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“Wake up.”
Blood fills his dreams, the metallic scent clinging to every corner of his subconscious. He can’t get them out of his mind. How many had there been in the end? Dozens upon dozens upon dozens. As many as a hundred? And that was just the bodies of those on the train when it had crashed. He still hadn’t gathered the courage to look at the full death toll. To see just how many innocent people he had allowed to die—whose deaths he had caused—in his efforts to, what? Save his own worthless hide?
“Fuckin’ hell. Wake up!” Rough hands shake his shoulder, and Ladybug’s eyes shoot open. Before he can fully register who is above him, Ladybug is moving; foreheads accidentally collide, knee driving into a firm stomach, body rolling off the narrow bed in a tangle of blankets and flailing limbs.
“The fuck?” It’s more of a pained wheeze than an exclamation. It’s enough to make Ladybug’s footsteps falter.
“Tangerine?” Ladybug is halfway towards the corner of the room, bedside lamp clutched in his hand as if that will somehow ward off the faceless attackers that still linger in the shadow-filled corners of his mind.
The nightmares never fail to feel so real. No matter how many times Ladybug tells himself that it is over, that he made it out of that train alive — that Tangerine and Lemon made it out, somehow, against all the odds — he still can’t get rid of the memory of them both laying there side by side in that train car, blood dripping from their faces, not a pulse to be found.
“Who else would it be, you bellend?” Tangerine’s voice acts as a calming balm to Ladybug’s frayed nerves, taking the edge off of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Tangerine reaches for the light switch, momentarily blinding them both. Blinking, Ladybug squints around him, taking in the familiar surroundings as he chases the last dredges of his nightmare away.
They were in a dingy safehouse. One of the smaller, shitter ones, with only a single, rickety bed and questionable brownish-grey water from the pipes no matter how long you run the tap for. The three of them are on a simple enough job, the Twins willing to take on half of the work for three-quarters of the pay. Ladybug hasn’t complained yet; he trusts them both a damn sight more than the handful of assets still willing to work with him from his agency.
I really need to look into going freelance, he thinks to himself with a grimace. Straightening his knees crack as he stands, his body aching from the rude wakeup call.
“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” Ladybug says with a slight smile, slipping out of the bedroom, intending to find some coffee. It is barely five, but he is sure that Lemon won’t complain if he goes to relieve him a couple of hours early. Footsteps pad closer behind him, heavy and deliberately, as if Tangerine is trying to avoid a repeat performance. Ladybug winces at the implication.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, keeping his head lowered as he starts making a fresh pot of coffee. He is the only one to drink the stuff; he should be the one to remember to make a fresh pot.
“What’re they about?” Tangerine’s voice breaks through the uncomfortable silence.
Ladybug presses his lips together, studiously avoiding catching his eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” Tangerine leans against the counter, getting in between Ladybug and the cupboard where they store the coffee. “Just like Lem has no clue what I’m sayin’ when he wakes up screamin’ for me some nights.”
Ladybug reaches for the pot, anticipating no more than dark sludge at this point. He pauses; There’s already a fresh pot there. He stops, staring at it. He turns back towards Tangerine, question already on his lips, when he takes in the other man’s appearance properly. Dark bags hang under Tangerine’s eyes. Dark brown locks are mussed, hands carefully pushed into the pockets of his sleep pants. Tangerine sends him a weary smile.
Huh.
“Saw one of those stupid fuckin’ Momomon toys today. Some kid dropped it gettin’ on the bus. Wasn’t even near a fuckin’ train, an’ all I can think about is how Lemon looked sprawled out on the floor like that. Not breathin’. Not movin’. Just… gone.” Tangerine looks away, swallowing hard as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Way I see it, it’s normal. We went through some shit. Of course we’re gonna have fuckin’ nightmares about it. Thought that’s what that fancy therapist of yours was supposed to help with.”
“Barry?” Ladybug says, eyebrows rising. He shakes his head. “No, he thinks I’m a RIF consultant.”
Tangerine frowns. “A what?”
“A reduction in force— he thinks I fire people for a living.” The corner of Ladybug’s mouth twists up in a lopsided grin as Tangerine laughs.
“I mean, he’s not a million miles off, luv.”
Ladybug lets out a strangled laugh. He shakes his head. “I suppose not. But it really doesn’t help when all I want to talk about is nightmares I have about killing people.”
Tangerine reaches for him, hand landing carefully on Ladybug’s shoulder. “Hey. I seem ta remember someone tryin’ real fuckin’ hard not ta kill anyone on that train. Sure, you weren’t that successful, what with that shitty luck of yours. Still. You tried.”
Ladybug looks down at his hands. There’s no trace of blood — he knows there shouldn’t be, even as he looks — but sometimes, it’s impossible to look at them without the memories taking over. “Yeah, well… it doesn’t feel like enough.”
“And it won’t. You mighta been in the business for longer, but somehow, you’re still an optimist. That’s the difference between us; you still keep lookin’ for hope. For the fuckin, bright side when there isn’t one. Sometimes things go to shit for no good reason, an’ if you’re lucky, you’re still around ta pick up the pieces. If you’re very lucky, there’s someone there with you to help pick ‘em up.”
A soft smile settles on Ladybug’s lips. “I’m starting to see that. You and Lemon are lucky to have each other.”
Tangerine stares back at him blankly. He shook his head slowly, muttering under his breath. “Unbe-fuckin-leavable.”
“Tan? What—”
A hand wraps around the back of Ladybug’s neck, pulling him in close. Lips press against his is a slow, sensual kiss. Eyes wide, Ladybug stares back in disbelief. Hand going slack, his mug—filled to the brim with steaming coffee—falls between them.
“Shit!”
Tangerine jumps back, swiping at the coffee rapidly soaking through fabric and towards his skin. “Fuckin’ hell! You coulda just said you weren’t interested! No need to fuckin’ burn me on top a everythin’ else!”
“No, wait, I didn’t mean—” Ladybug reaches for Tangerine, tugging on the coffee-stained fabric, pulling it away from his body before it can do any more damage. “Can we try that again? Please? Without the hot drink in between us this time?”
“You sure you aren’t gonna find some way to, I dunno, trip and throw the whole pot at me this time?” Ladybug glances at it nervously as if that might be a very real possibility. Tangerine lets out a strangled laugh. “Y’know what? I think I’ll take that risk.”
“Really?”
“Some risks are worth takin’.”