Archive of Our Own ^beta

The motorcycle surged past the SUV, Big's familiar form hunched over the handlebars. A half-second later, another motorcycle whizzed by, this one with Ken astride it. The faint outline of the forest sped by as they accelerated up the dark mountain road, less than a couple hundred feet behind the box truck that was carrying Kinn's tracker—and, hopefully, Kinn.

Chan held down the talk button on the walkie talkie, voice low with command as he spoke. "Big, Ken, stay behind the truck. Kinn is likely in the back, and there may be guns up front we haven't seen."

Just as he said the words, he heard the sound of another engine revving up behind them. Alarm made him stiffen. No other vehicle had been assigned to this rescue mission. 

A quick glance at the rearview mirror confirmed it—another black SUV, one he didn't recognize.

He caught Arm's eye in the rearview mirror. "Ours?" 

Arm shook his head, eyes wide behind his glasses. "No, sir. I—I don't know where they came from. But it's definitely—definitely not ours."

A sinking feeling tightened low in Chan's gut, even as his hand was lifting the walkie talkie to his lips again—he couldn't let it rattle him, or any of the others. They could handle this, too. They had to. Even if there were far too few men on this mission, already. 

Korn had been unwilling to part with any more bodyguards from the compound than absolutely required, concerned with an impending attack they had no proof of. It was a foolish choice for an otherwise smart man, but Chan hadn't been able to protest.

He had to make do with what he had been given, as he always had. The walkie talkie chirped as he spoke. "Big, Ken. Another SUV behind ours—assume an enemy. No word on if they're armed—"

Just as he spoke, gunfire exploded from the SUV behind. The bright flash of a machine gun at the driver's side window sent sparks scattering across the sides of their car, followed by the unsettling clunk of fire hitting the bulletproof glass in the rear windshield. Chan, Arm, and Ben ducked automatically—the cab of the SUV itself was supposedly bulletproof, but no one wanted to be hit by the first stray bullet that might make it through. 

Chan squinted through the front windshield, the vise around his heart lifting slightly as he saw the two familiar forms still on their motorcycles, racing toward the box truck. No injuries there.

"They're armed," he sent through the radio, though it was undoubtedly obvious after that display. "Automatic handgun. Perhaps two."

Even though the motorcycle helmets only had receivers, no mics, he could practically hear Ken's voice in response, the lilting Australian accent on the sarcastic "No shit"—coming right before he snapped his mouth shut at Chan's look.

Big, however, probably wouldn't say anything. He'd just grit his teeth, jaw flexing as it did when faced with a grim challenge he didn't know how to overcome. Dark eyes flashing a warning, whole body tense and turned on the problem as if he could defeat it with sheer will. And there was very little Big could not defeat with sheer will, and his fighting skills.

"Get to center," Chan barked into the mouthpiece, motioning to Ben to hold the middle of the road so the other SUV couldn't pass. "We'll cover you the best we can."

Both of the motorcycles moved in closer, and just in time, as another spray of gunfire exploded across the pavement and pinged off the top of the cab. Chan swore, looking back at the SUV, noting the number of bullet rings in the glass. They weren't at the breaking point yet, but they were nearing it with every heart-shuddering clunk. They couldn't sustain this for much longer, and they were no closer to getting inside that truck with Kinn. 

Chan shook his head, pulling out his gun. "When I say, swerve right," he said to Ben, who nodded sharply, eyes still on the road in front. 

All he needed was a moment, and the right angle, and this would all be done with. He pressed the button to lower the window. Wind whipped inside like a hurricane, drowning out every other sound. Chan was already moving, his body knowing the steps like he knew his own hands. 

"Right!" he called, and their SUV swerved, putting the front windshield of their enemy right in Chan's line of sight. He got off a few good shots, one or two pinging across the hood and the rest slamming into the front windshield of their enemy's SUV, right in front of the white face of the driver. 

Of course it was armored. 

In response, the SUV revved, surging forward in an attempt to pass them. 

He fell back into his seat just as Ben swung the car back into the middle of the road, bumper nearly clipping the car behind. 

"Get anyone?" Arm yelled, leaning in over Chan's shoulder.

"No. Bulletproof shielding, at least for the front."

"We can go for the tires?"

Chan shook his head, knowing it would take too long for the SUV to stop with one or even two blown tires—and that was if he could get a good shot off at them, and they weren't reinforced. He caught Ben's knowing gaze, a plan forming without words. 

"We'll let them pass us."

"What? No." Arm leaned forward, hand rising like he was going to grab Chan's shoulder, before thinking better of it. "Sir, we can't—"

Chan resisted the urge to order him silent, but his voice was still harsh when it came out. "It's the only option."

"I don't think…" Arm started, the words 'it's the only option' unsaid but heard just the same. 

"You have another idea?" 

Arm paused, then looked down and started typing furiously into his tablet. 

But unless he could come up with another option within the next ten seconds, this was all they had.

Chan rolled up the window, cutting off the wind. Deadly silence followed in the cab, quiet enough to hear his heartbeat.

Five seconds.

He popped out the magazine of the gun and counted the remaining shots, before snapping it back inside.

One second.

Chan looked at Ben. "Ready?"

"Say the word," Ben replied, eyes still flitting between the road and the rearview mirror, his hands automatically guiding the SUV across the curling mountain road. They had done enough missions to know and match each other's movements like clockwork.

Zero.

Chan gave Arm an extra second, but he still didn't speak. 

They had no more time. 

"Arm, stay down." He looked over at Ben. "Ready."

Ben nodded, allowing the next curve of the road to pull the SUV wide, leaving just enough room for the car following to surge forward next to them. It couldn't be obvious they were leaving the gap on purpose. 

Gunfire sputtered across the side of the cab, bright against the darkness, sending dull thuds through the metal. Ben yanked the car back across the asphalt, but the enemy SUV kept up with them, scraping up the bumper. Chan grit his teeth, and waited. 

A moment later and the two vehicles were nearly even, surging up against each other on the dark mountain road. Chan had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the driver through his open window—young, with short dark hair, gun raised awkwardly across his chest to aim at their car—before Chan shoved his door open, just enough to get off a few shots at the driver's side door. The door handle crumpled under the gunfire like paper in a fist, the other shots pinging off the edge of the window and shattering the side mirrors.

The enemy SUV swerved away, tires squealing. Chan had a split second to hope that had been enough to deter them before they swung back across the narrow road and slammed into them, the two vehicles dragging against each other with an ear-splitting screech of metal. The door slammed shut, nearly crushing Chan's hand.

The car juddered uncertainly, and he had a momentary thought of them swerving completely off the road, before Ben yanked them free. 

"I have to get the driver," Chan barked. "Give me a good angle."

Ben gave him a sharp, short nod. He held off until they reached a momentary straightaway, then punched the gas. The SUV leapt forward, pulling ahead.

As Chan watched in the side mirror, the driver lifted his gun again, sighting down the road. He hunkered down in his seat and braced for gunfire.

But the bullets didn't hit the car this time. Sparks flashed across the pavement ahead of them, snaking closer and closer to the motorcycles, until bullets pinged off the tail fin of one of the bikes. Both bikes swerved—one leaping forward, the other swinging across the road. 

Fuck. Chan should have warned them. 

"Arm, tell Ken and Big to—" Chan started, but the words died on his tongue. 

The driver lifted his gun again, focusing on one of the bikes—Big's. Chan knew it was him, even without looking. 

The world seemed to slow around him, held still in a moment. 

Gunfire tat-tat-tatt ed through the air, bullets pinging off the engine block close to Big's hunched over form. The motorcycle revved, smoke rising from the asphalt as it surged ahead now, trying to get out of range. 

Then a shot hit the back tire. The explosion of air was visible, even from fifty feet away. The bike fishtailed, wobbling dangerously even as Big fought hard to keep it upright. But he was going too fast. Chan knew he was going too fast.

With a screech of metal on pavement, the bike skidded suddenly across the road and flew straight into the dark woods. 

No.

Chan watched it go, breath stolen straight from his lungs. Anger tightened its cold fist around his heart.

His body was moving before he could even think. He shoved the car door open again just as Ben swung back toward the other SUV. Adrenaline surging through him like a rising fire, he leapt across the distance, feet landing on the runner of the enemy SUV and his arm wrapping tightly around the driver's headrest through the open window.

He was sure Ben was yelling at him, and Arm, too, but he couldn't hear anything else over his heartbeat. Black asphalt sped by under his boots, blurred in the darkness, as the SUV sped up the road. 

Stupid. Fucking stupid on so many levels. This wasn't their plan—nothing like it. Fuck.  

But he was there, the driver looking up at him in shock, mouth open. They were so close, nearly embracing, Chan's arm wrapped around the man's shoulders. Fear flashed across the man's face in the uneven light. He hadn't expected this. 

That was all the hesitation Chan needed. 

He raised his gun to the side of the man's head, and pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the confined space like a crack of thunder immediately overhead.

The man collapsed, his limp body thrown to the side by the force of the shot. Underneath them, the SUV lurched toward the center of the road—straight toward the Theerapanyakul car. Ben hit the gas just in time to prevent Chan from being crushed like a bug.

Chan dove forward to steady the wheel, his heart beating hard in his throat.

With the driver dealt with, he pointed his gun now at the man in the passenger seat. Young, too, and afraid, his hand shaking as he raised his gun toward Chan. His face was pale as a ghost, the blood and brain matter of his colleague splattered across his cheeks. He didn't look strong enough to pull the trigger. 

Chan wanted to have pity for him, but he couldn't. That wasn't the type of life either of them had chosen. 

He shot him straight through the forehead, the man collapsing violently back into his seat. The sound of the gunshot was swallowed up by the darkness as the gun dropped from the man's limp hand. 

Two enemies dead, and the SUV now under his control. The whole thing couldn't have taken longer than ten seconds. 

It was quiet, then, for a moment. No gunfire, or roar of the motor coming through. All Chan could hear was his heartbeat, loud in his ears, his hand gripping the wheel of the SUV tightly to keep them on the road. 

Fuck. He didn't have an escape plan. 

The Theerapanyakul car was pulling further ahead, staying well clear of the vehicle so they didn't crush Chan against the frame. Jumping back to their car at speed seemed impossible, and there was no way for him to get inside the cab of this one without letting go of the wheel. The dead man's foot was still on the gas pedal, and the SUV was speeding up on the rising incline of the road. If he jumped off now, he'd survive, but the risk of injury was high. 

And Big… 

Chan shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster and switched his grip to hold the wheel tightly as he leaned into the cab as far as he could to grab the gear stick. The bloody corpse of the driver had collapsed over the gearbox, so he could only guess at whatever the fuck he was doing. The transmission groaned ominously as he ground through the gears until he was finally able to shift the car into a lower gear, and then another.

Even in first gear, momentum and the corpse's foot on the gas kept them going. He yanked at the guy's leg to pull his foot off the gas, but it was stuck somehow. 

He wasn't going to be able to fully stop like this. 

There was only one other option.

Chan wrapped an arm around the headrest before he shoved the steering wheel around, forcing the car toward the forest on the other side of the road, closer to the incline of the hill. The SUV lost some speed as it skidded across the pavement, and more when it started to bump over the dirt and low-lying bushes of the unpaved shoulder, but it was still going far too fast. 

At the last moment, as the trees were looming up in front of him, Chan yanked the steering wheel hard in the opposite direction. The frame rattled through his bones, the suspension creaking uncertainly as the car's back wheels lost their grip. There was a moment of nothingness, almost like weightlessness, when the wheels tried to reconnect to the ground, and then the car spun out, tires scraping across the dirt. 

The centrifugal force of the spin tried to yank him off the car, and Chan tightened his grip around the headrest, trying to stay as close to the car as possible, for when it—

The back end of the SUV slammed into a tree with the sound of shattering glass and the screech of metal, throwing Chan hard against the frame. His breath was knocked out of him all at once, like a punch straight to the solar plexus. His head caught the edge of the window, the metal frame scraping over the rise of his forehead. 

But it was enough. The SUV had stopped. He threw himself off, taking a few stumbling steps back. His whole body felt flushed with energy, his pulse racing at his throat. His head throbbed fiercely, in time with his heartbeat, and his chest ached like he had taken a bullet straight into a Kevlar vest. 

But he was alive. 

Chan looked up the road. The Theerapanyakul SUV was rapidly disappearing into the distance, red taillights being swallowed in the darkness. There was no way he would catch up to them without a car.

The priority was the chase, and Kinn. Chan knew that. He had a mission to complete. 

But for an odd, uneasy moment—he hesitated.

He looked over his shoulder, but couldn't see where the motorcycle had gone off into the trees. They weren't that far off, though, and there was no sign of Big. If he hadn't been injured by the crash or the shots fired at him, he should have been coming up the road by now.

The uneasiness deepened, cold in his gut.

His walkie talkie chirped, a crackling voice breaking through his stillness. "Sir? We heard a crash. Chan? Respond."

He unclipped the walkie from his belt and raised it to his lips. Despite his racing heart, his voice sounded calm as ever. "I'm fine. No major injuries." 

Arm's voice crackled through the speaker, growing fainter with every second. They would be out of range soon. "Do you want us to return? To pick you up?"

"No, keep on the truck. I'll catch up."

Chan watched down the road for one more moment, then turned away.

The priority was Kinn. He couldn't go back for one bodyguard, no matter his instincts screaming otherwise.

He dragged the dead driver out of the car and left him behind some bushes at the side of the road. They would have to come collect the bodies later. Distasteful as it was, he left the other man slumped over in the passenger seat. There was no time.

The cab reeked with the overwhelming smell of iron and something else, too human and fetid to put to name. The blood-soaked gear shift stuck to his hand as he shifted the car back into Drive.

But when he tried to accelerate, a terrible wrenching sound cut through the air, like the car was being torn apart. Shifting it into Reverse, he tried again. The SUV shuddered again, the frame creaking ominously under the strain, but it wouldn't budge. 

Chan swore under his breath and shoved the door open. As he circled the car, the problem was immediately obvious—the SUV's back wheel was pinned against a tree, the frame crumpled in completely around the well. Even if he could get the car on the road, the wheel couldn't spin. 

It should have pissed him off, but instead all he felt was a strange sense of relief. There was no way to catch up to the others, now. 

The rules for what he should have done next were simple and clear: he should have contacted the Theerapanyakul compound, called for backup, and waited for someone to come pick him up to rejoin the pursuit team. This was the protocol he had written himself—the same one he had taught to every bodyguard he had ever trained. 

He didn't do any of that. 

Though Arm was likely out of range by now, Chan lifted the walkie talkie again and sent the message anyway. "Car won't start. Going to find Big."

It was a rookie mistake in the end, the kind of mistake Chan had warned against, again and again, with each new class of bodyguard recruits. He had said it thousands of times before, the words familiar as his own breath—

Never attempt a rescue alone.

Never in the dark, in unfamiliar terrain, with possible enemies still at large. Never unprepared, rushing, heartbeat thundering, the memory of the familiar form on a motorcycle veering off into the trees sharper than the shaky outline of the underbrush in the lone beam of his flashlight. 

Not even if he saw Big, there, close, a tangle of limbs in the dark, helmet flashing under the light, body eerily still as Chan rushed toward him—

The soft ground gave way under Chan's boot like the release of a trapdoor, and his heart dropped with it. Immediately, he knew what had happened. He had just enough time to press the alarm on his walkie talkie before the hidden cliff, or unstable ledge, or any number of things he hadn't been able to see in the dark, collapsed completely under his weight, and took him—and Big—with it. 

"Fuck!" 

Landslides like this didn't make much sound, but he could feel it, the way the ground was there one moment and gone the next, like the jaws of a predator yawning open in the earth. As he fell, he tried to reach out for Big, but he was too far away.

A moment later, the jaws of the earth snapped shut and swallowed him up completely.

The world spun around him, flashes of dark trees and the slim curve of the moon a zoetrope of motion, spinning, spinning, dirt and leaves and pain as he hit rock and saplings bowed under the pressure of the landslide. Cool earth rained over his face, the scent of petrichor and a strange fresh sweetness caught in the back of his throat as he inhaled reflexively, before snapping his mouth shut. 

He knew better than to fight earth, or gravity in this. For a few precious moments, he was at the mercy of nature, and he could do nothing else.

The churn of the earth ripped his flashlight out of his hands and knocked the walkie talkie from his belt. He had just enough presence of mind to hope like hell the safety of the gun tucked against his ribs didn't get unlocked by a rock and get him killed in the stupidest way possible, before he shut his eyes and curled his body up to cover his head and neck with his hands. He rolled into the inevitable pull, allowing the earth to sweep him away.

A few endless, breathless moments gripped tight by the landslide, breath punched from his lungs by every impact of his body against the ground, the slide of earth and rock spit him free—and straight into a cold pool of water. 

Chan plunged to the bottom of the river, the icy water knocking the last of his breath right out of him. For a moment, he couldn't tell which way was up. The current grabbed him immediately, slamming his knees and shoulder into the rocks as it dragged him quickly downstream.

Fuck.

He kicked off one of the large rocks at the bottom of the river and surfaced with a gasp, his lungs burning for air. To his relief, the edge of the water was only a few strokes away. He pulled himself out across the slippery rocks with shaking arms. Adrenaline rushed through him as he pushed himself to standing, blood running hot in contrast to his freezing skin. 

He took a quick inventory of himself. Cold water plastered his clothes to his skin, droplets slipping down his neck and off the ends of his fingers. His head and ribs still throbbed with the earlier injury, and his body ached as if he had completed a hundred training drills with the new recruits, but otherwise he felt fine. Well, if not fine—alive, at least. 

The walkie talkie and the case of extra gun cartridges had both been ripped from his belt by the fall, but the knife in his boot was in its scabbard and his gun was tucked under his arm, the safety still on. 

Only three bullets, though. Not much help if they ran into their enemies. He shoved the gun back in the holster, grimacing.

He no longer had his flashlight, or his phone, which had been left in the Theerapanyakul car before his ill-conceived assault on the enemy SUV. If he had taken a moment to think before he jumped across, then—no. No, there was no use thinking about it, now. It wouldn't do any good. 

He was alone. At an unknown point on a quiet forest road, miles from the closest city, or phone. No way to call for help, or find his team. Or Big. 

It took a long moment for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight that threaded its way through the heavy canopy above. The forest came into focus around him slowly, the slim line of trees in the dark, some split open by the force of the landslide, the white pulp inside glowing eerily bright in the moonlight. The landslide only looked to be about ten meters in width, an uneven slope of dark earth rising from the water at the bottom of the ravine and disappearing back up into the darkness of the hill. 

If he and Big had been close at the top of the hill, Big should be nearby, now. But he wasn't in the water, or anywhere else in sight. 

The ground slipped under Chan as he tried to walk, bits of the crumpled undergrowth falling away from under his boots. He scanned across the forest, looking for any sign of Big. Although he had only been a step or two away from him at the top of the hill, Chan didn't see him anywhere, now. 

No shining helmet, no dark form on the ground. Nothing but the cold slope of earth in the dark of the night, and the oppressive quiet of the forest settling in around him. 

Did he get pulled under the landslide?

Chan's whole body went cold, colder than the plunge into the river. He could feel each breath like the abrupt inhale of water at the moment of drowning, sharp and fatal, that last moment of bodily betrayal. If he was under the earth, Chan couldn't—

He bit his tongue, hard, the pain abruptly yanking his mind back to the present. 

Focus. Next option.

It was dangerous—giving away their location to anyone that could be around them in the dark—but there was little choice. He could only hope Big was conscious enough to hear him.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, loud as he could: "Big!" 

His voice echoed through the trees, disappearing into the blue forest. Wind whistled through the canopy, shadows falling from the leaves overhead. He was breathing hard, but he couldn't feel his heartbeat. Instead, his whole body felt attuned to every little sound, any slight rustle of the trees. He tried to listen for any response, any human sound, but there was none.

Chan turned and called again. And again. And again, his voice more desperate—no, not desperate—commanding each time. But the forest remained silent. 

Fuck.

Next option.

He would have to go back up top and try to find a flashlight, or a phone. 

Getting in contact with the others to help search would be the best option. It was obvious he needed more resources to look for Big. 

But he knew that if he was able to get back to the other bodyguards, he couldn't order them to turn their attention to locating Big, regardless of his possible injuries—it wouldn't be right, not if Kinn was still missing. They couldn't divert resources from finding their boss to finding one missing bodyguard. 

He would have to go back to his original mission, and leave the search for Big for after.

And that was correct. Getting back to the search for Kinn—that was his job. No matter how hard it was, nothing else should matter. 

Every other day, he had made that same decision. But here, alone in the blue shadow of the forest, knowing he was the only one who could help Big, he couldn't. And the truth was, he had already made his choice the moment he had turned around on the road. 

He wouldn't just leave Big here. He would get whatever supplies he could and return to the search—alone, if necessary.

Chan started up the hill, the ground slippery and uneven under his boots as he crisscrossed the slope. Each step was a struggle, like fighting through quicksand, the loose soil swallowing his foot up to the ankle every time and refusing to let go. Tangling branches and the remains of crushed saplings hidden under the earth tripped him up, forcing him to go slow. 

Every couple of feet, he called out for Big again, hoping for a response, but there was only silence.

Maybe Big hadn't fallen as far as he had. Maybe he was higher up the slope, waiting for someone to find him. 

With every step through the quiet darkness, however, the hope slipped further and further away. 

And then, a sound. Quiet, but unmistakable. It sounded like the rustle of a bird, at first, sheltering in the bushes, but instead of stopping when Chan hurried as quickly as he could across the sloping ground toward it, the shaking increased, clearly against the wind. 

"Big?" 

There was the quiet groan, muffled against dirt or his clothes or—the helmet. Of course.

It was strange. The moment Chan saw Big's body sprawled behind a half-crushed mao soi bush, he nearly lost his footing, or it felt like it, the ground slipping under him and his heart juddering in his chest. 

For a moment, he had thought—but it didn't matter. The world snapped back into focus around him, sharp as a knife against his skin. Every sound was magnified, and his eyes focused in on Big through the faint moonlight. 

Big was lying on his side, his head pointed downhill, his knees curled up close to his chest. One hand was pressed under his chin, the other weakly wrapped around a low-hanging branch of the crushed bush. 

Chan couldn't tell, in the dark, if the dark splotches on his hand were dirt, or blood. 

He fell to his knees beside Big, eyes scanning over him for obvious injuries. It didn't comfort him as much as it should that he couldn't see any. 

"Big, are you injured?"

Big shifted slightly, like he was trying to roll over to lie on his back, the helmet scraping against the ground. He muttered something that Chan couldn't understand. A slim stripe of pale skin was visible between his collar and the bottom of the helmet, glimmering with sweat. His throat moved as he swallowed. 

Chan wrapped one hand around his shoulder and tried to pull him the rest of the way over, but as soon as he did, Big groaned, pain obvious, and Chan let go. 

Gently, he unclipped the helmet and pulled it off, cradling a hand under Big's head to lay him back on the earth. His hair was plastered to his sweaty face, the curve of his head hot in the curve of Chan's palm, but there were no cuts or injuries. He was relieved to see Big's eyes flicker open, even if his gaze couldn't quite focus on Chan's face.

Big muttered something again—and this time, without that last barrier, it was obvious what he was trying to say. 

"Chan."

Chan.

Relief arrowed straight through Chan's chest, sweet and painful. His voice, thankfully, remained steady. "Yeah, it's me. I'm here. Are you injured, Big?" 

Big blinked slowly, obviously coming back to himself. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. It wasn't a great sign that his reaction times were so slow, but he seemed to recognize Chan, so it wasn't as bad as it might have been. He was probably just disoriented from the crash, and the landslide. 

Finally, Big spoke, his voice weak. "Y-yeah. Wrist." 

He lifted up the hand that had been curled to his chest and Chan caught it, gentling his grip when Big hissed in pain. It wasn't particularly swollen as far as Chan could tell in the low light—Big had bony wrists, and they looked the same as ever. 

"Can you move your hand?" 

"Yeah. Hurts..." Big's eyebrows pressed together in that familiar way, pain clear in his expression, but he spread open his fingers and closed them into a fist a couple of times. Probably not a break, though it couldn't be ruled out until they got back to the compound and had it x-rayed. 

Chan set Big's arm gently back down, trying not to jostle him too much.

"And your head?" 

"'s okay. Just… just… dizzy." Big blinked slowly, his eyes focusing in on Chan's face. For a long moment, he just stared, before surprise lifted his eyebrows. "Chan?" 

"Yeah?" Chan waited, but Big didn't say anything else. Strange. "Can you feel your legs?"

Big blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I can feel them. Can really feel—hm." He shifted again, moving his legs slightly, but froze a second later, his face blanching. "Yeah. Yeah." 

He obviously didn't want to admit how badly it hurt, but it was clear through his expression anyway.

"Big," Chan started, his voice sharper than he wanted it to be, "you'll tell me if something hurts, understand?" 

Big's eyes, large and dark on his pale face, focused in on Chan. 

Guilt wound its hot grip around his throat. Here Big was, in pain, in the dark, just thrown from a motorcycle and pulled under a landslide Chan had caused with his own recklessness, and Chan was yelling at him instead of making him comfortable. 

"Okay," Big replied, his voice quiet. "Sorry."

Normally, Chan didn't need apologies, or excuses. He just wanted the truth when asking questions, and obedience when giving orders. This time, though, he felt like he should be the one apologizing. 

But he couldn't apologize, couldn't take that kind of step back. Instead, he made himself relax, softening the expression on his face. He found himself wanting to reach out and touch Big's shoulder, not to assess him, but to comfort him. It was so strange it took him an extra second before he could reply. 

"I just need the truth, Big," he said, gentle as he knew how. It still felt too harsh. "What's wrong with your legs?"

Big's eyes didn't move from him. "Hurts," he said quietly. He sounded less off kilter than before, the apology slipping from his voice. "My left one, the thigh. I think I hit it on a branch when I fell, maybe, or something. I can't tell."

That was the side Big was lying on, so Chan couldn't see anything. "Okay. Let's get you on your back."

He helped Big roll over, trying not to let the pained grimace Big made, or the whimper he swallowed down, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, affect him. Pain was temporary. Treatment was more important.

"Tell me where it hurts," Chan said. 

The fact that he waited until Big nodded slightly in reply made it feel like he was asking for permission rather than giving a command, which was a troubling thought. He pushed it from his mind. 

Big lay back with a groan, his legs stretched out awkwardly up the hill. 

Chan reached over and felt along Big's side, sliding his hand down his hip before wrapping his hands around his thigh, feeling for anything strange or for a reaction from Big. 

And there, halfway down on the outside of Big's thigh, was a tear in his trousers, and he could feel something wet, and warm. The metallic burn of iron filled his nose, and Chan felt his heart contract. He moved his hand more fully over the wound, searching over the edges of it with his fingers, before he squeezed slightly. 

Immediately, Big shouted in pain, his whole body contracting toward the source before he arched back, twisting away, boots kicking across the dirt. His hand reached out and grabbed a handful of Chan's trousers, twisting the fabric between his fingers. Chan barely felt it.

"Fuck, Chan," Big groaned, all propriety stripped away by pain. "Hurts." A sob caught in his throat, his chest heaving, before he swallowed it down into silence. His face looked even more pale in the light. 

Chan raised one hand away from the wound with a strange, cold sense of certainty settling over his shoulders. Even in the faint moonlight, he could tell it was blood. A lot of it. 

This was bad. 

He needed to remain calm. 

Because Big was looking up at him, and Chan could read the fear and understanding on his face. He knew the facts, just as well as Chan did: they were far from any kind of help. 

"How bad is it?" Big asked, his voice thready with pain. Sweat shone on his forehead. "S-sir, how bad is it?"

"Let me look at it," Chan said, his voice calm despite the quick beat of his heart. 

He was moving without thinking, years of training kicking in all at once. He pulled the knife from his boot and cut up the ragged tear of Big's trousers, trying to widen the gap so he could see. 

Dark blood spilled over Big's thigh from the wound. Most was already dried, sticking the fabric to his skin, but in the center of it all was a large gash in the flesh that looked more like the path cut by a bullet than anything he could have gotten from being thrown from the motorcycle. Fresh blood glistened as it oozed from the rent flesh. 

"Not a branch," he said slowly. "It's a bullet wound."

A flash of anger burned under Chan's skin for a moment at the thought of the men in the SUV, raising their guns up the road at the motorcycles racing ahead of them, the sparks of the bullets pinging off the ground.

He reminded himself that those men were now dead. 

And they needed to staunch the bleeding. Chan put the knife between his teeth and yanked, hard, at the sleeve of his shirt, ripping it away at the shoulder seam. He folded the fabric as well as he could in the dark and pressed it over the wound.

Big flinched, his whole body gone taut, but didn't cry out this time. Instead, he made a terrible, quiet sound, eyes flashing shut, which was worse.

But he didn't need any instructions, either. After a moment to catch his breath, he reached out and pressed his good hand over the makeshift bandage, holding it in place with shaking fingers.

It'll be okay.

But Chan couldn't say that. Not when he didn't know if it was true. Instead, he just nodded. He yanked off his other sleeve, the sound of the seam ripping loud in the quiet forest. Otherwise, all he could hear was Big's breaths, quick and uneven. 

He folded up the other sleeve and lifted Big's hand to press it over the first bandage, forcing himself to ignore how cold Big's hand felt underneath his. It was probably just adrenaline, or something similar, not blood loss, or shock.

Next, he unclipped his belt—there was nothing left attached to it, anyway—and gently lifted Big's thigh up to wrap it around the bandage. Big grit his teeth, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

The control lasted until Chan tightened the belt right over the wound. As he pressed down, Big cried out again, his hand flying out to grab Chan's arm in a painful grip.

"Big, it needs to be tight," he said, ignoring the way his throat hurt at the whimper Big swallowed down. He knew it had to hurt like hell, but it was better to have it tight than have it not apply any pressure and for Big to bleed out, here. 

Another thing he couldn't think about.

He wrapped the end of the belt in a knot to hold it steady. The main injury dealt with, Chan quickly ran his free hand down the rest of Big's leg, and then the other, and back up his chest, but there was no other wound that he could feel. 

"Anything else hurt?" Chan asked. 

Big shook his head slightly, clearly unable to speak. His face was pale and sheened with sweat, dirt streaked across his temples. He hadn't opened his eyes again. His breathing was shallow and now nearly silent. 

There wasn't anything more Chan could do now to treat the wound, or help with the pain. Not without any other supplies, or idea of how to contact the others. All he could do was watch the unsteady rise and fall of Big's chest, something twisting in his heart after every small sound of pain coming from his lips.

As the moments passed into silence and his breathing settled down, Chan realized Big was still holding his arm. Either Big hadn't noticed, or he had noticed but the pain was bad enough to need something to hold onto anyway. 

Either way, he wasn't going to tell him to let go. 

Chan shifted to sit down next to him, careful not to jostle him at all. As he moved closer, Big's loosened hand slipped down his arm, pulling it closer to his chest. Chan let him, ignoring the way he could feel every brush of Big's fingers against his palm each time he breathed out. 

It was just the way his hand was wrapped awkwardly around Chan's wrist that was causing it. Big didn't even seem to be conscious of it.

It was too quiet, with only the sounds of the woods around them. As his heartbeat slowed into a regular rhythm, he could feel the adrenaline leaving his body in waves, like a tide pulling away from shore. A chill slowly spilled over him, starting from the top of his head and poured down his arms, his hands going cold. 

His hand shook as he rubbed his forehead and pushed his hair off his face. He couldn't think straight—the only thing holding him to Earth was Big's hand wrapped warmly around his wrist.

There had to be something else he could do tonight, though he couldn't think of anything. Alone, and with Big unable to walk, his options were limited. 

Waiting would be the safest choice. The wound was bad—not dangerously so, but the longer they stayed here, the more dangerous it would become. 

It wasn't that long until dawn, when it would be easier to carry Big back up the hill to the road. Not easy, but doable. He could try now, but without light, or any way to check his path in the dark, carrying an injured Big through the loose soil and fallen brush would be akin to torture. 

If he left Big and went up alone, he wasn't sure he could find him again in the dark. And if something happened to him while Chan was gone…

No, leaving him wasn't an option. 

Chan looked over at Big, whose eyes were still closed. Tears glinted at the corners of his dark lashes, the trails of shed ones marking paths down his cheeks. 

He was struck by the strange urge to brush some of Big's hair back from his face, to try to lessen the pain that was evident there. But that would be a step too far, even in a situation like this. 

Instead, he put his hand over Big's. It worried him that Big hardly reacted to the touch, although when he guided Big's hand down to clasp it more securely in his own, something loosened slightly in Big's expression, his breath coming in a steadier rhythm. When he squeezed slightly, Big's hand tightened in his in response. 

It should have settled something in him, to have Big holding his hand like it was a lifeline he needed. But he felt uneasy, like he was doing something he knew he shouldn't. 

For all of his training in stillness, and waiting, the minutes passing by seemed to drag on for far longer than they should. He seemed conscious of every breath, of every passing second. At least he didn't hear any enemies nearby—although he didn't hear anyone else, either. 

He had to do something—but he could only do nothing.

When it seemed like a reasonable amount of time had passed, he leaned in toward Big, speaking quietly. "I'm going to check the bandage."

Big's eyes blinked open slowly, as if he had been woken from sleep. "Okay," he murmured, voice weak. 

He saw Big's gaze slip from his face and down to where their clasped hands rested on Big's chest. His eyes flashed back up to Chan. They were close enough that even in the low, silvered light, he could see the flush that spread over Big's face. 

Chan waited, breath held still. He tried to keep his expression neutral. Whatever Big chose, he would respect it. 

But even though Big looked—for lack of a better word—embarrassed, he didn't let go, or pull away. And so neither did Chan. 

A cool sense of relief spread over him as he touched the bandage and found it dry. No blood had soaked through, which meant the bleeding had slowed, or perhaps stopped. Which meant Big was safe, for the moment.

Big made a small, choked-off noise in the back of his throat as Chan pressed around the edge of the bandage. His hand tightened around Chan's, pulling it closer to his chest.

"How is the pain?" Chan asked. 

Big's jaw flexed. He licked his lips, his voice hoarse as he tried to speak. "Painful." He winced, for once not in actual pain, but as if realizing he had made a joke and hadn't meant to. "But it's not as bad if I don't move, or no one touches it—"

He cut himself off, eyes flicking up to Chan and then away. He seemed to think he had misstepped.

A strange mixture of regret and amusement curled in Chan's chest. "I know it's bad," he said softly, aware of something else, quiet and unexpected, under his words. Something like, I'm sorry. "It's only to check it."

Big looked back up at him. Tentative relief opened up his expression. "I know. It's… it's fine," he said. He took a deep breath, seeming to gear himself up. "How bad is it, sir?"

Chan couldn't help his moment of hesitation before he spoke, trying to figure out the right words. Another thing he wasn't practiced in. 

"It's not very good," Chan said, not wanting to hide the truth. "The wound looked deep—the doctors need to look at it when we get back."

Big's expression crumpled slightly. His eyebrows pressed together, worry clear across his face. He had never been good at hiding his feelings. 

Chan found himself continuing. "But the bleeding's stopped, so you aren't in immediate danger. When we get back to the compound, the doctors will look at it, and fix it."

He didn't know if that was true, but the medical team was damn well going to try, if they wanted to remain in Theerapanyakul employ.

When we get back. Another promise he couldn't make.

Big's gaze flickered away, some private agony flitting over his face. He was silent.

It had only been a couple of months ago that Big had sat in the Theerapanyakul compound hospital room, his jaw set as the doctor dug out strips of brown-red fabric from his upper arm. That wound had been bad, too—deep enough to require a later surgery to realign the bone and a sling that Big had to wear for weeks. 

The long, ugly pink scar it left across his bicep had drawn Chan's eye the day Big was finally well enough again to run drills in the pool again. Big had been injured before, of course, but nothing that had kept him out of commission for as long as this had. No other injury brought up the memory of Big trudging through the front door of the Theerapanyakul building that night, hours after being declared missing by the recovery team, smelling of gunsmoke and the bite of iron, each step smearing blood across the marble floor. 

Nothing else had tightened the claws of that sharp, cold hand of fear into Chan's heart quite like the word coming over the radio that Big was missing, possibly dead or taken hostage. Nothing else had forced him still, for the first time in years, with that gut-deep certainty that he had lost something he had only just realized was important. 

Then, like now, he wanted to say that the most important thing was that Big was alive. But he knew it wouldn't be enough for Big. 

Big had just been able to return to Kinn's service recently. That, more than simply being alive, was what was important to him, and it wasn't something he wanted to give up again so soon. 

For all of Chan's skills, he was terrible at the one thing Big probably needed right now, which was comfort. All he could do was sit there with him in the quiet darkness, and wait.

Eventually, though, Big spoke. "It's my fault, anyway."

Chan frowned, both at the words and the resigned tone. "Your fault?"

"Yes, sir," Big replied lowly. "It's my fault. I know. I was thinking… when they started shooting, I should have pulled further ahead and gotten out of range. I lost control of the bike. I'm sorry."

Chan's frown deepened. Anger burned up his spine, too fast to control. "No."

At the harsh response, Big stiffened, eyes wide. His voice was unsure when he spoke. "I'm sor—uh. I mean, I'll try—"

"No," Chan cut him off, voice still too sharp. But he couldn't let Big continue down that line of thought. "Big, stop."

Big immediately fell silent. The color on his cheeks deepened, his mouth pressed in a pained line.

Chan took a slow breath in, let it out. "What I meant," he said, each word deliberate, "is that's not what happened. You didn't lose control of the bike. You were shot."

"My leg, yeah. I know. That's when I went right—"

" No. A bullet hit your tire. You kept control for a second, but the back tire blew out." He paused, remembering the way his heart had stilled in his chest as he watched the motorcycle fly off the road. "I saw it happen. It's not your fault, Big."

What he didn't say was that if it was anyone's fault, it was his own, for not telling Big to get out of the way in time. 

Big was quiet. "I don't remember that… just the bike, out of control, and I couldn't…" He frowned and shook his head. "I tried to do what you taught me, just let the brake go and slow down, but I was going too fast, I think. The bike just swerved, or something. I couldn't stop it. And then…I don't know what happened. I woke up here, to someone calling for me."

"Do you remember crashing?" 

"No. I mean, I don't know. I was on the road with the car, and Ken on the other bike, then it was just—just dark. I was on the ground. Then everything went really…weird." Big frowned. "Everything was moving. I don't know what happened."

"There was a mountain slide." Chan motioned around the dark slope.

Big turned his head, looking confused, as if he had just realized what had happened. Perhaps he had. He had been shot and thrown from a motorcycle just before the landslide. It would make sense he wouldn't remember. 

"My fault," Chan continued. 

Immediately, Big's gaze snapped back to him. "Sir, it's not your—"

Chan cut him off again—gentler, this time. "Yes, it was." 

Still, Big looked like he was going to protest, and Chan felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips, even as guilt twisted his stomach. 

"That's not necessary, Big. I made a… mistake." The word was hard to say, but Chan made himself say it anyway. This, at least, was a truth he could offer. "I triggered the landslide, coming to get you. It's my fault we're down here."

Big's mouth dropped open at the admission.

"N-no…" he started, but couldn't quite get anything else out. He looked stunned at Chan admitting to a mistake.

His obvious shock turned the pull at Chan's lips into an actual grin. He didn't know why it was so funny. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline wearing off, or the absurdity of the entire situation.

Perhaps that's what made him ask. "Do you think I wouldn't admit to making a mistake?" 

Big's cheeks looked flushed, and he was still staring at Chan. "I… I don't think you have, before. Not to me," he said slowly. He hurried to add on, "But I think you would."

Chan raised his eyebrows. 

" If you made one." 

That made Chan huff out something like a laugh. His whole career felt riddled with mistakes. In his job, perfection was expected. Anything less than that was unacceptable. 

He knew he presented another face to his colleagues, because that's what they expected. If they were going to follow him, they needed to believe in him. But it wasn't true. He wasn't infallible. Nothing close, in fact.

The darkness and the quiet allowed him to continue, the truth slipping out more easily this time.

"No one is above mistakes," he said quietly. "Especially me, Big." 

Big frowned, his disbelief obvious. "Like what?" 

There were a million things Chan could have listed: times when he had paused a moment too long or moved too soon, when his plans failed to anticipate their enemy's actions accurately enough, when he had followed orders against his better instincts. When people he had trained, had cared for, had led into the fight, had ended up dead at his feet, or bleeding out in his arms, or fallen somewhere too far for him to ever reach. 

He could have admitted to the attention he had paid to Big these last few years, more than he paid to anyone else, far past what was required as the head of security. He could have admitted to the concern he felt every time Big had gone out on assignment, and the relief he felt when he returned, safe. He could have admitted to the satisfaction he got when Big came to him to talk about a problem he was having, or the painful, juvenile envy he felt when he caught Big staring after Kinn with something hungry and plaintive in his gaze. 

These were all mistakes he had allowed himself to make—and continued making. 

But he didn't say any of them. There were some things he could not admit to, even now.

"I shouldn't have come after you, alone," he said, instead. The words still tasted like truth, and the bitterness of guilt. "I was rushing, not thinking. I didn't check the surroundings well enough. Didn't wait for backup." He shook his head. "All mistakes, Big—rookie mistakes, even."

For several long moments, Big just watched him, dark brows pressed together. In the faint light, it was difficult to read his expression, or guess what he was thinking of. 

Chan didn't know what he would say if Big asked why he had made those rookie mistakes. He wasn't sure he could lie.

"Where are the others?" Big asked suddenly. "Did they get Khun Kinn already?"

Chan felt the words like a knife in his chest, severing the strange, intimate aura that had fallen over them with a reminder of the outside world. Of course, Big was right to be worried about Kinn. Chan should be, too—but he hadn't thought of him in what felt like hours. It seemed unimportant compared to what was happening with Big. 

He swallowed down the disappointment and tried to keep his voice neutral. "No, they were still on his trail when I came to find you."

Big's frown—instead of lifting—only deepened. He looked troubled.

"They'll find him, Big," Chan said, trying to inject a note of comfort into his voice. It felt strange, and insincere, coming from him, though he was as confident of the words as he could be. "I'm sure they will. Khun Kinn will be alright. You don't need to worry."

"That's not what I—" Big shook his head slightly, as if he were trying to clear it. "I just mean… sir, why are you here? " 

Surprise jolted Chan's heart. He allowed himself a pause before he replied. "What do you mean?"

Big opened his mouth like he was going to reply, then closed it. He shook his head again. 

The order to speak was just on the tip of Chan's tongue before he stopped himself. That wasn't how he wanted this to go. He found himself squeezing Big's hand in encouragement, instead. 

"Big, ask me."

Big's grip tightened in return, just for a breath, before he looked back up at Chan. The sharp cut of his gaze pierced through the dark night, pinning Chan in place with its intensity. 

"Sir, why…" Big started, his voice hoarse. He swallowed, throat bobbing. "Why did you come to find me? Instead of…"

Kinn.

Chan didn't have an answer for that, at least not one that felt true. The silence that passed before he spoke was far too long.

Finally, he settled on: "I got separated from the others."

"How?" Big asked, that intent look still on his face. 

"We were being shot at, so I jumped over to the other SUV to deal with the shooters," he said, keeping his voice neutral. Factual. "I couldn't get back. The others were still in pursuit, so I told them to follow the truck without me."

Big's eyes went wide. "You jumped over? " he asked, voice high in surprise. "While it was driving?"

Something akin to embarrassment warmed Chan's cheeks. The only consolation he had was he knew it wasn't visible to Big. 

"Yes."

"Shit, Chan, that's really cool," Big breathed. 

He was looking up at Chan like he had done something better than lose control of his temper in one of the most dangerous ways he ever had. As if he had actually done something to be admired for.

Chan wanted to say there was nothing cool about his actions, that it was nothing more than the burn of pure adrenaline and rage taking over his instincts. But the way Big was looking at him, open and amazed, made the words catch in his throat. 

Big shook his head, a grin curling helplessly at his lips. "Uh, sorry, not to swear—I just mean… that's so cool, sir." 

"It's fine." Chan felt an answering smile press at his cheeks, amused despite himself. He wasn't sure if it was that amusement, or the steady rise and fall of Big's chest under their intertwined hands that made him continue. The reminder that Big was alive, and important. "And you don't need to be so formal out here, Big. When it's just us, it's okay." 

Big blinked, surprised. His eyes flicked away, then back, tentative. "Okay…" he said slowly. "Chan."

He pressed his lips together, watching Chan closely, as if afraid he had made a mistake. 

Chan squeezed his hand gently in encouragement, watching the expressions that flit across Big's face. It felt strange, and wrong, to keep holding him like this, as if Chan were violating a rule he had never fully articulated to himself. 

But Big squeezed his hand in response, fingers warm against his skin. His thumb brushed over Chan's, so quick it might have been an accident. 

Chan's breath caught in his throat as warmth suffused through him, gentle enough to take him by surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both watching their clasped hands instead of the other's face. 

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Big asked. "Chan?"

This time, Chan really couldn't hold back the smile that threatened his lips. 

He saw the moment it hit Big, his cheeks gone pink, his lips falling open slightly. It was different from any expression he had seen from him before. It looked almost like the look he gave Kinn, in a way. 

An answering heat washed over Chan's face, trailing down his neck. 

But still, he shook his head, the smile stubbornly refusing to fade. "No. You shouldn't ever do it."

Big looked disappointed. "I promise I won't actually do it. I just want to learn how." 

"I trust that you wouldn't," Chan said, amusement seeping into his tone. "But the others… I'm not sure they wouldn't try it, if they knew about it. So I don't want it put in their heads."

Big made a face and seemed to consider this. "I guess that's true," he said slowly, though his disappointment was obvious. "What happened to the SUV, anyway?"

This time, Chan grimaced. "Well, I crashed it."

At Big's look, he added: " Carefully. " 

Big didn't look convinced, which Chan guessed was fair, considering how hard the SUV had slammed into the tree and how badly his ribs still ached, even now.

"But it wouldn't drive. And it wasn't that far from where you had gone off the road, so I just…" For once, the words failed him. He made a motion toward the forest, deep and still around them. 

"So, you… came for me?" 

There was a strange note to Big's voice, something tentative and searching. It slipped its way straight through Chan's ribs and tugged, very lightly, on his heart. There was nothing to say but the truth. 

"Yes."

"Oh." Big fell silent. His gaze slipped away, lashes sweeping darkly over his eyes, hiding his expression from Chan's curious look. 

Chan thought he knew all of Big's expressions, but he was unfamiliar with whatever emotions flit across his face, now. Darkness blanketed them both, cool and soft. 

After a long moment, Big finally looked back up at him. "That's not our protocol."

That little tug at the center of his chest twisted slightly, at the cross of pain and hope.

"Correct," Chan replied, meeting Big's gaze steadily. He couldn't make himself say more. He had said too much tonight, already. More than he had ever planned to. 

"Our protocol is to contact the compound, to call for backup."

"Correct."

"You always follow protocol," Big said, though it was closer to a question than a statement.

Chan didn't reply. Couldn't. The truth was stuck somewhere in his chest, crushed again and again into something smaller and heavier each time, something now impossible for him to lift.

Big's gaze fell, then, to their entwined hands resting on his chest. For a brief, sharp moment, Chan thought he might pull away. 

Instead, he murmured softly, almost silently, "You came for me." 

It wasn't exactly a question this time, but Chan found himself answering anyway. His voice was as soft as Big's. "Correct."

Big didn't say anything else. He couldn't quite seem to meet Chan's gaze.

The darkness closed in around them, pressing in tighter with each breath. Apprehension ratcheted up Chan's heartbeat with each rustle of the trees under the wind, each distant sound of animals under the brush. 

A slow chill settled over his shoulders and crawled down his skin the longer Big remained silent. The weight and heat of their clasped hands burned by comparison, but he still didn't pull away. All he could do was wait. 

Finally, Big took in a deep breath, and looked up at him again. "Was it"—his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice hoarse—"was it a mistake?"

Of all the questions he thought Big would ask, Chan hadn't expected that. The threads of their conversation tangled together in his mind as he tried to pick out the right one to follow Big's thoughts.

"Coming after you, you mean?" he asked, finally.

Big nodded. 

"No." The answer was immediate, and decisive. "I'd make the same choice now."

Some emotion Chan didn't recognize slipped open Big's expression, revealing something quiet and true hidden there. In the velvety darkness, his black eyes seemed sable-soft as he looked up at Chan, his cheeks burning pink on his pale face. 

Chan's breath caught in his throat.

It was just for a moment, before Big seemed to become aware of himself again, and his expression closed back down, gaze slipping away. But it was enough. 

Hope was a painful thing, Chan knew. But he couldn't help the sharp, sweet curl of it that tightened in the center of his chest, digging its claws into his heart. He had never seen Big look like that before, and there was no guarantee he ever would again. But if the truth is what did it, perhaps he could try. If Big asked.

"Okay," Big said, his voice soft. 

His hand tightened, pulling Chan's closer. For a moment, in the faint silver light, a smile glimmered at the corners of his lips, before it slipped away.

As the pale grey dawn began to filter in around them, Chan wrapped Big's arm around his shoulder and helped pull him to his feet. 

Big groaned, low in his throat, as he got his good leg under him, even this little movement jostling his injured leg. His body was warm where he leaned heavily against Chan, the weight of him like the full press of a heated blanket. He was already breathing hard, like he had just finished running a mile, instead of just standing up. 

"Are you sure you want to try?" Chan asked, tightening his arm around Big's waist and trying to take on more of his weight. "Carrying you would be better."

Big's jaw flexed, determination stealing over his expression. He was glaring up the hill like he could force it shorter with just his gaze. 

"I can do it," he replied, confidence strengthening his voice.

The effect, however, was ruined the next moment. Chan stepped forward slowly, keeping a firm grip around his waist. Big's arm tightened over his shoulder as he tried to swing his leg and move along with him. 

"Ah!" he cried, the word dissolving into a pained whimper. 

Immediately, Chan stopped.

Big's fingers dug into his bicep, pain clear across his expression as he tried to stay standing. His face had gone sheet-white. He breathed in shakily, and tried another small hop. 

All the warning Chan got was a sharp inhale before Big's leg crumpled abruptly under him. 

Chan only just managed to wrap his other arm around Big's waist to prevent him from collapsing face-first onto the dirt. As it was, it was all he could do to follow the momentum of the fall and slowly lower them both in an inelegant tangle of limbs back onto the forest floor. 

Big groaned as Chan gently set him down, the sound reverberating through his chest where they were pressed tightly together. 

Chan swore under his breath. He tried to be careful and not jostle Big so much as he pulled himself free.

He helped roll Big over onto his back again, trying to keep his injured leg straight. As he went to inspect the bandage, Big bit down on another cry of pain, his hand shooting out to grab Chan's wrist as he had earlier.

"W-wait," Big murmured, his eyes sliding shut. "Just give me a second."

It looked like he needed much more than a second.

His face was very pale, and beaded with sweat all along the hairline. With each breath, his chest rose and fell shallowly, as if he were holding himself very still. He looked worse than he had all night. Thankfully, the bandage was still dry.

Chan reached out and pressed his palm against Big's forehead, relieved to find it relatively cool under his touch. When he brushed the hair plastered to Big's skin away from his face, it didn't feel as strange as he had anticipated. It felt almost natural.

A frown still dragged at the corners of Big's lips, but he tilted his head into Chan's touch for a brief moment, the pain on his brow softening slightly. 

Chan let himself linger for a moment longer before he reluctantly pulled his hand away and waited for Big to open his eyes again. 

Finally, he did. 

"I don't think I can make it up the hill," Big said, his voice hoarse. 

"Okay," Chan replied. "I'll carry you, then."

Big shook his head. "It's fine, Chan. You can leave me here. Just go get help and come back. I can wait."

Chan leveled a serious look at him, making it clear—again—that he was not willing to entertain the idea. "No. We're going up together."

Rather than protest, Big just set his jaw, staring back at him. It was clear he didn't agree with the plan. After several long moments, when Chan showed no signs of giving in, he just ground out a, "Fine," with a very flimsy attempt at politeness.

However, as soon as he pulled Big onto his back and started the long hike back up the hill, Chan realized this wasn't a feasible plan, either. 

Because of the injury to his wrist, Big's arms were wrapped tightly around Chan's neck, almost constricting his windpipe. The gunshot wound in his thigh meant he could only wrap one leg around Chan's waist, the other leg trailing awkwardly at his side. Even when Chan hooked his arm under Big's knee and hoisted him further up his back, it felt like he was going to slip off at any moment. 

Every step Chan attempted jostled his injured leg, and even though Big bit down on his lip to stifle the cries of pain, Chan could still hear them, each small sound driving a dagger deeper and deeper toward his heart. 

They only got two or three steps before Chan stopped and slowly lowered Big to the ground. 

"Okay, this isn't working. We need a new plan."

Big looked up at him. Sweat trailed down his temples and glimmered against the skin of his throat. This time, he waited a moment before he said, "Chan. Please, just leave me here and go—"

Chan raised his eyebrows, and Big fell silent. 

The only other possible way to carry him was in his arms. 

"I don't think this is going to work," Big muttered, though he dutifully wrapped one arm over Chan's shoulders anyway. "There's no way you can—"

Chan ignored him, sliding his hand under Big's knees and heaving him up into his arms. Big made a surprised sound, his own grip tightening, fingers digging into Chan's shoulder. 

Chan looked at him, trying to ignore the way his heart jolted at the closeness. They were only a couple of inches apart, closer than they had been even on the ground. If he leaned in any further, their noses would brush against each other. It took all his effort not to look too closely at Big's lips. 

"What were you saying, Big?" 

Big, to his credit, didn't look away. He had flushed pink again, color burning along his cheeks. "Nothing."

Chan smirked, and the color on Big's face deepened. 

Climbing up the hill with Big in his arms was harder than he anticipated, though not for the reasons he had originally thought. Even with Big quietly directing him away from roots or brush blocking his path, it was difficult work trying to find good footholds in the soft, loose soil without slipping, or dropping Big. His shoulders ached almost immediately with the weight of Big's body, and his thighs soon burned with the effort it took to push them both up the slope. He had to stop every couple of feet to catch his breath and rest his legs. 

But the main problem was Big—or, having him so close, and quiet. It felt far too intimate. 

The weight and heat of Big against him was more than enough. But more than that—he could hear every sound Big made, and felt the rise and fall of his chest against his own as he breathed. Each exhale skated warmly across the base of Chan's throat, and Big's calloused hands cupped the back of Chan's neck firmly in a way that sent heat unrelated to exertion spiraling up his face to warm the tips of his ears. 

When he breathed in, he could catch the slight sweetness of Big's conditioner—and under that, the scent of Big's skin, something about it so familiar and comforting that warmth arrowed straight toward his heart. And he knew Big was watching him, too, his gaze furtively slipping up to Chan's face occasionally before darting away, as if afraid to be caught. 

Chan let him do it. He wondered what, exactly, Big was looking for—and whether or not he was finding it. 

Finally the slope started to even out, and he could catch sight of the road through the trees ahead. 

"We'll go to the SUV, see if there's a phone," Chan said between heavy breaths. 

The air was already starting to warm around them, and sweat was pooling at the base of his spine. They both needed water soon, especially Big, who had lost blood and was likely dehydrated. 

Big nodded, his hands tightening around Chan's shoulders. 

Walking up the road made Chan feel far too exposed for his liking, but it was either that or try to fight his way through the underbrush while carrying Big, which was as close to hell as he could imagine at the moment. 

It was several long minutes before the SUV was in view, and in the daylight, it looked worse than Chan remembered. Bullet holes littered the front windshield and pockmarked the side of the cab, and there was a suspicious trail in the dirt that led straight from the driver's side door to a bush nearby. 

Chan grimaced. Well, obviously no one had been back to clean up, which meant either they hadn't found Kinn and were still searching, or there was no one left on their team to search or clear up. 

He could only hope it was the former. 

Just as they neared the SUV, however, a strange buzzing sound neared them, growing louder with each passing second. It sounded like—

"Chan, a drone—" Big started, his hand squeezing the back of Chan's neck.

Chan whipped his head around to see a drone about a hundred feet up in the sky, and obviously coming closer. Fuck. Someone was watching them. Someone now knew they were here. 

Possible courses of action wheeled through his mind, each one worse than the last. He had to get Big out of here, now.  

Before he could, however, Big writhed in his arms as if he were trying to get free. It was so unexpected that Chan almost dropped him.

"What are you—"

Chan cut himself off when Big's free hand slid across his chest and grabbed his gun, yanking it out of the holster. 

"Stay still," Big said sharply, twisting around to brace himself over Chan's shoulder. 

All Chan could do was tighten his grip around Big, holding him close. 

"There are only three shots left, so be careful—" Chan warned, just before the crack of the gunshot exploded behind his head. 

The buzzing sound immediately stopped, followed by a suspicious crashing sound in the bushes behind. 

Chan turned around to see the drone gone from the sky. He couldn't help the small swoop of pride at the display of Big's skills.

Big slowly relaxed in his arms. "Got it," he grinned. 

Chan couldn't help the matching grin on his face. "Impressive. Two bullets left, I guess."

At the compliment, Big's grin deepened into an actual smile, though he tried to cover it with a neutral expression a moment later. 

"Thanks. Let's get out of here, though." 

Chan had just helped Big to lie across the backseat when he heard the sound of an engine coming down the road. He jumped into the SUV with him and managed to grab the gun still held in the passenger's stiff hand. 

If this was the enemy coming to collect their men, they didn't have much hope in repelling them with one and a half guns. 

To his great relief, however, when the black SUV pulled up next to them, Chan recognized the driver immediately: Ben. Arm sat next to him in the front seat. 

Relief poured through him like all the tension that had been keeping his body upright had suddenly disappeared. He took his first full breath in what felt like hours. 

Beside him, Big flopped back down on the seat, obviously exhausted. 

"Finally," he said. After a moment, he continued, "Was that our drone then?"

Chan couldn't help his laugh. He was exhausted down to the bone, though he knew he probably had hours of search ahead of him, if Kinn still hadn't been found. "Probably. It doesn't matter." 

He reached out to put his hand on Big's shoulder, squeezing slightly. This time, it didn't feel strange at all. "Let's get you home."

In reply, Big covered Chan's hand with his own, warm and familiar, and squeezed back. 

THE END