Chapter Text
You sit at your desk, pouring over file after file. Signing death certificates, intake paperwork, and Release approvals. You haven’t slept properly in days, fueled entirely by cigarettes and coffee.
How did your life end up like this? You took on this job at Murkoff only a few months ago. The pay was good, but that was the only good part about it. You’re practically a prisoner here. Being told when to eat, sleep, and shower, you’re no more free than one of the Reagents. It’s getting to be too much, surrounded by so much death. Just today, you watched a woman die on the operating table, having been disembowelled by Mother Gooseberry. Your face was the last she ever saw, the light leaving her eyes right before you.
You can’t keep doing this. You need to find a way ou-
Your train of thought is interrupted when the door flies open. A guard stands in the doorway. He meets your eyes before searching around the room.
“Shit, you the only one here?” he asks.
“...Yep, just me tonight,” you answer.
He cocks his head to the side, “Lemme guess, you’re just a nurse?”
Anxiety grips you, making your stomach churn. This is your first night duty, all by yourself. Actually, it was the first anything by yourself. The lack of staff meant you had to pick up some extra responsibilities. It also meant that there were very few people to train you. The lady at the front desk had assured you that you’d do fine, that nothing too serious came in during the night. Most Reagents would be asleep, meaning fewer injuries.
“Uh… yeah, why?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Christ, of course they would. Alright, come with me, I got a patient for you.”
Your heart races as you push away from the desk, following him down the hall. You had some knowledge of advanced first aid, things like broken bones or deep cuts, but anything beyond that was out of your wheelhouse. The guard stops in front of a locked door, a room meant for patients who present a danger to others.
“He got beat up pretty bad today; apparently, he got into it with some jackass trying to make a point,” he remarks as he pulls out his keys. “Normally, he’d walk it off. That's how you know it’s bad.” The guard unlocks the door and opens it for you. You’re shocked at who you see sitting on the gurney.
It’s Coyle-one of the Prime Assets.
You step into the room slowly, the guard quickly shutting the door behind you.
“The hell is this? Where’s Dr. Flores?” Coyle asks. His voice is gruff and low. He’s obviously in pain, hunched over, holding his elbow. Dried blood clings to what is left of his beard, the right side of his face burnt and scarred.
“I told you, we don’t have enough people to fill the night shift. This is who you get,” the guard answers.
“Jesus Christ, the fuckers still green! How you expect me to do my job when I can’t even get proper care out here?” Coyle snaps. He turns his attention to you, glaring. “How long you been here anyway?”
“I don’t know… a month, maybe?” you say. Truthfully, you have no clue. No one except the guards and upper staff members are allowed to know the date, another way of dehumanizing you.
Coyle scoffs, leaning back against the gurney.
“A fuckin’ month…” he says, “Ain’t even long enough to learn anything, bet you couldn’t even-”
“I said, this is who you get. You can either get looked at or go back to your room,” the guard says. Coyle’s jaw clenches, and his scowl deepens. He’s not happy with having to answer to a higher authority.
“Fine… C’mere ‘n get on with it then.” he mutters.
You approach nervously, trying to hide your shaking hands. You’ve heard horror stories about this man and the things he does to people. Supposedly, he was crazy long before Murkoff took him in. Now, he sits before you, and you’re expected to help him. You know that once he’s in good health again, he’ll be sent back out to torture more Reagents. In a way, there will be as much blood on your hands as his.
It’s hard to tell what’s wrong with him just from looking, but based on how he’s holding his arm, that would be a good place to start.
“What’s bothering you? Where are you hurt?” you ask. He looks away from you, refusing to meet your eye.
“Think my arms broke. Cowardly shitbird jumped out at me from a locker, hit me with a pipe,” he grumbles.
He cradles his left arm, holding it close to his chest. You know how the X-ray machine works; you were trained on it earlier this week.
“Alright, we’ll take a look at it. I’ll need you to take your jacket off so I can get a good picture,” you explain. He chuckles as you cross the room to prepare the machine.
“Where’s yer manners, Sweetness? Ain’t you supposed to buy a feller a drink before askin’ ‘im to strip for ya?” He says.
“Knock it off,” the guard says sternly. “You’re here to get help, not chit-chat.” Coyle frowns at him, mumbling, “Just you, lemme get you in a room…” He pulls at the zipper of his jacket, grimacing as he pulls his arm through. You wheel the X-ray machine over to his side, waiting for him to finish. He hands you his jacket, watching you place it on the table nearby.
“Don’t you lose that, now,” he says with a smirk. “That there badge is what makes ‘em swoon.”
You try to ignore him as you turn the machine on. It’s difficult; you can feel his eyes on your face, searching for any sign of unnerve. You pull a nearby table to the bedside, glancing at him.
“I’ll… need to get your arm into a better spot so I can see what’s going on,” you say.
“Can’t keep yer hands off of me, can you?” he laughs. You feel a blush creep across your face as you gingerly move his arm onto the table. His smile fades suddenly, and he lets out a hiss in pain. You pull away, startled.
“Easy there! I told you, I think it’s broke!” he growls.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you say
He regards you silently for a moment before returning his arm to where you had it before.
“‘S alright, Darlin’. I’ll come to forgive ya.” he mutters, smirking at you.
You notice then that his shirt sleeve is still down, buttoned at the wrist. You gently undo it, pulling the sleeve up. Your fingers brush over his arm, the act feeling more intimate than it should. How long has it been since you’ve had any human contact? It's far too long, for sure, if something like this makes you feel butterflies.
His arm is bruised, a deep purple marring his skin. The flesh is puffy and inflamed, clearly having sustained a severe injury. You quickly take the x-ray, and all three of you look at the screen. Clear as day, there's a noticeable break in his ulna. It’s all internal, making your job much easier.
“Okay, so it’s definitely broken,” you start.
“Yeah, no shit,” the guard laughs, “Looks like he got you pretty good.”
“Weren’t my fault, bastard snuck up on me!” Coyle retorts.
The tension is evident in both of them. It would be best to get Coyle out of here as quickly as possible before one of them snaps.
“We’ll have to reset it before I can put you in a sling. You won’t be able to use that arm for a few days.” You explain.
“Yer kiddin’! The hell am I meant to do in the meantime?!” Coyle asks.
“A good question,” the guard adds, “We got a lot of people who need to complete Trials for their Rebirth. Guess we’ll have to reroute them to Gooseberry and Franco…”
“Goose and Franc- Bull. Shit!” Coyle shouts, “Them two couldn’t take down an inbred half-wit if you put them in a Trial together!”
“That’s… not a bad idea…” the guard says. “Both of them together, wonder what Easterman would make of that…” He rubs his chin as he speaks before taking out a small notebook from his back pocket. As he jots down the idea, Coyle looks at you.
“How long am I gonna be out fer?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” you say. We’ll put you in a sling and check on it again in a few days.”
Coyle grumbles as you put the machine back. You all turn as you hear a loud crash from outside the room. There’s frantic yelling and shouts for help. Without hesitation, the guard leaves the room; the door automatically locks behind him. You’re frozen in fear as you realize you’re trapped—with Coyle—and have no way to defend yourself. You look at him, fear in your eyes, as he smirks at you.
“Don’t you worry, Honey. I ain’t gonna do nothin’.” He says. “‘M too out of it to do anything big. Besides… purty thing like you? Wouldn’t wanna scuff up a face like that…”
You try to stay calm and slow your breathing. Your hands shake as you approach him again.
“W-we… uhm… we need to set the bone back in place. Or else it won’t heal right.” you stutter.
“Right… I assume we’ll be doin’ this now? Without any meds?” he asks.
You nod. “Sorry. I can’t prescribe you anything. The doctor will have to do that in the morning.”
He lets out a sigh, holding his arm out to you. It’s like he’s done this before, trying to relax his body as he prepares for the pain. You take his arm, adjusting it a bit before pausing. You need to make sure you do this right. You don’t want to piss him off any further than you already have.
You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost startled when you hear the click of a lighter. You look up to see Coyle has a cigarette in his mouth, bringing the flame close to light it.
“I- Sir, you can’t do that; this is supposed to be a sterile environment!” you say.
He stares at you, smiling when you call him ‘Sir’. He tucks the lighter back into his shirt pocket and takes a long drag from his cigarette. He’s polite enough to turn away from you before blowing the smoke away.
“And what exactly are you gonna do about it, Sweetheart?” he asks.
You blink, thinking about it for a moment. There’s… really nothing you can do to stop him, and he knows it. The only authority figure here has abandoned you momentarily—at least, you hope it’s momentary.
“Just… make sure you take it with you when you leave,” you mutter quietly.
He takes another drag, smirking at you. “Whatever you want, Darlin’.”
You return your focus to his arm, able to feel his heartbeat through his skin. It’s bad. It needs to be taken care of tonight before it worsens.
“It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” You say.
“I know it’s gonna hurt, goddamn it, just get on with it!” he snaps.
You get into position, looking at the x-ray to ensure you’re pressing against the affected area. When you’ve got it right, you squeeze, pushing the bones back into place. His hand clenches, a slew of curses leaving him as you press against him with all your strength. You feel the bones grind against each other, pulling away immediately.
“Okay, okay! I-I think that was it…” you say.
“Better fuckin’ be, fer yer sake!” he shouts. He clutches his arm, shaking in pain. “Didn’t think you was strong enough to get it done. Little thing like you.”
Your face turns red, his words clearly reaching you. It doesn’t go unnoticed; Coyle chuckles upon seeing you flustered.
“What’s wrong, Sweetness? Gettin’ a lil’ hot under the collar?” he says. “There’s more where that came from if yer wantin’ fer it bad enough.”
“I… I don’t think…” you stutter.
“Yer supposed to be makin’ me feel better, ain’t you?” he asks, “I can think of… several… different ways you could make me feel much better…”
He reaches out to you with his good hand, gently grabbing your arm before trailing down to your hand. He lifts it to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly—his stubble scrapes against your skin, but not in a bad way. He smiles up at you, his eyes barely visible under his glasses.
The door bursts open, the guard from before entering breathlessly.
“You okay? I am so sorry; I completely forgot to get you out of the room before I-” he pauses when he sees Coyle holding your hand. “What the hell…?”
“Weren’t doin’ nothin’. Just a little… pettin’. That’s all.” Coyle says. He releases your hand, smirking at you. You clear your throat, turning toward the guard.
“He just needs a sling now. Then he can go back,” you say. Your voice shakes a bit, your face burning with shame. You quickly retrieve a sling from a nearby supply closet, helping Coyle into it. Every second you spend touching him feels intense, especially with the guard staring at you. When you finish, Coyle adjusts his arm to make himself more comfortable.
“Ain’t half bad. They oughta keep you around, Sweetheart.” he chuckles.
“Enough. Get up, and let's get to the elevator.” The guard orders. Coyle groans a bit as he swings his legs over the side of the gurney. You hand him his jacket, heart beating quicker as he deliberately brushes his hand against yours. Your eyes dart up to his for a moment, unable to read his expression from behind his glasses.
“Coyle. Now.” The guard is losing his patience, hand reaching for his taser.
“Don’t get yer panties in a bunch; I’m goin',” Coyle says.
The three of you go out into the hallway, an alarmingly large pool of blood on the floor. There are drag marks, indicating that whoever’s blood it is couldn’t walk after. Another patient, someone who very likely needs your help immediately.
The guard pushes the button to call the elevator, arms crossed as he waits. The bell goes off, the doors opening. Coyle steps inside, turning to face you.
“Let them know if you get to missin’ me too much. I can find time for you, sweet thing…” he says. Before you can respond, the doors shut, delivering him back to his room. The guard turns to you.
“So… here’s the thing. I’ve already gotten a few strikes on my record. Dumb shit, wasn’t even my fault,” he says. “If it gets out that I left you alone with a Prime Asset? I’m done. Terminated.”
He steps a bit closer, making you feel unnerved.
“With that being said, how about we make a deal? You keep your mouth shut about my little… slip-up… and I won’t say anything about you fraternizing with the Asset. Sound good?”
He reaches out to shake your hand. You hate it, but you have to agree with him. Hefty consequences exist for sympathizing with any of the hostiles, let alone a Prime Asset. If you want even the slightest chance of leaving, you need to keep your head down. You stare at the guard's hand, slowly reaching out to him.
You shake on it, the two of you quickly returning to work. Like nothing ever happened.