Life Beyond The Graves

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Hello and thanks for clicking on my Fic, I hope you won't regret it.

This is my first attempt at a Repo! story, and it's also just a little something I came up with to entertain myself during a little writer block from my Watchmen story [On Friday Night, A Girl Died in New York]
Thanks to Ficerella for the Beta Reading!

Read and Review,
.T T.

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She's making her way up the stairs to her apartment, the sound of her black high heels against the concrete stairs is ringing in her ears, not helping her forming migraine. She got off of a twelve hours shift at the GeneCo accounts archives, another day verifying the files on her white computer screen, making sure everything is in order and checking to see if people are paying for their organs, another day hating herself for doing this job and being part of this system she's been loathing for so long. She's missing her old job at the little bookstore where she used to work, but elven months ago, when she went from married to separated, when half the money of the rent left with her husband, she had to get a better paying job and much to her despair, GeneCo pays very well. She stops her climbing for a few moments, catching her breath and damning that stupid elevator for not working again, she looks through the window at this awful city that she has grown to hate. The grey buildings with their giant screens and their overflow of publicity: 'Get your new exotic skin transplant!', 'Affordable organ make-overs are just a simple finance away.', 'You want it? GeneCo's got it!' and beyond that, the overground part of the graveyard, the constant reminder of what will happen to those who don't use GeneCo's services or those who do and fail to pay back. Like the smell wasn't already a reminder. The window shows her something even more repulsive to her than the city, her own reflection; her short pink hair is gelled back, her black glasses are out of style, her eyes seems to have been pushed back in her head due to the endless work shifts and insomnia, her skin is even paler than usual and the dark circles around her eyes aren't helping. She looks sick, she feels sick too, sick of this life, of this world, of the fact she hasn't really slept for over ten months because she's unable to sleep alone in her bed and when sleep finally claims her it's only a matter of time before she has to get up to go back to a job she hates. Sometimes she wonders why she even bothers...

Taking her eyes away from her reflection, she looks up at the remaining flights of stairs, three more stories and she'll be home, three more stories before she'll enter her cold apartment where everything reminds her of him, three stories before she spends her night worrying for him and hating him, both at the same time. After a long sigh, the clicking of her heels fills the night again. Only a few more steps and I'm... Her thoughts are interrupted by an unexpected sight, there on the ground, by her door, what at first looks like a pile of clothes, too familiar clothes. She's still a few steps from her floor and too dumbfounded to actually move when the pile of clothes shifts a bit and addresses her.

"Hey Mack..."

The voice hits her like a dagger straight in the heart, it sounds so full of pain. Despite her senses, she can't stop herself from rushing to the side of the one person she's been hoping would stay away from her for the rest of her life. His left eye is so swollen it's almost totally closed, the rest of his face is covered in cuts and bruises and from what she can see from his torn open shirt, the rest of his body seems to be in the same state. Worried he might pass out right there, she pulls on him with all her strength wishing for a moment she wasn't so weak. After two unsuccessful attempts, she manages to pull him to his feet and put one of his arms around her shoulder. Trying to keep him stable with one hand, she feels around her pockets for her keys with the other, finally finding them, she unlocks the door and leads him inside. Without even thinking she makes her way to the bedroom and helps him down on the bed.

"What in the hell happened to you?"

She goes to turn on the light to get a better look at his injuries, not thinking that more light will make her see his face more clearly, she regrets turning them on as soon as she does. His face, the face of the only man she ever loved, the only man who ever broke her heart, is there, in their bed, staring back at her and all she wants to do is reach out and touch it. He looks at her, his mouth slightly opened, his breathing harsh as he winces in pain and after a too long moment, she finally snaps out of it.

"Try to stay conscious, I'll go get the first aid kit."

"No, don't... don't go..."

She was already halfway through the door when he manages to get those few words out, between winces of pain and hissing breaths. She turns around about to tell him he needs medical help now, that she should at least clean his wounds and check him for a concussion, but she doesn't because she can see he wants to say something more, even if talking seem to hurt more than anything.

"...shouldn't have come here... I know... but..."

"Shh. It's okay."

She steps out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, as she looks for the first aid kit, she tries to clean her thoughts. He's just here because he's hurt, no other reason. Don't flatter yourself, he probably just knew you wouldn't say "No." He knows how pathetic you are. This though in her head, she makes her way back into the room, he hasn't moved, still lying on his back like she left him, still wincing every time he breaths, it hurts more than she even admits to herself. She sits on the side of the bed and slowly, gently, starts to check his wounds, they're mostly cuts and bruises; it's slightly reassuring and he doesn't seems to have anything broken. After cleaning the cuts on his face, she realizes there's a lot of blood-coated hair on the right side of his face, looking closer, careful not to hurt him, she sees a longer, deeper cut starting from his roots. In all the years she has known him, never has he been in such an awful state, over the years, she has grown accustomed to taking care of all kinds of wounds that he seems to accumulate. She would often tease him that he had a rotten luck, and he'd smile and answer that his luck was perfect since he was lucky enough to have her, but that was then, tonight, he doesn't really talk, he inhales sharply when she's hurting him but otherwise he stays silent, his opened eye never leaving her face.

"There. That should do it. Now I recommend you to sleep and I want you out by the time I'm back from work tomorrow."

She gets up, but he grabs her wrist, even after such a beating, he's still stronger than her. She stares at him for a moment, half tempted to sit back next to him, half wanting to take her arm away from her and run into the bathroom and away from him.

"Stay... it's your bed after all... It's not like we never slept together and you... you know the couch ain't comfortable."

She can't believe him, he's flirting with her, even after all that happened between them, he has the nerves to flirt with her... and her stomach as the nerves to fill itself with tiny butterflies... She knows it's a bad idea, but she silences the voice in her head quite fast and nods. She moves to her drawers and pulls out pyjamas, she doesn't remember the last time she slept in one, more used to sleeping in her panties, but not tonight, he won't have that satisfaction. She goes to the bathroom and changes, refusing to do it in front of him. As she makes her way onto the bed and under the blankets, she hears him move, he's trying to get closer. Furious, she turns around and glares at him.

"Touch me and I swear whoever did that to you will look like a Saint compared to me!"

Somehow, her threats seem to make the desired effect and he moves back to his side. She expects it to be a long sleepless night again, and she'll probably hate herself even more in the morning when she'll realize she hasn't slept yet again, but for some reasons beyond her, sleep claims her almost as soon as her head touches the pillow. Before drifting off into the land of dreams that she hasn't visited in so long, she listens to his harsh breathing, feels his warmth next to her and hears him whisper: "Good Night, Mack."

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Author's Note:
Who do you think the husband is? Should I continue this story? Do you think Mack's threats will be put to actions?
Reviews feed the writer! ;)

.T T.