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Breaking Bad; Gustavo Fring x Reader Part 3

The phone rings and you know what happened even before you answer. That particular disposable phone was chosen for one single purpose - an emergency.

You leap from your chair and almost slide from the table to answer it before it rings the second time. Flipping it open, you still your breathing and answer.

"Something's cooking, kid, I don't like it," Mike's voice on the other side is calm, a contrast to the thoughts in your head, "Pack up, don't let Gus out of your sight today."

"He told me not to accompany him today," you answer, "He's supposed to meet an old friend of his and it looked like he really didn't want me there."

"Well be fucking careful then," Mike commands, "Get off your ass."

Tough love, some might call it. You roll your eyes but listen to his words. After you hang up, you take ten minutes to prepare. Your handguns are there, strapped to your thighs underneath the skirt. You remember Mike laughing at you the first time he saw you pulling them out from under there, but you don't care. They are convenient to get to and, besides, you think that it looks badass. Mike can suck it.

The past month you have been in front of the reports more often than not. Gustavo Fring seemed to be invited to every charity event, every dinner, and every grand opening, and you had to hang on his arm. You endured the questions stoically, giving your smiles and your laughs freely, and doing your best to charm everyone in the vicinity. It was going quite well because you've seen yourself in the headlines a few times as well - described as the mysterious, gorgeous, starlet, a future trophy wife of the local magnate. You snorted at it but didn't mind that they called you gorgeous. About time someone noticed.

Gustavo had been a picture-perfect fiance, holding your hand and smiling, posing for photos with you on his arm. The couple of times that he kissed you in public you managed not to be as taken aback as the first time. You were a professional, you fit into every role with ease, and this one hadn't been particularly unpleasant.

When out of the public eye, Gustavo spoke to you in his usual polite and methodic manner - explaining the next event and when you would meet, what to wear, and what to be careful not to say. You listened and obeyed while keeping your attention focused on the things happening on the sidelines. No threat presented itself during that month, but if it had, you were more than ready to meet it head-on.

Now, it seemed, you will get that chance, finally. Unless Mike was exaggerating.

The home for the elderly wasn't the type of place that Gustavo frequented. There was no great event planned there, otherwise, you would have been made aware. He was there on personal business and you felt greatly uncomfortable as you parked your car on the street, and walked across the parking lot to the visitors' entrance. You were getting along great so far partially due to not getting into each others' personal business. You are about to change that now.

The automatic doors open and you walk inside.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Gustavo turning a corner in a hurry. Something doesn't feel right. You have never seen him rush anywhere before.

You run after him, as the staff of the retirement home rush to stop you.

"Hey, miss!"

"You can't go in there!"

The calls echo through the hallways as you climb the stairwell up, two steps at the time. Your heart beats inside your eardrums when you reach the upper floor. Gustavo places a hand on the doorhandle of the first room in the row and you scream out: "Don't!"

His head snaps toward you, the look in his eyes far from friendly as you interrupt him. His gaze is blank, but you feel the rage behind it and you wonder if this was the day when you die. It was bound to arrive sooner or later, though you had hoped it would be later. Your instinct never betrayed you before and there was something simply not right with the way this day started.

You steel yourself and approach.

You manage only one step before the doors are blown off its hinges, the explosion shaking the entire building.

Gustavo is thrown back against the wall, caught by the brunt of the force that sent the wooden splinters and debris outwards. You are close enough to be sent back reeling, but not close enough to go down. The setting dust burns your throat as you place a hand over your mouth and cough, eyes searching for your employer. Seeing him slumped against the wall, you rush to his side.

"Gustavo?" You call, kneeling down to him, one hand on his neck, feeling for the pulse. He hit his head hard enough to be knocked out and his torso was the first in the way of the explosion that took out the doors. You see spots of blood staining his shirt. "Fuck," you mutter, one hand already on the phone, flipping it open to call Mike.

The pursuit had stopped, no one climbs behind you up the stairs, but you hear the fire alarms go off and the sound of sirens is already there in the distance.

"Mike, pick us up at the Casa Tranquila. Hurry!" You say the moment you hear him pick up and then fold the phone back down.

Gustavo grunts. His eyes flicker open and he looks up at you, but his gaze is unfocused.

"We need to get outta here," you say, without any hesitation taking his arm and wrapping it over your shoulders, "Lean on me," you move to stand up, haulinghim to his feet. You are stronger than you look, years of training had strenghtened your mucles, hidden behind your close-fitted clothes.

Barely able to walk, but at least aware, Gustavo Fring listens to your imput as you take him down a second set of stairs and to the back exit. The retirement home is in such chaos that only one nurse tries stopping you. You have to knock her out with the butt of your gun, hoping that she won't remember what happened when she comes to.

Mike waits for you outside, getting out of the car quickly to help you place Gustavo in the back seat. The entire front of his shirt is stained with blood now and you see a dozen little tears in the fabric, revealing the wounds beneath.

"You got a first aid kit in this piece of junk?" You ask, opening the trunk.

"Yeah, it's in there. Hurry it up, kid," Mike slips back to the driver's seat, when you pick up the kit and get into the back, next to Gustavo. "What the hell happened in there?" The older man asks, but doesn't wait for your answer, stepping on the gas pedal to get you all the hell outta there.