downstairs to the bar, towards the drinks he has to pass around and the booming beats of Toppo’s music.
The silence behind Mac’s door is even louder.
~***~
It had seemed like such a typical job that none of them could have seen that end coming.
They had stormed their targets at the smugglers’ dingy warehouse headquarters like how they normally do - quiet and stealthy sneaking it, and then wreaking havoc with their weapons out, leaving a string of fallen bodies in their wake.
Arsenal had basked in the adrenaline rushing through his nerves as he went in, guns blazing. The look of terror on their victims’ faces every time Mac stormed in with his ragtag gang of cleaners was always a source of gratification for Arsenal - and for Ace, who Arsenal saw cackling maniacally as he tackled one of the assaulters to the ground.
Doubtless, Arsenal would have to shoot Ace’s opponent at some point - and Ace would come screaming in his face for stealing his thunder, forget that Arsenal had saved his bloody ass - but right then, he let Ace have his fun and focussed on the throngs of smugglers picking up their weapons and counterattacking their unwelcome guests.
They had a job to do.
The fight that lasted the first several minutes had been as normal as it could be on one of their jobs - Gum, Ace, Jacky and Arsenal taking down and incapacitating the crooks to clear the path for Mac, Toppo and Johnny, who advanced towards the leader of the gang. Toppo and Johnny had easily handled the few men who got through their defences, while Mac focussed on getting to the top crook with clear, cold-blooded grit.
It is an unspoken agreement between them that Mac will always be the one to take out the top dog, leader to leader.
Before Mac reached the gang leader, who was a tall tattooed middle-aged man, his two personal bodyguards had come forward, engaging Johnny and Toppo in combat. Sidestepping them, Mac had pursued the leader alone, only to find a gun shoved under his chin.
Arsenal had seen it happen and, for an instant, felt fear clutch his heart in an iron grip.
Mac!
Without thinking, he moved to take aim at the man, but he need not have worried. Mac was as experienced as any of them, and he had shot out a hand to deviate the man’s arm away from him, so that the resulting gunshot had been at the ceiling. Within moments, he had wrestled the pistol away from the leader, throwing the man to one side so that he crashed against a huge, metal cargo container in a corner of the warehouse.
Striding forward, Mac had coldly raised his arm to take aim and shoot.
And then everything had gone wrong.
Quick as lightning, the smugglers’ leader had spun around and opened the door of the cargo container behind him, and hordes of people had come spilling out.
In the middle of such a fight, Arsenal’s first thought had been that the leader had let loose more reinforcements of smugglers. He was very sure that Mac’s reaction had been more or less the same. There had been no time to think; Mac had pulled the trigger.
And a young girl had collapsed, an open wound on her chest.
Mac froze.
Utter chaos had reigned then, with the people - girls - who had been inside the container screaming, some fighting to go back inside, while others had run off inside the warehouse. The smuggling leader had been lost in the swarm.
The only good thing that had come out of it was Gum spotting the leader who had crept to the front of the warehouse, intent on escape. A few swipes of Gum’s bo and the smuggler had been knocked to the ground, while Jacky rushed forward to hold him down.
It had taken a few more minutes of taking out the remaining smugglers and getting the trapped girls to calm down enough to believe that they were not going to be killed, before the situation could be cleared up.
The smuggling syndicate had not been involved with the usual drugs, weapons and whatnot as they had initially believed. The gang had been human traffickers - a point that their politician client had omitted when putting his case forward.
Mac had worked mechanically after that, as if his body had been put on autopilot. He had placed an anonymous tip to the police of the warehouse’s address and hung up before the call could be traced. He had avoided looking at the fallen girl, even while Johnny was checking her for a pulse.
There was none.
They had slipped out of the warehouse when they heard the blare of sirens in the distance.
‘You’re safe now, the cops are on the way,’ Jacky had addressed the terrified gaggle of girls in tones a zookeeper might use on a frightened animal. Mac had faced the other way the entire time. The gun had still been in his hand and Arsenal had seen how tightly he had been gripping it, the pale skin over his knuckles taut and white.
Arsenal had looked at Mac and tried to think of something to say, anything. But nothing.
Mac had not spoken a word since.
~***~
A couple hours of serving, working and smoking his way through half a packet of cigarettes later, Arsenal’s head is throbbing, almost to the beat of the loud dance numbers Toppo is belting out one after the other. It is nearly two in the morning and the bar is packed. Arsenal had hoped customers would be few, considering they had opened later than usual, but apparently night life is always in full swing in these parts and their Eito bar has always been popular.
Exhausted, Arsenal collapses onto a stool at the counter. Jacky and Johnny barely glance up from the preparation of their drinks.
None of them has yet mentioned anything about what had happened earlier, but the effects are evident. Gum has barely cracked a smile as he edges through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, balancing his tray of drinks; Ace is actually helping Gum out in silence, the spark of anger from earlier still flashing in his eyes; Toppo’s movements at the deejay table are practised and mechanical, as if he barely hears the music; and Jacky and Johnny have been entirely stony-faced as they prepared the drinks.
Arsenal has not been better off, but the claustrophobic tension in the air is grinding too hard on his nerves and he is unsure how long he can hold it in before exploding. Working has done little to make him forget the sound of the gunshot in the warehouse, the body of the girl dropping, Mac frozen in place as he realised what he had done, Mac’s death grip on his stolen gun, Mac’s tense shoulders the entire way back, Mac’s hidden face as he stormed into his room, Mac…
He clenches his fist, struggling with clashing feelings of concern and anger within him. Concern for Mac, empathising with his shock and regret … and anger at the politician for omitting such an important detail about their job. They should have been told the smugglers were human traffickers; only then could they have known to be on the lookout for kidnapped girls.
Mac would have known not to shoot if they had simply known -
‘So, are we gonna keep pretending nothing happened and everything’s back to normal?’
Arsenal looks up as Ace’s voice cuts through the air sharply. He has taken a seat next to Arsenal, his face as tired looking as Arsenal feels, but his eyes are still alight with fury.
Jacky opens his mouth to respond, but Ace continues,
‘I want to rip that shit’s head off his freaking shoulders! Why the hell didn’t he tell us what that stupid gang was involved in?’
Johnny replies without looking up, ‘We did ask the guy. He said drugs. And our background check on the gang proved it.’
‘Yes, but drugs was their side job; it’s what they were hiding behind! Their actual deal was smuggling human beings, for fuck’s sake! Actual living human beings!’
‘I will speak to the guy when he contacts us again with our payment -’ Jacky begins, but Arsenal cuts him off.
‘That won’t bring that girl back.’
All of them stop talking and look up at him with varying expressions. Arsenal looks back coldly, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
‘That won’t change the fact that Mac killed her.’
‘Now look, Arsenal -’ Jacky begins, aghast.
‘And it won’t stop Mac from feeling guilty about it for the rest of his life - even though,’ Arsenal raises his voice even louder above the music when Jacky looks about to interrupt him again, ‘we all know it’s not his fault.’
They lapse into silence again, none of them knowing what to say. Arsenal knows all of their hands are as dirty as his own, but following Mac’s number one rule about their jobs, every murder they have on their hands had been justified, or so they tell themselves. But with one night, it will never be the same for Mac.
‘He shouldn’t, though.’
The four of them look around as Toppo’s voice reaches them above the noise of the music. He and Gum have joined them at the counter.
‘Feeling guilty is inevitable,’ Toppo continues, raising his voice but still sounding tired. ‘But Mac needs to accept it’s not his fault. Without that, he can never move on...’ Leaning on the counter, he folds his arms and looks towards the staircase that leads up to their living quarters. ‘And he needs to. He has to force himself if necessary. A person can go mad with that kind of guilt … We can’t lose him. Not like this…’
Arsenal barely registers admiration for Toppo’s words when Gum says, ‘I know we should give him space, but … I think we need to talk to him. One of us at least.’
‘Actually, I was thinking the same earlier.’ Johnny puts down the martini shaker in his hands. ‘I know Mac’s strong and he would want to be alone … but at a time like this, I don’t think that’s the best idea.’ He looks up directly at Arsenal, surprising him slightly. ‘He should have someone.’
Arsenal stares at him, masking his mixed feelings behind an emotionless look, but then he looks round sharply as Jacky begins to say,
‘Should I go up to hi -?’
‘I’ll go.’
Everyone stares at Arsenal. Johnny gives him a barely perceptible nod.
Arsenal does not bother explaining himself to the rest. ‘I’ll go to Mac.’
‘Yeah, it should be you,’ says Toppo in the same tired voice.
‘And tell him if he doesn’t stop moping, then he can grab a mop and do it properly tomorrow,’ adds Gum with a perfectly straight face, though his concern for Mac still layers his voice.
Nobody even bothers to give him the stink eye for his horrible pun. Wordlessly, Arsenal hops off his stool and makes for the stairs.
~***~
To his surprise, the door to Mac’s room is unlocked.
Arsenal knocks, waits, and when there is no answer, unceremoniously barges in. With Mac, he has never needed to maintain formalities before, anyway.
The room is empty when he walks in; the ceiling fan is on and the sheets on the bed are mussed up, but otherwise, there is no sign of life.
Arsenal hesitates, a thousand possibilities flashing across his mind - some of them bordering on the word “suicide” but not quite - when the door to the adjoined bathroom opens and Mac steps out, dressed only in a pair of flannel pants and wiping a towel through his damp hair. The smell of shampoo and soap roll out with him.
For a moment, they simply stare at each other, unmoving.
Arsenal forces himself to keep his first reaction to himself. He doubts that ‘Thank God, you’re still alive’ will be appreciated in that situation.
What he finally says, though, is hardly better, ‘You took a shower.’
Mac gives him a look. There is a haunted edge to his dark eyes and his face looks gaunt and hollow, but his lips twist in what can barely be called a smile, making him look almost inhuman in that moment.
‘What did you think? That I’d spend the rest of my life crying on that bed?’
Arsenal is not sure what he feels in that moment. A hint of relief that Mac is trying to be normal, shock that he is acknowledging the murder that occurred at his hands so bluntly, or concern that he is refusing to show weakness, refusing to let out his pain and regret.
‘You did for the last three hours anyway,’ Arsenal responds frankly. He keeps his tone level, lessening the blow of his words. He does not worry that Mac will take him the wrong way; they have known each other far too long for that.
Mac flings the towel away, his shoulders tense. The pale skin of his torso glows in the light of the single lamp he had lit.
‘I’m guessing you’re here to talk about it?’ Mac’s cool tone indicates how welcoming that notion is for him.
Arsenal shrugs a shoulder and proceeds to light the cigarette he has been carrying around. ‘I’m here for you. If what you need is to talk, then do it.’
Mac almost glares at him. ‘I don’t -’ he begins.
‘Then we don’t,’ says Arsenal lightly. He flops down on the bed and leans against the headboard, taking a lengthy drag of the cigarette.
The other man hesitates, as if unsure what to say or do. ‘If you’re gonna smoke, then get out. You know I don’t like that shit in my room.’
‘Sucks to be you, then.’
‘What the hell do you want, Arsenal!’ Mac finally bursts out, his eyes flaring. He storms forward until he is towering over him. ‘What did you come in here for?’
Arsenal meets his wild gaze, noting the redness of his eyes and the first signs of tears prickling at them, and lowers the cigarette from his lips.
‘That. I’m here for that. Let it out, Mac.’
Before Mac can react, Arsenal reaches for his bare arm and pulls him down so that they are sitting together on the bed, Arsenal leaning against the headboard and Mac directly in front him.
‘Don’t let that shit stew inside you. It’s gonna mess with your head and soon you’ll be wishing you were dead if you don’t stop.’
Mac’s eyes flash at him. ‘What the hell do you kn -?’
‘I know how shitty you’re feeling right now. I know the living hell inside your mind right now. More than anyone else here.’ Arsenal pauses. ‘The first person I ever killed was a woman.’
Mac shuts up, his eyes widening. Arsenal meets his gaze.
‘You … what …’
‘I never told anyone.’ Arsenal raises the cigarette to his lips again. ‘I’d got my first gun at the time. I came across this couple in an alley one night. The man was beating her to within an inch of her life - and I had to act the hero.’ He looks away, grim faced. ‘It was a mess. I’d pulled my gun on the man and suddenly the woman was screaming and he realised I was there. He pulled the woman in front of him just as I shot the damn thing. Bullet went right through her head … she didn’t stand a chance…’
He sees Mac’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His fists are clenched in the bed sheets.
‘The man actually laughed when he saw what I’d done. And he ran away. I should’ve chased him. I should’ve emptied the entire damn magazine into his brain. I should’ve … but I couldn’t move. All I saw was the woman at my feet…’
The room is silent for several seconds, neither of them looking at each other.
Finally, Mac says very quietly, ‘Why are you telling me this now?’
Arsenal leans his head back against the board and sighs heavily. ‘Believe me, I would’ve taken it to my grave if I could.’
‘But -’
‘But I want you to know. You need to know that you’re not alone. You’re not the first one and you won’t be the last. It was out of your hands.’
Mac releases a shuddering breath and then wipes a hand down his face and throat. Arsenal’s eyes linger on the movement, eyeing the long slender fingers and the pale skin of Mac’s throat, the sharp jut of his collarbones and the golden glow of the lamp on his bare torso.
‘I didn’t know the girl was a victim,’ he whispers. ‘Hell, I didn’t even realise it was a girl then. I just thought … I just reacted … it wasn’t my fault…’
Arsenal crocks an eyebrow as he slowly breathes out a cloud of smoke. ‘So you do know that much, at least. That’s good. Now try to accept it.’
Mac shakes his head slowly, staring down at his bare feet. ‘The image just won’t leave my mind. I keep seeing her even with my eyes open…’
‘You’ll see her everywhere for a while,’ Arsenal tells him bluntly. He wants to comfort Mac, but he is not going to sugar coat anything for him, either. Mac needs to face this ordeal head on. ‘And in a way, that’s a good thing ‘cause that proves you’re human. Only a monster wouldn’t be haunted by such a thing.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ Mac forces out a wane chuckle.
‘What you need to focus on,’ Arsenal continues as if he did not hear, ‘is that it wasn’t your bloody fault. Tell that to yourself every time you see her. Repeat that to yourself a hundred times a day, if you have to. Whenever you feel like you’re going to choke on your guilt, use your damn smarts and remind yourself of the whole situation logically so that you always remember it wasn’t your fault.’
He pauses for a moment, and then reaches forward to grip Mac’s arm. ‘Stop beating yourself up. It won’t be easy and it will take time, but trust me, hating yourself over something that wasn’t your fault is not worth it. I went through it for a heck of a long time and I wanted to kill myself before I came to my senses. Believe me, it’s not worth it. Not one bit.’
They sit in silence for a long minute, Mac looking down at his feet and Arsenal still holding on to his arm. His skin feels cool after the shower and Arsenal can smell the soap on Mac’s skin.
At long last, Mac asks very quietly. ‘Does it ever get better?’
The other man has to consider for a few seconds. ‘I’d say yes. It depends … there are people who lose themselves to alcohol to escape. Those who jump off a building. Those who numb it down -‘
‘And you’re one of those who just numbed it down?’
Arsenal removes his hand from Mac’s arm. ‘It won’t ever go away completely, but yes … you can choose to make it better. Forgive yourself, move on.’
‘And you?’ Mac’s eyes burn with a nameless emotion as he looks Arsenal square in the face. ‘Have you forgiven yourself?’
‘…I drowned myself in alcohol before I did,’ answers Arsenal, his voice softening slightly. ‘But at the time, I had no one to tell me it wasn’t my fault. No one to tell me it’s OK to feel guilty, but that I should forgive myself and move on. You’re not alone though, Mac.’
‘…Yeah.’ Mac has turned around so that he is facing Arsenal now. His eyes are still haunted, still filled with a depth of grief Arsenal understands all too well, but there is something else there now. He leans forward slightly. ‘I have you…’
Arsenal freezes a little, not at Mac’s words, but the look in his eyes and his tone, low and deep. He is aware once more of Mac’s proximity to him, the smell of him, the long tapering fingers and the white skin exposed and glowing golden in the lamp light…
This is hardly the first time Arsenal has ever felt that tug of attraction towards Mac. It is a pull he often experiences now and then. His friendship with Mac goes as far back as he can remember; they have reached a point where they barely ever need words to enjoy each other’s company now. Often, when they are alone together with comfortable silence between them or the few occasions they talk and spill the things they hide within - like right now - Arsenal has felt drawn to Mac in ways he does not feel with the others.
Sometimes, he thinks it is due to the level of understanding and comradeship between them. They know each other so well, beyond words and misunderstandings. They know exactly where they stand in each other’s life, what to expect of each other, what to give and receive.
He has even thought at times that Mac may be feeling that pull, too. It is not like Arsenal has ever tried to be too subtle when he gets caught up in Mac, letting his gaze linger on the man, imagining what it will be like to give into that desire, strange though the feeling is. He is certain Mac has caught him looking more than once, but with never a feeling of discomfort coming between them.
And he has often imagined that Mac would reciprocate it if he ever did follow up on the feelings, sure that it will not drive a wedge between them and things will still be normal between them - because they will both understand where the other is coming from; that the touches stem from a curiosity and desire for comfort and intimacy from someone trusted beyond all boundaries.
Looking at Mac now, Arsenal finds himself wondering once more what it will be like to give in.
‘Yeah,’ he says finally, responding to Mac’s comment. ‘And don’t forget the five other idiots downstairs. You’ll always have them, too.’
‘Let me guess - they will follow me into the depths of Hell?’ Mac’s lips twitch, but his eyes are still burning and he does not look away from Arsenal.
‘They might draw the line there,’ remarks Arsenal and Mac actually chuckles this time. It is such a welcoming sound that the former breathes a sigh of relief.
‘Do you … do you think we could’ve had better lives?’ The question is so out of the blue that Arsenal blinks, taken aback. Mac leans even closer, a veiled look of desperation on his face. ‘Or were we destined for this?’
‘I ain’t Gum, dude … I don’t know shit about destiny. What I know is that this is what we have right now and we’re making the best of it.’
Mac’s lips twitch slightly again, but he does not draw away. ‘I think Gum has pretty interesting ideas about destiny and the universe, though.’
‘You mean that shit he was spouting the other day about all the different universes we live in and all our different destinies?’ Arsenal snorts and takes a drag of his cigarette again.
‘Stupid or not, real or not, I like the idea of it,’ murmurs Mac very softly. ‘That, somewhere out there, we might have other lives. Lives better than this, normal lives where we don’t ever have to kill…’
Arsenal takes this in, pondering.
‘You don’t like the idea of never having to kill?’ Mac presses.
‘If Gum is right, then who knows? Maybe in another universe, we all have proper jobs and maybe wives and even children. Maybe there is a world out there where we are hella popular and successful and we can be proud of ourselves. Hell, maybe in some screwed up universe, we are superheroes wearing stupid spandex suits and saving damsels and kids and shit. Actually, all that sounds pretty damn good.’
Mac chuckles again, a little louder than before.
Arsenal stops smiling and looks seriously at his friend. ‘But maybe in one of those universes, we are the smugglers in the warehouse. Maybe we are the monsters who kill on a daily basis and never regret it. Maybe in some world, we never met each other, strangers who don’t even know the others exist … and I don’t like that.’
Arsenal lays a hand on Mac’s arm again. ‘Our lives here ain’t rainbows and roses, that’s for sure. But we have each other and we do what we can to keep ourselves alive while taking out a few shitheads along the way, and even tonight,’ Arsenal tightens his group on Mac’s arm, ‘despite everything that went wrong, we saved lives, Mac. A bunch of girls would’ve been sold to God knows what if we weren’t there. And that … that’s enough for me. I can make peace with that.’
Mac is silent for a long while, thinking. He finally nods, the tension in his shoulders leaving slowly.
‘Good.’ Arsenal leans back again. He begins to remove his hand, but suddenly Mac is gripping it in place and his eyes, bright and intense, are boring into Arsenal’s again.
‘You’re not exactly the most comforting of people, you know. But … thanks. I needed to hear all that.’
Arsenal nods, glancing at his hand that Mac is still entrapping with his own.
‘I’ll learn to move past this…’
‘Good,’ Arsenal repeats. ‘Because Gum is planning to give you a mop to do proper moping with.’
Mac does not smile and continues his sentence, ‘…because I have you lot.’
‘Emotionally stunted idiots, all of us, but yeah, you have us.’
‘I have you.’
Arsenal pauses as Mac repeats those words for the second time that night. He meets the intense dark eyes and catches his breath when Mac leans forward, edging closer to him.
‘But it’s still too hard right now,’ he says lowly, his voice pained and rough. ‘Too much, all at once. For now, for tonight, I just want to forget.’
Arsenal can think of nothing to say, but then Mac is lightly tugging him forward by the hand he has grabbed.
‘Help me forget…’
His meaning becomes abruptly clear and, along with it, Arsenal also registers in the back of his mind that his suspicions all these years were correct: that Mac has, indeed, noticed the subtle attraction between them and he certainly returns it.
He does not bother to think or count how many years he has spent simply satisfying himself with fantasies. He gives into the pull Mac gives his hand, moves forward and allows their lips to connect.
He registers the soft gasp Mac makes into his mouth when Arsenal explores the exposed skin beneath his hands, how Mac weaves his fingers through Arsenal’s long hair, how the smell of soap and cigarette mixes and fuses together into one.
And then, nothing else matters anymore. The demons of the past night disappear, the horrors of tomorrow retreat, and the only things that remain are the desire and touch and intimacy of the present.
~***~
The next day, they receive their promised payment from their client, along with one last phone call.
Jacky barely gets through with the formalities before Ace snatches the phone from him and reels off an endless stream of curses and blasphemy at the politician before the latter quickly hangs up.
Ignoring Ace who is still fuming, Gum who tries to calm him down and Jacky who laments that that should not be how to end a job, Mac approaches the suitcase delivered to their bar, which Johnny had set up on a table. Popping it open, he looks down emotionlessly at the neat rows and columns of yen notes stacked inside.
Toppo is at his side, chewing on his lower lip. ‘What are you gonna do with it?’
Previously, it would not even have been a question, Arsenal knows. But everyone is aware, without ever having discussed it, that Mac will not accept this payment.
Johnny leans a hip against the table, looking at Mac. ‘I can track down the politician guy if you’d rather return it.’
Ace immediately objects, while Jacky insists there should be something they can do with the money.
Arsenal finally leaves his stool at the counter and approaches Mac. He unceremoniously flings down the newspaper he has been perusing onto the table beside the suitcase, opened at the classifieds.
‘I found this ad about an NGO fund relief committee looking for donations. They focus on women and kids who undergo abuse,’ Arsenal tells Mac succinctly.
Mac scrutinises the ad for a moment. And then he looks up, meets Arsenal’s eyes and gives a wide smile.
‘Sounds good to me.’
~End~
A/N: This is my first K8 fic I'm publishing officially, and it's a 8Uppers one. Needless to say, I'm nervous ^_^; Let me know what you think?
Pairing: Mac/Arsenal (Yoko/Subaru).
Genre: Angst, action, friendship, mild romance?
Warnings: Slight coarse language, mention of alcohol, minor character death
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 8Uppers verse: A job goes horribly wrong at Mac’s hands and Arsenal tries to make him understand that not everything can be controlled; no one is bulletproof.
Notes: My entry for the Kanjani fanfic exchange over at k8-rabu-rabu for my recipient harin91
NO ONE IS BULLETPROOF
It wasn’t your fault.
The words lodge somewhere around his throat, refusing to be spoken out loud. It does not matter, though. It will not change anything anyway. He knows that.
And Mac knows that. Everyone knows that.
But, as they watch Mac slam the door to his room so hard that the noise echoed hollowly down the hallway, Arsenal wonders if he should have said those words to Mac anyway.
He wonders if Mac would have believed them.
~***~
The plan had been good.
Hell, their plans are always good. With Mac and Jacky playing devil’s advocate on each and every detail, and coming up with counterplans for every single possibility that could go wrong on their missions - it is next to impossible for any enemy syndicate to take them by surprise anymore.
Their client this time had been a politician, who had anonymously contacted them via his underground network. None of them had lifted an eyebrow at this; it is hardly uncommon for desperate statesmen to seek out “cleaners” to take care of civic messes that linger just beyond the blurred boundaries of “legal”. It has happened before.
What had raised eyebrows was when the anonymous politician, instead of trying to procure a quick assassination as was the norm, had requested help in bringing down a group of smugglers.
‘Legal prosecution will take months and these bastards will escape before the authorities can get to them!’ He had insisted over an untraceable phone call with them. To the end, he had maintained that the only way to take the gang out would be action outside the law.
He is one of the very few politicians they have ever accepted as a client. Mac - and the rest, but mostly Mac - has one indomitable rule when it comes to their line of work: only accept a job if it does not involve the murder of innocents.
Any work that will end in killing is only accepted if their target were, to put it simply, deserving of death. Murderers, rapists, torturers, corrupt corporate leaders whose cruelty had ruined lives beyond repair … oh, they have certainly taken out such types before. But Mac has always point blank refused assassination requests to fulfil clients’ personal vendettas.
Arsenal has often thought that it is Mac’s - and theirs, but mostly Mac’s - way of drawing a moral line for them to toe. God knows that what they “clean up” has never qualified as legal, but Arsenal figures that this one rule is a rock to ground them in the grey shadows between good and evil.
A rope holding them back from being entirely lost to sin.
He stopped analysing this rule a long time ago. To date, he has shot more men than he cares to count, and he remembers every single one of their faces - to dwell on whether those deaths were justified or not, or his sins can be absolved or not, or he will ever find peace of mind or not … going down that road will lead to nothing but madness.
So he had simply stopped questioning it. He accepts at face value that whatever jobs Mac takes on for them are within their loose moral scaffolding, as are any deaths that result from them.
As far as Arsenal is concerned, the people he has shot deserved to die.
(To think otherwise will be to lose his mind.)
Things, however, had taken an unprecedented turn for the worst in their latest job that night.
An innocent had been killed.
And the man behind the trigger - Mac.
~***~
It is Jacky’s idea to open the bar tonight, late though it already is.
Arsenal does not think that anyone will be willing to do so, considering how their mission had turned out only mere hours earlier. But no one refutes Jacky’s suggestion.
‘I’ll get started on the drinks,’ says Johnny quietly, his handsome face cool and unreadable, while Toppo mutters something about changing out of his suit before going to the deejay table.
Gum says nothing and just nods at the ground, his usually cheerful face so emotionless it is almost terrifying, while Ace stomps off, swearing under his breath.
They are all shaken by what had happened earlier, Arsenal knows. Maybe that’s why Jacky suggested opening the bar, why none of them argues against it … they all need something to do in order to take their minds off that horrible moment until they are calm enough to come to terms with it.
The group disperses to their own rooms, to change out of their formal suits and get the remnants of sweat, smoke, death and a job gone wrong off their skins. Arsenal does the same, knowing that no amount of scrubbing and cologne can remove the stink of murder off him.
Even washed and clean, his hands will always be dripping with blood.
And now Mac will see the same image every time he looks down at his own hands … only, the blood dripping off his fingers is innocent, reeking of endless remorse and regret.
Arsenal pauses outside Mac’s door on his way down to the bar, torn between checking up on him and giving him time alone to mourn and repent.
Mac is not just their leader. He is also one of Arsenal’s oldest and closest friends, someone who has always been there as long as Arsenal can remember. He has an idea how Mac must be feeling right now; he remembers his first kill, remembers the face of his victim, remembers the twisting feeling in his gut and how he had thrown up afterwards, shaking with fear of what he had done.
He remembers the long dark nights he spent afterwards, contemplating whether he should just end it all, and he fears for Mac.
A hand grips his shoulder suddenly.
‘He’ll be alright,’ murmurs Jacky, his voice unusually low. Dressed in casual clothes and smelling of his usual cheap cologne, he stares at the door with Arsenal.
‘Will he?’ Arsenal looks back at Mac’s closed door.
‘It’s Mac. He’s always held strong. Stronger than the rest of us.’
‘Don’t let Ace hear you say that,’ mutters Arsenal, just for the sake of saying something, because there is nothing to argue with. Jacky is right.
Jacky hesitates a second before voicing his next thought, as if unsure whether he ought to say it, ‘It wasn’t his first kill…’
Arsenal looks him straight in the eyes. ‘It’s his first time killing an innocent.’
There is nothing to be said after that. They stand in silence for another minute, before Jacky tugs lightly on his elbow.
‘C’mon. Leave him alone for a while…’
Reluctantly, Arsenal follows him downstairs to the bar, towards the drinks he has to pass around and the booming beats of Toppo’s music.
The silence behind Mac’s door is even louder.
~***~
It had seemed like such a typical job that none of them could have seen that end coming.
They had stormed their targets at the smugglers’ dingy warehouse headquarters like how they normally do - quiet and stealthy sneaking it, and then wreaking havoc with their weapons out, leaving a string of fallen bodies in their wake.
Arsenal had basked in the adrenaline rushing through his nerves as he went in, guns blazing. The look of terror on their victims’ faces every time Mac stormed in with his ragtag gang of cleaners was always a source of gratification for Arsenal - and for Ace, who Arsenal saw cackling maniacally as he tackled one of the assaulters to the ground.
Doubtless, Arsenal would have to shoot Ace’s opponent at some point - and Ace would come screaming in his face for stealing his thunder, forget that Arsenal had saved his bloody ass - but right then, he let Ace have his fun and focussed on the throngs of smugglers picking up their weapons and counterattacking their unwelcome guests.
They had a job to do.
The fight that lasted the first several minutes had been as normal as it could be on one of their jobs - Gum, Ace, Jacky and Arsenal taking down and incapacitating the crooks to clear the path for Mac, Toppo and Johnny, who advanced towards the leader of the gang. Toppo and Johnny had easily handled the few men who got through their defences, while Mac focussed on getting to the top crook with clear, cold-blooded grit.
It is an unspoken agreement between them that Mac will always be the one to take out the top dog, leader to leader.
Before Mac reached the gang leader, who was a tall tattooed middle-aged man, his two personal bodyguards had come forward, engaging Johnny and Toppo in combat. Sidestepping them, Mac had pursued the leader alone, only to find a gun shoved under his chin.
Arsenal had seen it happen and, for an instant, felt fear clutch his heart in an iron grip.
Mac!
Without thinking, he moved to take aim at the man, but he need not have worried. Mac was as experienced as any of them, and he had shot out a hand to deviate the man’s arm away from him, so that the resulting gunshot had been at the ceiling. Within moments, he had wrestled the pistol away from the leader, throwing the man to one side so that he crashed against a huge, metal cargo container in a corner of the warehouse.
Striding forward, Mac had coldly raised his arm to take aim and shoot.
And then everything had gone wrong.
Quick as lightning, the smugglers’ leader had spun around and opened the door of the cargo container behind him, and hordes of people had come spilling out.
In the middle of such a fight, Arsenal’s first thought had been that the leader had let loose more reinforcements of smugglers. He was very sure that Mac’s reaction had been more or less the same. There had been no time to think; Mac had pulled the trigger.
And a young girl had collapsed, an open wound on her chest.
Mac froze.
Utter chaos had reigned then, with the people - girls - who had been inside the container screaming, some fighting to go back inside, while others had run off inside the warehouse. The smuggling leader had been lost in the swarm.
The only good thing that had come out of it was Gum spotting the leader who had crept to the front of the warehouse, intent on escape. A few swipes of Gum’s bo and the smuggler had been knocked to the ground, while Jacky rushed forward to hold him down.
It had taken a few more minutes of taking out the remaining smugglers and getting the trapped girls to calm down enough to believe that they were not going to be killed, before the situation could be cleared up.
The smuggling syndicate had not been involved with the usual drugs, weapons and whatnot as they had initially believed. The gang had been human traffickers - a point that their politician client had omitted when putting his case forward.
Mac had worked mechanically after that, as if his body had been put on autopilot. He had placed an anonymous tip to the police of the warehouse’s address and hung up before the call could be traced. He had avoided looking at the fallen girl, even while Johnny was checking her for a pulse.
There was none.
They had slipped out of the warehouse when they heard the blare of sirens in the distance.
‘You’re safe now, the cops are on the way,’ Jacky had addressed the terrified gaggle of girls in tones a zookeeper might use on a frightened animal. Mac had faced the other way the entire time. The gun had still been in his hand and Arsenal had seen how tightly he had been gripping it, the pale skin over his knuckles taut and white.
Arsenal had looked at Mac and tried to think of something to say, anything. But nothing.
Mac had not spoken a word since.
~***~
A couple hours of serving, working and smoking his way through half a packet of cigarettes later, Arsenal’s head is throbbing, almost to the beat of the loud dance numbers Toppo is belting out one after the other. It is nearly two in the morning and the bar is packed. Arsenal had hoped customers would be few, considering they had opened later than usual, but apparently night life is always in full swing in these parts and their Eito bar has always been popular.
Exhausted, Arsenal collapses onto a stool at the counter. Jacky and Johnny barely glance up from the preparation of their drinks.
None of them has yet mentioned anything about what had happened earlier, but the effects are evident. Gum has barely cracked a smile as he edges through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, balancing his tray of drinks; Ace is actually helping Gum out in silence, the spark of anger from earlier still flashing in his eyes; Toppo’s movements at the deejay table are practised and mechanical, as if he barely hears the music; and Jacky and Johnny have been entirely stony-faced as they prepared the drinks.
Arsenal has not been better off, but the claustrophobic tension in the air is grinding too hard on his nerves and he is unsure how long he can hold it in before exploding. Working has done little to make him forget the sound of the gunshot in the warehouse, the body of the girl dropping, Mac frozen in place as he realised what he had done, Mac’s death grip on his stolen gun, Mac’s tense shoulders the entire way back, Mac’s hidden face as he stormed into his room, Mac…
He clenches his fist, struggling with clashing feelings of concern and anger within him. Concern for Mac, empathising with his shock and regret … and anger at the politician for omitting such an important detail about their job. They should have been told the smugglers were human traffickers; only then could they have known to be on the lookout for kidnapped girls.
Mac would have known not to shoot if they had simply known -
‘So, are we gonna keep pretending nothing happened and everything’s back to normal?’
Arsenal looks up as Ace’s voice cuts through the air sharply. He has taken a seat next to Arsenal, his face as tired looking as Arsenal feels, but his eyes are still alight with fury.
Jacky opens his mouth to respond, but Ace continues,
‘I want to rip that shit’s head off his freaking shoulders! Why the hell didn’t he tell us what that stupid gang was involved in?’
Johnny replies without looking up, ‘We did ask the guy. He said drugs. And our background check on the gang proved it.’
‘Yes, but drugs was their side job; it’s what they were hiding behind! Their actual deal was smuggling human beings, for fuck’s sake! Actual living human beings!’
‘I will speak to the guy when he contacts us again with our payment -’ Jacky begins, but Arsenal cuts him off.
‘That won’t bring that girl back.’
All of them stop talking and look up at him with varying expressions. Arsenal looks back coldly, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
‘That won’t change the fact that Mac killed her.’
‘Now look, Arsenal -’ Jacky begins, aghast.
‘And it won’t stop Mac from feeling guilty about it for the rest of his life - even though,’ Arsenal raises his voice even louder above the music when Jacky looks about to interrupt him again, ‘we all know it’s not his fault.’
They lapse into silence again, none of them knowing what to say. Arsenal knows all of their hands are as dirty as his own, but following Mac’s number one rule about their jobs, every murder they have on their hands had been justified, or so they tell themselves. But with one night, it will never be the same for Mac.
‘He shouldn’t, though.’
The four of them look around as Toppo’s voice reaches them above the noise of the music. He and Gum have joined them at the counter.
‘Feeling guilty is inevitable,’ Toppo continues, raising his voice but still sounding tired. ‘But Mac needs to accept it’s not his fault. Without that, he can never move on...’ Leaning on the counter, he folds his arms and looks towards the staircase that leads up to their living quarters. ‘And he needs to. He has to force himself if necessary. A person can go mad with that kind of guilt … We can’t lose him. Not like this…’
Arsenal barely registers admiration for Toppo’s words when Gum says, ‘I know we should give him space, but … I think we need to talk to him. One of us at least.’
‘Actually, I was thinking the same earlier.’ Johnny puts down the martini shaker in his hands. ‘I know Mac’s strong and he would want to be alone … but at a time like this, I don’t think that’s the best idea.’ He looks up directly at Arsenal, surprising him slightly. ‘He should have someone.’
Arsenal stares at him, masking his mixed feelings behind an emotionless look, but then he looks round sharply as Jacky begins to say,
‘Should I go up to hi -?’
‘I’ll go.’
Everyone stares at Arsenal. Johnny gives him a barely perceptible nod.
Arsenal does not bother explaining himself to the rest. ‘I’ll go to Mac.’
‘Yeah, it should be you,’ says Toppo in the same tired voice.
‘And tell him if he doesn’t stop moping, then he can grab a mop and do it properly tomorrow,’ adds Gum with a perfectly straight face, though his concern for Mac still layers his voice.
Nobody even bothers to give him the stink eye for his horrible pun. Wordlessly, Arsenal hops off his stool and makes for the stairs.
~***~
To his surprise, the door to Mac’s room is unlocked.
Arsenal knocks, waits, and when there is no answer, unceremoniously barges in. With Mac, he has never needed to maintain formalities before, anyway.
The room is empty when he walks in; the ceiling fan is on and the sheets on the bed are mussed up, but otherwise, there is no sign of life.
Arsenal hesitates, a thousand possibilities flashing across his mind - some of them bordering on the word “suicide” but not quite - when the door to the adjoined bathroom opens and Mac steps out, dressed only in a pair of flannel pants and wiping a towel through his damp hair. The smell of shampoo and soap roll out with him.
For a moment, they simply stare at each other, unmoving.
Arsenal forces himself to keep his first reaction to himself. He doubts that ‘Thank God, you’re still alive’ will be appreciated in that situation.
What he finally says, though, is hardly better, ‘You took a shower.’
Mac gives him a look. There is a haunted edge to his dark eyes and his face looks gaunt and hollow, but his lips twist in what can barely be called a smile, making him look almost inhuman in that moment.
‘What did you think? That I’d spend the rest of my life crying on that bed?’
Arsenal is not sure what he feels in that moment. A hint of relief that Mac is trying to be normal, shock that he is acknowledging the murder that occurred at his hands so bluntly, or concern that he is refusing to show weakness, refusing to let out his pain and regret.
‘You did for the last three hours anyway,’ Arsenal responds frankly. He keeps his tone level, lessening the blow of his words. He does not worry that Mac will take him the wrong way; they have known each other far too long for that.
Mac flings the towel away, his shoulders tense. The pale skin of his torso glows in the light of the single lamp he had lit.
‘I’m guessing you’re here to talk about it?’ Mac’s cool tone indicates how welcoming that notion is for him.
Arsenal shrugs a shoulder and proceeds to light the cigarette he has been carrying around. ‘I’m here for you. If what you need is to talk, then do it.’
Mac almost glares at him. ‘I don’t -’ he begins.
‘Then we don’t,’ says Arsenal lightly. He flops down on the bed and leans against the headboard, taking a lengthy drag of the cigarette.
The other man hesitates, as if unsure what to say or do. ‘If you’re gonna smoke, then get out. You know I don’t like that shit in my room.’
‘Sucks to be you, then.’
‘What the hell do you want, Arsenal!’ Mac finally bursts out, his eyes flaring. He storms forward until he is towering over him. ‘What did you come in here for?’
Arsenal meets his wild gaze, noting the redness of his eyes and the first signs of tears prickling at them, and lowers the cigarette from his lips.
‘That. I’m here for that. Let it out, Mac.’
Before Mac can react, Arsenal reaches for his bare arm and pulls him down so that they are sitting together on the bed, Arsenal leaning against the headboard and Mac directly in front him.
‘Don’t let that shit stew inside you. It’s gonna mess with your head and soon you’ll be wishing you were dead if you don’t stop.’
Mac’s eyes flash at him. ‘What the hell do you kn -?’
‘I know how shitty you’re feeling right now. I know the living hell inside your mind right now. More than anyone else here.’ Arsenal pauses. ‘The first person I ever killed was a woman.’
Mac shuts up, his eyes widening. Arsenal meets his gaze.
‘You … what …’
‘I never told anyone.’ Arsenal raises the cigarette to his lips again. ‘I’d got my first gun at the time. I came across this couple in an alley one night. The man was beating her to within an inch of her life - and I had to act the hero.’ He looks away, grim faced. ‘It was a mess. I’d pulled my gun on the man and suddenly the woman was screaming and he realised I was there. He pulled the woman in front of him just as I shot the damn thing. Bullet went right through her head … she didn’t stand a chance…’
He sees Mac’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His fists are clenched in the bed sheets.
‘The man actually laughed when he saw what I’d done. And he ran away. I should’ve chased him. I should’ve emptied the entire damn magazine into his brain. I should’ve … but I couldn’t move. All I saw was the woman at my feet…’
The room is silent for several seconds, neither of them looking at each other.
Finally, Mac says very quietly, ‘Why are you telling me this now?’
Arsenal leans his head back against the board and sighs heavily. ‘Believe me, I would’ve taken it to my grave if I could.’
‘But -’
‘But I want you to know. You need to know that you’re not alone. You’re not the first one and you won’t be the last. It was out of your hands.’
Mac releases a shuddering breath and then wipes a hand down his face and throat. Arsenal’s eyes linger on the movement, eyeing the long slender fingers and the pale skin of Mac’s throat, the sharp jut of his collarbones and the golden glow of the lamp on his bare torso.
‘I didn’t know the girl was a victim,’ he whispers. ‘Hell, I didn’t even realise it was a girl then. I just thought … I just reacted … it wasn’t my fault…’
Arsenal crocks an eyebrow as he slowly breathes out a cloud of smoke. ‘So you do know that much, at least. That’s good. Now try to accept it.’
Mac shakes his head slowly, staring down at his bare feet. ‘The image just won’t leave my mind. I keep seeing her even with my eyes open…’
‘You’ll see her everywhere for a while,’ Arsenal tells him bluntly. He wants to comfort Mac, but he is not going to sugar coat anything for him, either. Mac needs to face this ordeal head on. ‘And in a way, that’s a good thing ‘cause that proves you’re human. Only a monster wouldn’t be haunted by such a thing.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ Mac forces out a wane chuckle.
‘What you need to focus on,’ Arsenal continues as if he did not hear, ‘is that it wasn’t your bloody fault. Tell that to yourself every time you see her. Repeat that to yourself a hundred times a day, if you have to. Whenever you feel like you’re going to choke on your guilt, use your damn smarts and remind yourself of the whole situation logically so that you always remember it wasn’t your fault.’
He pauses for a moment, and then reaches forward to grip Mac’s arm. ‘Stop beating yourself up. It won’t be easy and it will take time, but trust me, hating yourself over something that wasn’t your fault is not worth it. I went through it for a heck of a long time and I wanted to kill myself before I came to my senses. Believe me, it’s not worth it. Not one bit.’
They sit in silence for a long minute, Mac looking down at his feet and Arsenal still holding on to his arm. His skin feels cool after the shower and Arsenal can smell the soap on Mac’s skin.
At long last, Mac asks very quietly. ‘Does it ever get better?’
The other man has to consider for a few seconds. ‘I’d say yes. It depends … there are people who lose themselves to alcohol to escape. Those who jump off a building. Those who numb it down -‘
‘And you’re one of those who just numbed it down?’
Arsenal removes his hand from Mac’s arm. ‘It won’t ever go away completely, but yes … you can choose to make it better. Forgive yourself, move on.’
‘And you?’ Mac’s eyes burn with a nameless emotion as he looks Arsenal square in the face. ‘Have you forgiven yourself?’
‘…I drowned myself in alcohol before I did,’ answers Arsenal, his voice softening slightly. ‘But at the time, I had no one to tell me it wasn’t my fault. No one to tell me it’s OK to feel guilty, but that I should forgive myself and move on. You’re not alone though, Mac.’
‘…Yeah.’ Mac has turned around so that he is facing Arsenal now. His eyes are still haunted, still filled with a depth of grief Arsenal understands all too well, but there is something else there now. He leans forward slightly. ‘I have you…’
Arsenal freezes a little, not at Mac’s words, but the look in his eyes and his tone, low and deep. He is aware once more of Mac’s proximity to him, the smell of him, the long tapering fingers and the white skin exposed and glowing golden in the lamp light…
This is hardly the first time Arsenal has ever felt that tug of attraction towards Mac. It is a pull he often experiences now and then. His friendship with Mac goes as far back as he can remember; they have reached a point where they barely ever need words to enjoy each other’s company now. Often, when they are alone together with comfortable silence between them or the few occasions they talk and spill the things they hide within - like right now - Arsenal has felt drawn to Mac in ways he does not feel with the others.
Sometimes, he thinks it is due to the level of understanding and comradeship between them. They know each other so well, beyond words and misunderstandings. They know exactly where they stand in each other’s life, what to expect of each other, what to give and receive.
He has even thought at times that Mac may be feeling that pull, too. It is not like Arsenal has ever tried to be too subtle when he gets caught up in Mac, letting his gaze linger on the man, imagining what it will be like to give into that desire, strange though the feeling is. He is certain Mac has caught him looking more than once, but with never a feeling of discomfort coming between them.
And he has often imagined that Mac would reciprocate it if he ever did follow up on the feelings, sure that it will not drive a wedge between them and things will still be normal between them - because they will both understand where the other is coming from; that the touches stem from a curiosity and desire for comfort and intimacy from someone trusted beyond all boundaries.
Looking at Mac now, Arsenal finds himself wondering once more what it will be like to give in.
‘Yeah,’ he says finally, responding to Mac’s comment. ‘And don’t forget the five other idiots downstairs. You’ll always have them, too.’
‘Let me guess - they will follow me into the depths of Hell?’ Mac’s lips twitch, but his eyes are still burning and he does not look away from Arsenal.
‘They might draw the line there,’ remarks Arsenal and Mac actually chuckles this time. It is such a welcoming sound that the former breathes a sigh of relief.
‘Do you … do you think we could’ve had better lives?’ The question is so out of the blue that Arsenal blinks, taken aback. Mac leans even closer, a veiled look of desperation on his face. ‘Or were we destined for this?’
‘I ain’t Gum, dude … I don’t know shit about destiny. What I know is that this is what we have right now and we’re making the best of it.’
Mac’s lips twitch slightly again, but he does not draw away. ‘I think Gum has pretty interesting ideas about destiny and the universe, though.’
‘You mean that shit he was spouting the other day about all the different universes we live in and all our different destinies?’ Arsenal snorts and takes a drag of his cigarette again.
‘Stupid or not, real or not, I like the idea of it,’ murmurs Mac very softly. ‘That, somewhere out there, we might have other lives. Lives better than this, normal lives where we don’t ever have to kill…’
Arsenal takes this in, pondering.
‘You don’t like the idea of never having to kill?’ Mac presses.
‘If Gum is right, then who knows? Maybe in another universe, we all have proper jobs and maybe wives and even children. Maybe there is a world out there where we are hella popular and successful and we can be proud of ourselves. Hell, maybe in some screwed up universe, we are superheroes wearing stupid spandex suits and saving damsels and kids and shit. Actually, all that sounds pretty damn good.’
Mac chuckles again, a little louder than before.
Arsenal stops smiling and looks seriously at his friend. ‘But maybe in one of those universes, we are the smugglers in the warehouse. Maybe we are the monsters who kill on a daily basis and never regret it. Maybe in some world, we never met each other, strangers who don’t even know the others exist … and I don’t like that.’
Arsenal lays a hand on Mac’s arm again. ‘Our lives here ain’t rainbows and roses, that’s for sure. But we have each other and we do what we can to keep ourselves alive while taking out a few shitheads along the way, and even tonight,’ Arsenal tightens his group on Mac’s arm, ‘despite everything that went wrong, we saved lives, Mac. A bunch of girls would’ve been sold to God knows what if we weren’t there. And that … that’s enough for me. I can make peace with that.’
Mac is silent for a long while, thinking. He finally nods, the tension in his shoulders leaving slowly.
‘Good.’ Arsenal leans back again. He begins to remove his hand, but suddenly Mac is gripping it in place and his eyes, bright and intense, are boring into Arsenal’s again.
‘You’re not exactly the most comforting of people, you know. But … thanks. I needed to hear all that.’
Arsenal nods, glancing at his hand that Mac is still entrapping with his own.
‘I’ll learn to move past this…’
‘Good,’ Arsenal repeats. ‘Because Gum is planning to give you a mop to do proper moping with.’
Mac does not smile and continues his sentence, ‘…because I have you lot.’
‘Emotionally stunted idiots, all of us, but yeah, you have us.’
‘I have you.’
Arsenal pauses as Mac repeats those words for the second time that night. He meets the intense dark eyes and catches his breath when Mac leans forward, edging closer to him.
‘But it’s still too hard right now,’ he says lowly, his voice pained and rough. ‘Too much, all at once. For now, for tonight, I just want to forget.’
Arsenal can think of nothing to say, but then Mac is lightly tugging him forward by the hand he has grabbed.
‘Help me forget…’
His meaning becomes abruptly clear and, along with it, Arsenal also registers in the back of his mind that his suspicions all these years were correct: that Mac has, indeed, noticed the subtle attraction between them and he certainly returns it.
He does not bother to think or count how many years he has spent simply satisfying himself with fantasies. He gives into the pull Mac gives his hand, moves forward and allows their lips to connect.
He registers the soft gasp Mac makes into his mouth when Arsenal explores the exposed skin beneath his hands, how Mac weaves his fingers through Arsenal’s long hair, how the smell of soap and cigarette mixes and fuses together into one.
And then, nothing else matters anymore. The demons of the past night disappear, the horrors of tomorrow retreat, and the only things that remain are the desire and touch and intimacy of the present.
~***~
The next day, they receive their promised payment from their client, along with one last phone call.
Jacky barely gets through with the formalities before Ace snatches the phone from him and reels off an endless stream of curses and blasphemy at the politician before the latter quickly hangs up.
Ignoring Ace who is still fuming, Gum who tries to calm him down and Jacky who laments that that should not be how to end a job, Mac approaches the suitcase delivered to their bar, which Johnny had set up on a table. Popping it open, he looks down emotionlessly at the neat rows and columns of yen notes stacked inside.
Toppo is at his side, chewing on his lower lip. ‘What are you gonna do with it?’
Previously, it would not even have been a question, Arsenal knows. But everyone is aware, without ever having discussed it, that Mac will not accept this payment.
Johnny leans a hip against the table, looking at Mac. ‘I can track down the politician guy if you’d rather return it.’
Ace immediately objects, while Jacky insists there should be something they can do with the money.
Arsenal finally leaves his stool at the counter and approaches Mac. He unceremoniously flings down the newspaper he has been perusing onto the table beside the suitcase, opened at the classifieds.
‘I found this ad about an NGO fund relief committee looking for donations. They focus on women and kids who undergo abuse,’ Arsenal tells Mac succinctly.
Mac scrutinises the ad for a moment. And then he looks up, meets Arsenal’s eyes and gives a wide smile.
‘Sounds good to me.’
~End~
A/N: This is my first K8 fic I'm publishing officially, and it's a 8Uppers one. Needless to say, I'm nervous ^_^; Let me know what you think?