Seven Years Bad Luck
Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV.
Summary: The one day you don't wear crazy socks to work. This is the fourth fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!
Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, Angst, Mutual Pining, Touch Her and Die
Word Count: 9.3K
Warnings: I am labeling this 18+ because it contains attempted SA and attempted rape (not Mark) and it gets somewhat detailed, Degradation (Also not Mark), Cursing, Guns, Gunshots, Implied Death. MURDER, Choking, Trauma, Dark themes, Mentions of Numbness, Anxiety, Feelings of Helplessness, DEATH, BLOOD, Prison Fights, Prison Riot, Fear, Angst, Mentions of Sex/ Sexual Innuendo, Cursing, Angst, um ANGST, Mark gets PISSED, Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
Listen While You Read 🚨: Hurts So Good by Astrid S. Title of this fic taken from Superstition By Stevie Wonder.
Jailhouse Rock Playlist 🚨
Main Masterlist
Jailhouse Rock Masterlist
A/N: AGAIN, ONE MORE WARNING! Guys I'm serious this one got a little darker than I meant it to. If you have any kind of triggers to SA or attempted rape or anything in that general vicinity, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for y'all to be hurt.
In 1945 scientists discovered that the average human being is composed of approximately 60% water, while the other 40% is generally believed to be made of proteins for building, lipids for energy, and nucleic acids to carry genetic information.
However, right now you were sure that your body was about 60% alcohol and 100% poor life decisions.
You groan heavily to yourself and pinch the bridge of your nose to fight the headache that pierces your temples. The fluorescent lights flickering above your head weren't helping at all, neither was the occasional alarm that echoed down the hallways of the prison like a thunderclap.
Maybe if I just lay on the floor behind my desk no one will notice.
Being prone on a cold flat surface seemed to be the best idea you'd had all morning. The only thought that successfully pieced itself together in what was left in your pickled brain.
Last night you'd stayed way too late at your sister's house watching reality TV and drinking more than enough for both of you. So much so that you'd decided to just spend the night in the spare bedroom, and wear the extra pair of scrubs you had for emergencies in your car.
It had been both a blessing and a curse.
When you woke up this morning to the smell of eggs and bacon it made both your mouth water and your stomach turn itself into knots, while your sister went about her day far too cheerily for someone who couldn't drink more than 200 mg of coffee and you glared at the back of her head.
Henry, your nephew, hadn't been much help either.
He'd sat, swinging his legs back and forth excitedly chattering about what dinosaurs were herbivores and what dinosaurs were carnivores, showing you the diagrams that he'd handmade.
The constant trill of his little voice while he stared at you, cheeks split with an excited smile, wispy blonde hair hanging low across his brow, did little to stop the pounding thud of your heartbeat in your head while you nursed the coffee that Jackie gave you and you made non-committal sounds to prove you weren't as dead as you felt.
The coffee was the same way you remembered it, nutty and full bodied with just a hint of cinnamon to give you the All-American kick in the pants you needed to get up out of your chair and make it to work on time.
But although you regretted the last two glasses of wine, you did not regret telling your sister about what happened with Walker.
It was nice to have someone to rely on about all of this. Your small friend group from medical school had all but gone silent on the group chat you'd created in your first year of medical school, all of you were invested in your respective specialties now, too busy trying to work off the mountain of debt that made you feel like you were dragging a train behind you.
The few friends you'd made in residency were still actively texting you, but most of the questions were not so much "Hey let's get together" as much as they were "Hey are you dead yet?" or focused on sending memes about how much money they were getting with Critical Care time at the fancy whitewashed hospitals that actually had a coffeemaker that worked, a staff of nurses, and a cushy doctor's lounge where three square meals a day were served and was always loaded with snacks and endless stores of caffeine.
Whereas, the "lounge" in the prison was barely bigger than a cell and contained a peeling leather couch, the same grayed cinderblock walls that ran the length of the prison, a rusted sink that was usually filled with unwashed dishes, and a coffeemaker that only worked once every two weeks and always on a Thursday.
Your friends had never understood why you'd wanted to throw away such a high paying job at a cushy hospital downtown for your job at Palmdale, and you were content to let them continue to be confused. It wasn't your job to make them understand, nor did you care.
You had your sister, and that was all that mattered.
The sister who was 5 years younger, but always was there to stop you from jumping off the cliff when it seemed easier than turning to face what you believed was insurmountable.
She was always there when you needed her, someone who understood what it was like to be on your mom's bad side, someone who understood what it was like to be pulled in two directions when your mom got remarried and your dad started to call and text more frequently than he had.
The same dad who had left you three texts on your phone this morning, the buzz of your phone in your pocket was like a bee rattling around in your head. But you were waiting until after work to talk to him. It would be easier once you couldn't taste color and couldn't see alcohol without feeling like you needed an exorcism.
Switch that and flip it
Shades of the conversation from the night before danced on the ends of your fingertips, just out of reach, but still gave you the same satisfaction. Despite your sister's teasing you were happy that you talked to her about Walker. The dam of feelings that you’d hidden at the back of your mind for him was dangerously reaching overload, and you knew that you shouldn't like him, but you couldn't help it.
He was so deep in your head he might as well be living there, wrapped up in your sheets, his head on your pillow, his touch against your skin while the morning light from the window traced a gentle hand over the two of you, and he blinked his sleep filled eyes at you with the same smile he always greeted you with. The smile that you'd seen Walker have even when there never seemed to be something to smile about, especially in Palmdale.
Stars you wanted that.
You wanted to exist in a world where it could really happen.
Where you could really touch his face and push the darkened strands from his piercing green eyes while you brushed your lips against the tip of his nose to kiss the freckles that flecked across his skin. A place where you could feel the rough palms of his hands in yours, and where it didn't matter that he was an inmate or that he had a record or that there was a Warden with a chip on his shoulder. A place that existed in your head where Walker actually did have feelings for you and none of the rest of it mattered because you made it work.
It made you feel like you were slowly sinking underwater, not drowning, but as if you were sinking into the sun warmed waters of the sea feeling the soft push and pull of the current against your fingertips, becoming apart of something new, dissolving one single cell at a time into the waves.
That being said, there had also been a little part of you that was relieved when you saw him beat up the other inmate. Not that you wanted there to be a fight, but it helped the practical part of your mind start to take over. The part that usually kept the imaginative in check. The same one that put up a large black wrought iron fence and ignored the imaginative side that poked it with a stick through the slats.
It was a welcome sharp snap back to reality, where you could think clearly rather than be sucked into the daydreams that floated up from your subconscious. You'd hoped that it had been enough to make you stop liking him- instead all it had done was scared you.
And then your sister's pep talk had only unraveled what the practical side had done and made you want to see Walker more.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. The only way that you'd see him was if the Warden took you for another field trip into the yard or if Walker got into another fight and needed you to patch him up.
You wince as the memory of the last time you saw him resurfaces, how cold you were to him.
You felt terrible.
You could see how much he wanted you to talk to him, how he was trying to make you comfortable, or at least tell him what was wrong. It was enough to make you see that there was possibility that it wasn't all in your head, that Walker really did care about you. A small spark of hope that caught in the snarl of tangles in the dark recesses of your mind.
You sigh and look at the empty metal water bottle sitting an inch away from your right elbow and mocking you with the promise of hydration.
Hydration would help the train that was trying break it's way out of your head have a smoother journey, so you grab the water bottle and make your way out of the infirmary.
There was an odd energy in the air today, a still silence that seems to buzz through the dry air of the prison. Outside a sun shower had begun to patter against the cracked earth, the surreal image of water falling from a cloudless sky on a sunny day. Rain usually made the prisoners restless, it meant not going outside, being trapped inside in a 6x8 square with another person that didn't want to be there.
That being said, there was something odd about today.
It cut through the thick musty air that dredged through the prison, scuttled against the metal bars, and caught in the teeth of the inmates. Usually you could hear the restless rumble that seemed to vibrate through the walls, but today there was nothing.
Not a peep.
An eerie silence that made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.
You continue to walk down the desolate hallway, the only sound the soft patter of water against the roof and the thud of your sneakers against concrete. There was only one security check on the way to the fountain, something that a swipe of your badge did without further prompting from the silent watchmen on the cameras.
The security system at Palmdale was dated by a few years, run by a single guard who sat in front of a monitor with Cheeto stained fingertips on the other side of the prison. It made you shudder to think about the orange dust covering the sticky keyboard and the perpetually sweaty man's eyes on you wherever you went. That aside, Dennis was quite nice.
You hesitate at the water fountain, looking down the empty hallway.
It was possible that you were only imagining it. Maybe the hangover was making you slightly more paranoid than usual, or perhaps it was because you didn't have any crazy socks on. They'd somehow vanished from your shoes when you woke up this morning and you had a sneaking suspicion that Henry had something to do with it. But it meant you were wearing a boring pair of white socks from your sister's drawer.
It made you feel naked.
It's probably in my head.
You think to yourself before you press the button to send a stream of water arching into your water bottle.
But just as the water begins to trickle in, a gunshot rings through the air.
Your head snaps up in the direction of the sound, body tensing.
For a moment you think you imagined it, that maybe the gunshot was something else. The squeak of a guard's chair, the high pitched whistle of an inmate, a clap of thunder in the distance, an errant firework, but then the unmistakable sound comes again, sharper and in focus.
You flinch backwards, heart stuck in your throat, eyes wide.
A series of harsh shouts that you can't decipher follow in quick succession, the voices are too far away and too gruff for you to discern what's being said. The smell of smoke rolls towards you in a lazy wave, replacing the heady smell of rain that seeped through stone and iron.
A haze builds in the air, bringing more of the acrid smell of smoke, burning in your lungs.
The fire alarm on the wall above your head begins to rhythmically screech, red and white lights pulsing along with the quick beat of your heart. Sprinklers rain down from the ceiling, cold droplets racing down the back of your spine beneath your scrubs, trickling down the length of your spine and bringing goosebumps in it's wake.
But something is keeping you there.
Water has begun to bubble up over the lip of the overfilled water bottle, pouring down the drain, but you can't move. Fear and surprise tango in your chest, dancing around with the frantic beat of your heart, thunderous in your ears.
Two guards stumble past you, shoving you out of the way as they slip on the now wet floors, the sound of their body armor jingling as they go, the plastic batons hitting the side of their thighs in a rough slap with every heavy footfall.
"What's going on?" You shout at their backs, but they don't answer.
More shouts begin to ripple through the checkpoint at the end of the hallway as fear forms a hardened lump in your throat, cutting off the flow of oxygen to your head. The hangover no longer seems to be a priority, the headache no longer a pressing matter.
There had never been a problem at the prison before, not in the time that you'd worked here, sure the occasional prison fight that was broken up within minutes, but never anything that the both the Warden and the large amount of prison guards could handle.
Another gunshot, somewhere closer, inside the walls that were made to keep things from getting out and the exact thing keeping you in.
You flinch at the sound.
The words that the Warden said to you the other day come on the edge of the rolling haze of smoke that stings your eyes and makes them water. A chill that has nothing to do with your now soaked clothes tracing it's way across your skin.
Because although you can hear the voices shouting louder as they come closer, the sound of screams seeping through the cracked cinderblock walls that call for help, the roars of expletives echoing all around you in a cacophony of sound that rattle around in your head, shaking your skull- your mind isn't focused on you, it's on Walker.
Him alone somewhere out there in the smoke trapped in his cell, a sitting duck, waiting and watching until someone else comes along and-
Another gunshot makes you flinch again followed by an almost inhuman howl that makes all the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You liked to think that you were calm under pressure, the time you spent in your Emergency Medicine Fellowship making you immune to stressors, practically beat it out of you with the intubations, central lines, and trauma codes, but right now it feels like all that training is out the window.
Your muscles tense as another wave of fear crashes over you thinking about Walker out there alone, afraid, trapped. A horrific image of him already dead on the floor somewhere, blood seeping from his broken body staining the concrete red comes flickering across your mind, bringing with it a wave of anxiety and fear.
There was a seminar done once every month to discuss the protocol of what to do in this exact situation. Sometimes it always seemed more like a place where the Warden tried his upmost to exert his authority, subjecting every worker in the prison to an hour long speech of his own creation about the protocols to follow in this kind of situation, showing photos from other prison breaks and telling horror stories that made your skin crawl.
Even though you spent more time doodling on the edge of your handout, you knew the protocol by heart. The Warden always said that it was about "striking hard and fast," "keeping a cool head and a strong hand," or some other metaphor that had misogynist undertones, as if he was a coach in a 2000s sports themed movie and it was the big game.
Frankly, everything he says has that.
But the point was, you knew where you should be, at the front of the prison exactly two checkpoints in the opposite direction of where you know Walker is. The place far away from smoke and bone, from blood and metal, the place where you won't be able to hear the screams of the other prisoners. The panic room that the Warden designated for people who were labeled "non-essential" in a riot.
How the only doctor on duty was labeled "non-essential" you didn't know, though you suspected that it had something to do with the idea that you were a woman.
The checkpoint at the opposite side of the hall towards safety glows bright red in your mind, looming.
The thought of Walker out there keeps you frozen in place, makes you hesitate, because yes you had a safe place but he didn't.
He was trapped somewhere in the chaos and you hated the thought that the last thing he'd remember of you is how you treated him the other day, that he'd die thinking you hated him when all you wanted was to understand, for him to explain.
Yes you were still a little afraid but-
Walker.
It was hard to convince your heart to turn with your body back to safety when it wanted to detach and flutter its way down the darkened hallways, dodging bullets, trying to find the man that you shouldn't like half as much as you do.
Before you can decide to go into the mouth of the beast to find Walker, fate makes the decision for you.
A shadowy figure appears at the edge of the hall, body obscured by smoke leaving the dark imprint of his shadow in the cloud. It moves with precision towards you, and twenty feet away two more shadows peel off from it.
"What's up doc?" A low voice growls.
Despite the familiar phrase, you knew that it wasn't Walker. You could be 103 and forced to use bilateral ear horns and still remember the exact cadence of his voice. The same voice that always made goosebumps prickle across your skin. The warm rumble a welcome reprieve from the monotony of a long day.
The crash of an open sea against stones beaten smooth by the furious waves that draws you out with the current.
But not now.
The man that materializes from the smoke is most definitely not Walker, neither are the two men that come out from behind him.
But you recognize him.
It's Luis.
The same inmate that Walker had turned to mince meat the other day when the Warden cornered you outside against the fences.
Luis' nose is a swollen dark purple blob, covered in gauze and tape like someone who got a bad nose job. His dark eyes glimmer with malice, circled by ugly black and blue marks that make him look like an angry racoon. When he opens his mouth to speak, you see that an astounding amount of teeth are no longer present, the same mouth that is split with an ugly jagged line from top to bottom.
The image of Walker sitting on top of Luis, throwing his fist over and over into his face, flecks of blood flickering up through the air to pepper Walker's cheeks, comes roaring back. You'd felt bad for Luis, because he'd had to be sent to a facility outside the prison, but you'd read the report of what had to be done.
You never imagined that he'd be back this soon.
Nor did you feel as bad for him right now.
His mouth pulls up into a sinister grin, dark eyes tracing over your body lazily, clinging far too long to parts of you that makes a wave of disgust roll through you. It makes you wish that you were wearing your coat instead of the teal colored scrubs that clung to you like a second skin after being drenched with water from the sprinklers.
The warning that the Warden snarled to you the other day no longer sounds so far-fetched. You'd never thought yourself to be naïve. You knew that some inmates were here because they needed to be- and Luis was one of them.
You'd read his file, read each and every description of what he'd done to get placed at Palmdale, and seen the photographs of the victims. The ones that kept you up at night, the ones that had earned him a lifetime sentence.
You'd only treated him a handful of times, but each second you spent with him in the infirmary was too long. Even when the guard was there you worried that he wouldn't be enough.
His eyes were always watching you, dark and deep, like the places in the sea that light can't touch and where unseen horrors lurk, scuttling over your body while you tried to work. Never saying anything, just silently watching.
A shark waiting in the shallows to strike.
Blood is smeared on the front of his pale blue prison clothes, crimson handprints over his shoulders where someone tried to grab him.
Your throat tightens.
"If it isn't Walker's little bitch." He smirks.
You blink, confused.
What did he just call me?
Personally you didn’t care that he’d called you a bitch, you’d heard worse throughout your residency, but the fact that he called you Walker’s made you freeze.
Because why would he? Was Walker talking about you with the other inmates? Did they know something you didn't?
"I'm not his anything-"
But Luis doesn't let you finish, instead he laughs. It's a cold, cruel sound, that sends an ungodly shiver down your spine.
"He seems to think so." His eyes trace over you again. "He's an asshole, but he does have good taste."
Luis takes another step towards you, smirk curling up on the end of his mouth.
"Look. The way out is two checkpoints in that direction." Your voice shakes slightly so you clear your throat. "I won't say anything to the Warden if y'all just move on."
You point behind you, hoping that they'll just leave, but deep down you know they won't. Not with the way that Luis is looking at you.
It reminds you of the way that the feral cats used to look up at the birdfeeder your mother put out each morning as you grew up. Dark eyes that glitter with hunger.
You felt cornered, hackles raising, fear clamping down on your throat, adrenaline beginning to jump from synapse to synapse. Body switching to fight or flight mode.
This is bad.
The warning that the warden issued to you no longer seems so farfetched, because staring into Luis' eyes is enough to make you want to crawl into your bed and not come out from under the covers for the next century.
Gunfire echoes down the hallway once more, but the three men standing in front of you don't even flinch. The cold feeling is back, racing through your veins like ice water. The only weapon you had was the metal water bottle that hung from your right hand and an assortment of pens you had in your scrub pocket. But with the three of them you weren't sure how much you'd do before the others fell upon you.
You were outnumbered.
"You think I started this whole thing because I wanted to get out?" Luis chuckles. "Baby, I did this for you." His voice is a low purr, his dark eyes glinting.
He did this? He's the reason that-
Another guttural scream echoes down the hallway, splitting through the air, and jolting through your body.
"M-me?" You take a wobbly step backwards.
"Walker thinks he's got some kind of claim on you. That you belong to him." Luis continues to advance towards you, each shaky step you take back mirrored by two steps of his own. "Why do you think he did this shit to my face?"
The words make you freeze. The memory of the fight you witnessed a few days ago comes roaring back in shades of red, black, and white. You didn't know what Luis said, just saw his lips moving before Walker struck. You’d thought that he'd been insulting Walker, but maybe he hadn't.
Did Luis say something about me to Walker?
Given the darkened glint in his eyes, it wasn't hard for you to guess what Luis could say to Walker to piss him off.
But why would Walker even care about something like that? I bet all the inmates have said something about me in passing, probably Walker too.
“What do you mea-“ You begin to ask.
"Come on Luis. We don't have time for this." The inmate on his left interrupts gruffly. A toothless hulk of a man with a shock of buzzed red hair and a large lightning bolt on his right shoulder. "The guards could be here any second."
"I want to savor this." Luis barks back at him. "Wait your turn. I didn't organize all this shit so you could fuck her first."
"How is that fucking fair?" The man snarls, eyes blazing. "I'm the one that stole the key card. I'm the one that-"
There's a high pitched snap and the man falls to the floor in a heap, neck at an awkward angle. You hadn't even seen Luis move.
The body on the floor gazes up at you, eyes glassy, unmoving, his last words still on his cracked lips. It reminds you of the fish you see in the seafood department at your local grocery store, eyes that look, but no longer see.
You'd seen death before.
Knew how it could come for anyone at anytime.
Your Emergency Medicine Residency had taught you that. Hours in the Emergency Department intubating, hearing the rhythmic sound of the LUCAS machine as it gave CPR, listening to nurses call out times for Epi, putting in central lines, asking for pulse checks then feeling the weight on your shoulders when you found them in PEA, and seeing the look on the family member's faces when you met with them to tell them the news.
Death no longer shocked you.
But this did.
An involuntary shudder works it's way through your body unable to comprehend how a man Luis' size could move that quickly. His gaze cuts to yours again, nothing resembling remorse reflected in the dark iris, nothing human that you can recognize.
The other inmate doesn't flinch, but you watch his eyes traverse the body on the ground, the end of his mouth twitching. You wonder if he's thinking that Luis might do the same to him if he's not careful.
The checkpoint was 10 steps at your back, but given the fact that you needed to swipe the keycard hanging from your belt, the same one that is swinging from the other inmate's hand, there wasn't anywhere to hide.
They had a way wherever you went.
There wasn't a place to go, no where to hide, and you were sure that any sound you made, any scream, any call for help, would only be lost in another scream or gunshot deep in the bowels of the prison.
The triumphant gleam in Luis' eyes makes a sour taste fill your mouth, fear tracing it's ice cold fingertips over your skin.
He knows that I'm cornered.
"Walker's been a thorn in my side since the moment he got here." Luis drawls as he continues to walk in your direction. He's not losing momentum, in fact, the death of his comrade only seems to give him more confidence. The way he moves is lithe, feline, predatory. "I'm gonna enjoy this."
"I don’t understand why you think I matter to him!" You shout, trying to reason with him. "I don't-"
"You do." His eyes are glinting now in the light, tracing over your body and bringing a wave of revulsion with the drag of them over your skin. "And I'm going to show him what happens when someone disrespects me."
The urge to vomit builds in the back of your throat, your stomach tying itself into a knot with each step that Luis takes in your direction. The fluorescent lights above flicker ominously with the frantic beat of your heart, and all at once, go out.
Just as the emergency lights blare on, Luis moves.
Your body flies backwards with the force of his tackle, head hitting the wall so hard that you feel your brain rattle around in your skull. His large hand fastens itself around your throat, squeezing tightly, his body pining you against the cold cinderblock. The heady scent of sweat and something rotten wafts over you with the warmth of his breath against your cheek, coal black eyes glinting with some unspeakable hunger that makes an ungodly wave of fear clench in your chest.
The water bottle in your hand falls to the floor with a resounding clang. It rolls away from where you struggle against Luis, his foot kicks it savagely down the empty hall.
You open your mouth to yell, but his mouth comes down hard on yours. His teeth cut through the soft flesh of your lips, hand squeezing harder around your throat, paying no mind to the attempts you make to push him off of you.
He's everywhere.
The crushing weight of his body.
The greedy scrape of his hand over your clothes, pulling and tugging at every piece of flesh he can, loving the pleas you make into his mouth for him to stop.
The sharp bite of his teeth against tissue, striping the delicate flesh of your lips.
A shark tearing at a carcass under the waves, a flash of silver and red in a silent sea where no one can hear you scream.
Your hands shove against him with all your might and you bring your right knee up trying to find the only place that matters, but all he does is laugh, the hand around your neck tightening to the point that all you see is black and white flashes of light.
"Please" You choke out in a hoarse voice that gasps for air.
"I love it when you beg." Luis half-moans, grinding his body into your hip.
His hand threads into your hair jerking it backwards to expose your throat, while the other begins to pull at the elastic waistband of your scrubs.
"You like this, don't you baby?" His voice is nothing more than an animalistic growl. "Wanted to be treated like the little prison slut you are didn't you?"
He bites down hard against your throat, leaving another mark next to the purple handprint already forming against your skin. A sick claim to you that he shouldn't have.
Blood pools in your mouth, tears crest and fall down your cheeks, and you try to push him off again, but there's already another part of you that's giving up the fight.
A numbness that creeps through your limbs, disassociating you from the moment, pulling you above to float above your body watching with a silent somnolence, because what can you do?
There was no way out of this, that was becoming painfully clear.
The rest of the guards were busy with whatever was happening at the other side of the prison.
And even if not, who would come? You hadn't exactly been a favorite of the warden.
You could already hear his monotonous voice talking about the incident, saying that you deserved this because you were getting "too friendly" with the inmates. That somehow you asked for this to happen to you because you trusted the wrong people. Let your guard down and now the status quo changed and you were exposed and vulnerable.
You're not sure what happens next.
Something, or rather, someone crashes into Luis from your right, jarring the two of you apart.
A strangled yelp comes out of your mouth with the chunk of hair that Luis rips from your head on his descent to the cement floor, dragging you with him, swallowed in the inhuman roar that comes from whomever slammed into him.
You fall onto your left side hard, hip and shoulder glancing against stone. Your head knocks into the floor with a sickening crack and the rest of the world is lost in a haze of black and white.
Spots dance across your vision. Sounds come through muffled as if you're hearing them from underwater.
Bits and pieces come in an undiscernible blob.
Flickering lights.
Pattering of rain.
The stale stench of sweat and sharp smell of copper.
A rhythmic thud of bone against flesh.
Words that you can't decipher said in a voice so low it might as well be a growl. More animal than human.
Crunching.
A low moan.
Then nothing.
Something sinister lurks in the silence. Creeping forward with silent footsteps. A predator circling it's prey for the last time before it strikes
You instinctively curl inward, trying to protect your body the best you can, fearful of what will come next. It wasn't hard to imagine what and the anticipation was worse than anything that Luis had already done.
Your mouth tastes sour and coppery, and your head is still rattling around on your shoulders giving way to the worst headache of your life. You know that it's only a matter of time before Luis returns, that whomever attacked him is surely dead and now Luis will finish what he started.
A hand gently touches your shoulder.
"No!" You scream hoarsely, curling further into a ball. "No! Please-" Your voice cracks, tears burning against your eyes. "Please."
Please just go. No more. Please.
Walker's voice comes flooding through the numbness, cutting through the fear that came in the silence, the soft sound of your name in his low rumble like a soothing melody.
You look up through your arms that are curled over your face, still cowering down into the floor.
The smile he always has is gone, replaced with a grim frown that pulls at the crows feet around his green eyes that have hardened to a sharp emerald. His hair falls forward into his face in an unruly drag of mahogany strands. His blue uniform is ripped around the shoulder and the collar revealing a flash of golden brown skin beneath. Crimson spots mar the light colored fabric, and a bloody handprint is embossed on his right shoulder, but it's him.
He's not trapped in some cell or laying somewhere lifeless on the floor or waiting his fate with the ripple of screams and gunfire over his head. He's here, kneeling beside you patiently waiting, watching you with the same worried expression that he had yesterday when he saw you and you pushed him away.
"Walker?" You whisper, voice hoarse.
You're not quite sure that this is real. There's a part of your brain that thinks that maybe you're making this all up because the reality of what is really happening is too horrible to consider.
"Yeah." He exhales in one heavy breath. "It’s me."
His voice is low, tinged with the force of his anger that flares hot through the air and flashes in his eyes. His hands are shaking. Jaw set. But you can see worry lurking just beneath the surface, as if he's trying to keep himself together for your sake.
"Walker." This time the word comes out in a choked sob as you throw yourself against his chest. Your arms tighten around the back of his head, face pressing into his throat, body trembling.
Nothing that happened the other day seemed to matter. You are so happy to see him. The gut instinct you have to trust him, takes over any fear or trepidation you had over the way he acted in the yard.
"Shhh. It's okay sweetheart." Walker's voice rumbles up through his chest. "I've got you, it's okay."
“He-“ You blubber, clinging to him. “He-“
“Shh.” He soothes.
Walker picks you up with great care, strong arms lifting you from the ground and into his broad chest, fitting you perfectly against him as if you were always meant to be there.
It feels unbreakable.
Safe.
Warm.
A place that no one can tear you from no matter how hard they try.
Another shudder shakes through your body as you cling to him, sobbing softly into his throat. Tears soak into the scratchy fabric of his shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. You're not sure where Luis is or where his friend is, but all you know is Walker is here and nothing bad is going to happen, not when he's holding you this close.
"Shh." He breathes. The hand arm curving over your back pulls you further into his broad chest and you feel the ghost of his lips against your hairline. "It's alright. I'm right here."
You try to focus on him, really you do. The prickle of his scruff against your skin, the movement of his muscles tensing around you with each step, and the clean smell of the prison regulated shampoo floods through your body.
But does nothing to drive out the sinister question… what if?
Your mind was already there, circling the drain, feeling the squeeze of Luis' hand around your throat and the bite of his teeth against the soft flesh of your lips. You shiver and shake in Walker's arms clutching him so tightly to you as if you're afraid that he's going to fade away.
Walker walks down the hallway, tracking bloodied footprints against the gray cement, passing the lump of flesh and bone that lays motionless on the floor.
The one that won't ever move again.
Walker continues through the checkpoint and towards the infirmary unbothered by the mess he left behind. There are more important things.
He opens the door with one hand and makes his way to the bed, but as he tries to gently place you down on the crinkled paper, you tighten the grip you have fastened around his neck.
"No. Don't leave." You gasp. "He'll come back, he'll-"
You hadn't seen what was left of Luis, all you knew was that if Walker left, you wouldn't be safe anymore.
Fear pops and crackles through your veins, the wave of terror that comes with the idea of Mark leaving is almost too much to bear. The thought of what would have happened if he hadn't shown up was worse, what Luis would have done if Walker wasn't there to stop him.
The memory of Luis comes roaring back and you curl your fingers into Mark's shoulders refusing to let go.
A jagged rock in a tumultuous sea when the tide is high and the wind rips and tears through your hair trying to pull you into the depths.
"Hey, shh. It's okay." Walker soothes, fingertips pushing the hair gently from where it sticks against your cheeks. "I'm not going to leave you. And I promise that he's never going to touch you again."
His eyes flash a dangerous emerald in the emergency lights that line the ceiling of the infirmary, and it mirrors the way his gaze was a few days ago when you saw him in the yard. The dangerous flare of something dark that burns behind his eyes, the look he had when he beat Luis bloody in the noonday sun with the rest of the prison watching.
You nod, but don't release the grip you have on him. You didn't want to. Letting him go would mean that you'd be exposed again, that you wouldn't exist in the safe embrace of Walker's arms.
His eyes trace over you, body pulled tight. He's contemplating something.
Finally, he sighs and instead brings you with him to sit in your desk chair. You settle on his lap, not willing to surrender your position in his arms, not when the ghost of Luis was everywhere around you.
The sticky warmth of his breath against your throat.
The ripple of muscle that pinned you down.
Walker exhales and gently rubs circles into your back. "It's okay. He's not going to come back." He murmurs into the top of your head as if he can sense where your mind is going.
You don't answer.
Your fingers stay rooted into the light blue material of his shirt, tears and snot darkening the fabric where your face rests beneath his neck. Another choking sob, shakes through you.
The warmth of his body drives away the chill, but you were still afraid, living in the moments that came before Walker showed up, the anxiety of what could have happened holding on with bloody fingertips.
You're not sure how long you sit there with him. It could be as little as seconds to as much as hours, but it's Walker that breaks the silence first.
"This is my fault." Walker says. "I should've gotten to you first. I should have-" The grip he has on you tightens. "Fuck. He shouldn't have been able to-"
His voice lowers into the low growl once more, the heat of his anger burning hot through his clothes and flooding into where you're pressed against him.
"You stopped him." You whisper hoarsely. "It's not your fault."
The sound of your voice is unfamiliar, hollow, distant. A echo in an abandoned house on a cliff overlooking a stormy sea.
It was hard for you to stay in this moment when all your mind wanted to do was drag you back to what had happened moments ago. The numbness was still there, swirling beneath your skin, moving dangerously close to your heart, beaten back by the warmth of Walker's embrace.
"It is." He growls. "That son of a bitch should have never been able to get that close to you, let alone-"
You shudder again. Walker didn't need to finish the thought.
"What happened isn't your fault." You repeat with a little more strength, pulling back so you can look him in the eye.
Walker looks conflicted. His muscles are tensed around you, shoulders tight, frown still firmly in place. The anger burning in his eyes is tinged with something else.
Guilt.
Regret.
It's there. Flickering beneath the surface. Rending him in two, eating him alive. It dawns on you that perhaps Mark isn't only angry with what Luis did, but rather he was angry with himself as well.
You didn't understand why.
He shouldn't blame himself for this. He can't control what the other inmates do-
"Walker-"
"No." He shakes his head, lips pulled back in a snarl. "I-" The arm he has wrapped around your waist tightens almost to the point of pain subconciously. "Damn it. I should've known that he would have come right for you. I wasted time checking on Chen when I should have just found you and now you're- He-"
Walker's eyes squeeze shut. His jaw tightening with an audible snap. Shoulders lowering with the weight of his frustration. He turns his face away from you.
"I'm o-okay."
It was a lie and you knew it.
Walker opens his eyes to look at you. His eyebrows pull together, frown marring his full lips. "No you're not."
Bloodstained fingers gently come to brush against the bruised skin of your throat, tracing the handprint that Luis left behind. The last thing he ever did, the only thing that remained of him was imprinted against the delicate skin.
Days from now when it fades, you'd finally believe that Luis was gone.
"It could have been worse-" You swallow the lump in your throat, but the sour taste remains.
Walker's eyes flash darkly. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Minimize this because you're trying to make me feel better." He snaps.
"But-"
"No."
"But this wasn't your fault!"
"It doesn't matter how many times you say that. It was my fault. I knew that Luis wasn't going to let this go. Not after everything that happened. He knows how I feel about you. He-" Walker shakes his head. "I put you in danger because I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut and ignore him."
"Please." You gently cradle his jaw between the palms of your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Please stop."
More tears build in your eyes, making his shape hazy, and out of focus. The lump in your throat seems to grow exponentially, anxiety continuing to flare in your chest, but now there's something else there too, something unnamable that you'd tried to bury since the moment you felt yourself getting too attached to the green-eyed inmate who always smiled.
The one that always lingered on your mind. The one that seemed to saunter in when all was quiet and you were alone.
"But-" Walker begins, but you lean his forehead against yours.
"You got there when you needed to. You saved me-"
"Barely." He says bitterly. "I should've been there sooner-"
"No." You say again, holding his face tighter. "You saved me Walker. You stopped him. And I can't think of a way to thank you enough for that. I don't want to think about what if anymore, because if I do, I don't think I'll ever be able to pull myself out of it. And-"
The drain you were circling was coming dangerously closer to you. The deep dark hole in the center dragging you into it with the memory of Luis while you fought tooth and nail to keep out.
You squeeze your eyes shut and lean into Walker, forcing yourself to focus on him instead. The clean smell of his soap like fresh laundry. Each gentle rise and fall of his chest grounding you. The pleasant weight of his arms around your waist, securing you to him.
You were afraid of where your mind would go the second he left. The second that reality would come crashing back down on the two of you and you wouldn't be able to be in his arms anymore. You were breaking about a billion rules, but given that the power was still gone meant that the outdated security system was down and there were no witnesses.
You briefly wonder if you would have cared if it was.
Probably not.
Walker huffs out a sigh in response, but he doesn't pull away from you, instead, he leans further into you. It's almost like he's using you to hold himself up, as if he's drawing strength from this moment. You can practically feel the silent "sorry" with each gentle circle of his thumb against your hip. A part of you wonders if Walker is trying to use you to ground him the same way you're using him. It makes the words he spoke only seconds ago wash in with the rising tide.
You take another few breaths, letting the inhale and exhale of breath calm the rapid beat of your heart.
The prison had gone eerily quiet in the aftermath. You weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Given you had personally experienced what lurked in the silence it didn't seem to be leaning in the pro direction.
You sit there in the silence together. Soaking in the warmth of his body, the gentle beat of his heart that calms the racing of yours.
"Walker?" You whisper as you open your eyes to look at him.
His own gaze is focused over your head at the infirmary door, daring someone to come in. Despite the silence that hung between the two of you, he didn't seem keen on letting it letting his guard down. There was still a tightness in his shoulders. Muscles pulled tense beneath the flickering emergency lights.
"Hmm."
"What did you mean?"
"When?"
The answer to his question dances on the tip of your tongue. It was a little awkward, but you needed to know.
"When you said that Luis knew how you feel about me?"
Walker's eyes drop to yours. He doesn’t answer and something that looks suspiciously like guilt flickers over his face.
“Is that why the two of you had a fight the other day? Because he said something to you about me?” You press.
He hesitates. "Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing worth repeating."
The hands you have cupping his jaw develop a mind of their own, slowly moving along his cheeks, and through his long hair, to rest at the nape of his neck.
"It scared me." You whisper. "Seeing you like that."
You weren't trying to make him feel bad, it was the truth. You were scared. It was the exact reason why you'd drank too many glasses of wine last night, why you'd gone to see your sister, and the thing you'd been thinking about today the moment you woke up.
But now you weren't. You couldn't think of a single reason to be afraid of Walker. Not when he was holding you against him. Not when he still had the blood the man who dared hurt you splashed across his hands and spotted on his freckled skin. Not when he was doing everything he could to make you forget what almost happened.
"Is that why you didn't want to see me yesterday?" Walker murmurs, green eyes flickering with something unnamable.
"Yes, I'm sorry." You bow your head in shame. "But the warden was hassling me about you. He said that you were manipulating me, that as soon as I turn my back you would-"
The memory of what happened with Luis surfaces again. The ripple of what the warden snarled to you outside in the blaring sun rings in your ears.
An uncomfortable shiver makes your body quake in Walker's arms.
"A-and I kept thinking about how easily you flipped the switch and I got so into my head that I just-" You continue, anxiety tightening around your chest like a corset.
"Is that what he was doing? Are you fucking kidding me? That dickweed needs to get a new hobby, because being a grade A- Asshole isn't working for him! His parents should have just gone to sleep that night." Walker growls. "I couldn't tell what you were talking about, but I didn't like the way you looked. He was standing over you like a fucking lion at a watering hole. It made me want an elephant gun."
"He's always been like that-"
"That doesn't matter. Someone needs to put him in his place. If I'd been closer to him, I would have happily broken his nose to wipe that smirk off his face."
Your mouth twitches on the end in what could be a smile, before it drops. "You would have been in solitary forever maybe even transferred out-"
"It would have been worth every second." His eyes narrow. "He doesn't get to treat you that way. Not when you're one of the only people in this damn jail that actually gives a shit. Hell, you're probably the only person in L.A that cares. The Warden is too busy with his pissing contest to see that! We're all so lucky to have you here, and the Warden needs to shut his damn mouth for a second and appreciate you the way I do-"
Walker freezes. His entire body tenses beneath yours.
Surprise rises on the crest of a wave in your chest with his slip. The little piece of yourself that you’d tried to lock away the moment you realized that your feelings for Walker were more than friendly begins to rattle the bars of her cage.
The Nile was not only a river in Egypt.
Denial was flooding through your veins like a gushing flood sucking everything downward in it's wake.
"I really-" You swallow. "I really appreciate you too."
Walker blinks. He looks guilty again and you can't quite understand why.
What is there to be guilty about?
An odd energy begins to flood the minimal space between the two of you. Tracing along your body with a gentle hand, flickering from synapse to synapse, ghosting it's lips along the back of your neck, tangling in your hair, and shining in Walker's eyes.
You're close enough now to see the flecks of gold that flicker like shooting stars whenever he blinks that circle his irises. His hands are respectfully planted on your waist, the warmth of his skin soaking through your scrubs and into your skin. Some of his hair has fallen forward over his forehead, and you reach up with trembling fingertips to push it away.
Something so miniscule that seems to carry the weight of an anchor. You'd done it before, with the eyes of the man behind the cameras, and the security guard watching, but here, now, sitting in the weighted silence it feels thunderous.
There's a softness to him now.
Before all you'd seen was the playful smirk that made you weak in the knees, the dark snarl of his upper lip when he was angry, but now his lips are pulled up into a gentle smile.
Flush.
Full.
The perfect cupid's bow hidden beneath the scraggly beard, that only made Walker look all the more rugged.
His eyes flick to your lips for a moment so quick that it's almost imperceptible.
The energy is back, filled with something that dances on the tip of your tongue, but slips through your fingertips.
"Thank you Walker." You breathe.
"Anytime."
His fingertips are back, smoothing away the unruly strands of your hair that have fallen into your face. You lean subconsciously into his touch before you can stop yourself. Warmth trails with each trace of his fingertips against your skin, driving away the chill that threatened to drag you under only minutes ago.
"Are you okay?"
"Huh?"
You gently take the hands he has in front of your face to examine his knuckles.
Ugly black and blue marks have already begun to bloom over the delicate flesh. There are several places where it's split open and blood has begun to dry. You're not sure if that's Walker's or Luis's
"Oh Walker." You whisper, moving your thumb over his knuckles tenderly.
"It was worth it." He mutters. "I don't care what I have to do. No one is gonna touch you like that ever again."
The darkness is back in his eyes, voice slipping into that almost inhuman growl you'd heard the moment he tackled Luis off of you.
You sit there for a moment with him, cradling his hand between the two of you, before you raise it to your mouth and place a kiss against the effected area.
Walker's eyes widen.
"I-" You take in a deep breath. "I care about you too, you know? More than I should. I was so scared that you were already dead and then you were there and I-"
Walker's mouth tentatively presses against yours, just a brush of skin, but it's enough to make whatever you were going to say dry up and die on the tip of your tongue.
He pulls back, pressing his lips into a tight line. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Not with everything that you've been through today. It wasn't right of me to-"
Your hands cradle the sides of his jaw and draw his mouth back to yours. You’re not quite sure how to describe the kiss. It’s not hungry, it does take, it’s not some ridiculous passionate thing that leaves both of you breathless, on the contrary it gives.
Kissing Walker is like taking a long inhale of fresh air on a crisp morning in February. The breath that always catches a little in your chest and makes your body thrum with life. You didn't think that it would feel this way to kiss him, because if you had you would have done it much sooner.
He hums into your mouth, gently holding you to him, not pushing, not taking, just existing in this moment with you. It was what you wanted for so long and you curse the little piece of yourself that believed the Warden and said that the man holding you delicately as if he thought you would shatter in your hands would ever hurt you.
That being said, even with Walker being gentle, it burns. Luis had left more than one reminder behind.
You wince slightly and pull away to rest your forehead against Walker's. His thumb comes up to trace the curve of your bottom lip, frown turning his mouth downward as he notes the red marks surrounding your mouth.
"I'm okay." You murmur, tracing your thumbs over the thick beard that prickles against your skin.
He sighs, but doesn't answer.
Voices echo down the hallway becoming louder and louder with every passing second. The low rumble shifting to a roar as the group nears you. The uncomfortable snarl of the Warden's voice barking out orders splits through the heavy silence in the room.
Walker's gaze jolts upwards to the double doors that lead out into the hallway. The two of you know that you only have a few moments left before the Warden comes in. And him finding you like this with Walker would only get both of you in trouble.
You were sure that the Warden was already going to de-brief you over the next few hours about everything that happened with Luis. It was going to be hard to come up with a lie that he believed, but you would go to the grave before you admitted what happened. Not when it surely would have gotten Walker stuck into solitary or worse, transferred to another facility where you'd never see him again.
But despite the impending appearance of the Warden you didn't want Walker to go. Leaving the embrace of his arms would only let everything else that happened today come crashing down on you. You weren't ready for that. You wanted to exist here with Walker, but that was impossible.
At the end of the day he was still an inmate.
He moves before you do, sliding you from his lap onto shaky legs, while he lays himself down on the ground, beside your desk in full view of the doors that could break open at any moment.
"What are you doing?" You ask.
"It's okay. I've got this."
"But Walker-"
"Next time please don't forget to wear your socks." He smiles, but you can still see the events of what happened earlier weighing on his shoulders, the heaviness in his eyes as they flick to your throat.
If you had time you would have held him closer for longer and told him that it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was there when you needed him.
But there would never be enough time. Not with the way things were.
And as the guards burst through the door, guns drawn, Walker is still smiling up at you giving that little flare of hope that's been flickering to life since the moment you saw him just a little more kindling.
And the heavy question that rings in your ears:
What do we do now?
A/N: Again... I am so SO sorry about the darkness in this one. I really kept thinking about it more and more and it made sense for the progression, but goodness I really hate writing scenes like that. I will say that this part does have a happy ending... but the angst that's coming is really -um- angsty? 🤣
As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think and the comments really keep me going! ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)
Taglist:
@jollyhunter @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @roseblue373 @angrydragon90
@kmc1989 @lunaleah @megara0224 @globetrotter98 @ladykitana90
@youroldfashioned @wonderland2022 @hellsbratonthet @moosewithabackstory @wvffles
@beakaleak32 @caroline-brooks @agentorange9595 @spxideyver
@hobby27 @anna-reid23 @britt217 @ralilda @lori19 @iamasimpingh0e
@kay8907 @hayah84 @alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @hereswhatimyellingabouttoday @insomnia2love
@trixilove257 @soullessambs @muhahaha303 @mbinvisible
@tinysnacklefan @kiana1387jina @iamaslytherin0
@chelseyyouraverageluigi @mariarenecf @jessheartsyou @elle14-blog1 @foxyjwls007
@deans-spinster-witch
