Work Text:
Macau finds himself in a peculiar situation of his own making. He isn't exactly sure what he expected when he told Pete he wanted to go to the safehouse with him but Pete accepting his request was certainly not it.
They are traveling by car with Pete in the driver's seat and Macau probably should have known better than to trust the ex-bodyguard of the main family so easily. He doesn’t dwell on that for long, however, as they make their way through the city streets, leaving Bangkok behind.
It is a choice he made. He intends to stand by it.
At first, time flows uneventfully. It's quiet inside the car, the humming of the engine being the only sound accompanying them on their journey. The silence reminds Macau of the hospital, where they don’t talk at all on the best of days, each of them in their own head, trapped in their own thoughts.
Slowly, tension begins to accumulate. Of course it does; peacefulness is a foreign concept in Macau’s life.
It’s a sinking feeling of dread that’s hanging above their heads like vultures. Macau hasn't failed to notice Pete's white knuckles on the steering wheel, his straightened back and his stiff shoulders. The way his chest barely moves, like he's holding his breath.
The air inside the small car becomes stifling. Macau feels his heart rate increasing with each bump on the road and his breaths come out shallow. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the view of the green landscapes they’re passing by, the skyscrapers of the city now long forgotten.
Vegas would be angry if he were here. But he’s not, that’s the whole problem, he’s fucking not and he may never-
The sudden noise of a window lowering takes him out of his trance, as Pete puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it up, smoke engulfing the narrow space between them. After a couple of quick puffs, he extends his hand in Macau’s direction, offering the cigarette nonchalantly without looking at him.
Vegas would be mad at you for smoking , a voice at the back of his head says but Macau ignores it, taking Pete up on his offer. The first drag feels intoxicating, how the nicotine manages to make his body and mind relax. In the corner of his eye, Macau catches Pete smiling.
The bastard.
He realizes he’s smiling too, a little too late to drop it.
They continue smoking, passing the cigarette along, the crashing feeling of hopelessness fading away with each drag.
Macau starts feeling comfortable. It's strange, the warm sensation in his chest that settles there, unfamiliar with anyone other than Vegas. He's convinced Pete feels it too, with the way his demeanor has shifted and his nerves have loosened.
The atmosphere changes abruptly, the illusion of bliss shattered, when the presence of the safehouse makes its appearance in the distance.
Macau takes one look at Pete's face and he finally understands; he's made a terrible mistake.