So, obviously this is a little drabble I wrote after seeing Wild Target, yes I feel in love with it, who the hell wouldn't? I just thought of this while I was reflecting the movie and my inspiration came from when Dickson states, while wearing his uber creepy smile, that "he is the ultimate killing machine" so I had to write this, I apologize for it being so short though, it looked longer in Microsoft Word, but I kinda like it, it's always good to be just a little bit proud of what you do.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Wild Target, though I desperately wish I did. I'm not really sure there's really anything to own about this story myself, but if there is, it's mine. Also, I frickin own it, so I at least own the words.

Enjoy~

As Dixon had put it, he was the ultimate killing machine. Every job he did he did swiftly and concisely with an efficiency that was always short and to the point. No groveling on the floor for mercy, no begging for second chances or asking questions. Just witty small talk to give him the time to relax after he checked his wrist and before he took his breath, and…done. Then he would silently return his gun to the safety and confines of his five hundred dollar jacket, dust of his shoulders, straighten his tie, and make his way out. Disappearing without a trace, which was never hard because he never left any traces of himself to begin with. Not even for him. Yes, he was the ultimate killing machine.

But he was also a man. And every man has a weakness. If only one thing that makes him human, something that he simply can't give up or destroy, a reason for doing whatever he did. Some men might call it beer; others may call it women in general, while other, more sensitive men might say it was music or art. In any case, it was an undeniable force that existed within every soul.

For the longest time, Victor Maynard showed no signs of ever having such a weakness. With each hit he made, that theory was only proved more wrong. But one cannot fight fate, and Victor Maynard, "ultimate killing machine", was no exception.

That fateful day in the car park, was the day of Victor's undoing, the day that really started to make him think about who he was and why he did what he did.

It was the day that Victor Maynard, hit man extraordinaire, met his weakness.

It wasn't really fair, he had meant to kill her, he really had, but some other incompetent idiot was about to do his job for him, and he really couldn't have that. At that second, he saw that he had no option other than to kill him.

And all because of that one decision, he found his reason and gave himself a weakness.

At first he didn't know how to handle it, or what he should do. Should he just kill her, like he was supposed to? He tried, he really did for the first few days, but he found he simply couldn't. it just wasn't possible, not even an option.

Eventually, he gave up on the possibility of killing her altogether, obviously he couldn't possibly try and she was going to remain as lucky as hell and just as oblivious about it. Damn love.

And to make matters worse, she both made it worth and not worth saving her life at the very same time. On the one hand, she managed to almost blow their cover several times with her incredibly uncanny ability to be noticed. Eventually she did blow their cover altogether, with her stupid drunken mistake. There was also the fact that she tore up his precious garden for no apparent reason other than to thank him somehow.

But then there was the matter of her soul, the most conniving, cunning, caring and refreshingly original personality that was very distinctly Rose. He couldn't quite put his finger on in, and that was what he loved most about her. She was absolutely impossible to define, but for his sake, she made herself easy for him to read.

Because of that, he decided to let down his guard, show her who he was, and himself. Let them be together as one, never let her go, because God knew it was so easy to let her slip away.

Thus, nine months after they killed Dixon, his reason gave him a second reason. And now every morning, Victor Maynard looked at his reason sleeping beside him, dead to the world but so vibrant in life to him, heard his other reason scampering about down the hall, into Tony's room and down the stairs, and thought, pardon the pun, what killer reasons.

So...the ending was a little sappy but I wanted to tie it up a bit that way anyway, it obviously doesn't have a plot, it's just a reflection on the movie in the form of Victor's reflection on the current and recent state of his life. Regardless, I'm still proud of the way I wrote it, I haven't posted on fanfiction in a while, so this is what I came up with. If anyone reads this, I hope you like it. :)