So Here's the Thing

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Hello, boys and girls. It's been awhile. Had a few things at home to figure out, plus I'm settling in to a new job. Hopefully I'll be back in force soon. I'm working on a serial that I will hopefully begin to post in a couple weeks. There's also another stand alone that I might finish and submit soon. As for this fic, it's post "versus Santa Claus", so beware.

As always, I adore reviews.

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So here's the thing. My job requires that I take certain actions. Actions when viewed by those outside the profession could be construed as, well, monstrous. For instance, shooting a man through the heart after he had, for all purposes, surrendered.

Okay, so the situation I present isn't exactly theoretical. In fact, it occurred just last night. I shot a man named Mauser. A decorated cop who served in the LAPD's narcotics and homicide divisions with distinction before being recruited by Fulcrum. And I killed him because he was a threat to Chuck.

Funny thing is, I don't even feel remotely guilty about it.

Please, ignore the fact I sit alone in my darkened hotel room on Christmas Night, a half empty bottle of vodka on the table before me. Mauser made a compelling case. If he was high enough on the Fulcrum food chain (which he claimed to be) and if he knew the location of the Intersect (which he did) concerted efforts would be made to recover him and that information. He couldn't be allowed to live.

Lying to Chuck however… that's worth drinking over.

I told him I arrested Mauser and that he was being sent to a detention facility. He believed it, of course. Why wouldn't he believe me?

So why do I feel that he doesn't? Did I imagine the awkward silences and nervous behavior earlier this Christmas Day? That whenever he met my eyes, he quickly turned away, as if he knew he was staring into the eyes of a murderer?

How did I become so compromised? When did it happen? Several months ago, at least. Undoubtedly before I willingly dug through a dumpster in search of a diamond.

What gets me is that I became compromised over a fake relationship. Drawn to the mystical allure known as normalcy. Of a life with family and friends. Thanksgiving dinners. Christmases in pj's, gathered around a fake gas fireplace watching The Twilight Zone.

Yeah, I'm living in The Twilight Zone if I thought that fantasy could ever be.

I've killed before. Numerous times over. But the way I killed Mauser… Again, I don't feel guilty. I protected the man I love. It's just… there's a distinction. A line which someone of Chuck's character and morality would see. The man had surrendered, but he was still a threat, even if he didn't carry a gun. Chuck would have pleaded with me. No, Sarah, don't do it. You can't shoot an unarmed man. I'll take my chances.

I couldn't let him. For Chuck and his family to remain safe, Mauser had to die. And I would pull the trigger again in a heartbeat.

Of course, if Chuck knew what I'd done, he'd be horrified. He'd never look at me the same. No longer would I be Sarah, the protector. I would be Sarah, the killer.

But if it means he'll stay safe, alive, outside of a government bunker, he can look at me any way he wants. I can rest content in the fact a threat against him was removed. Even if it means I lose him (if I ever had him to begin with). No, I don't feel guilty at all. I did what was necessary. I made a sacrifice. And isn't that what love is?

There's a knock at my door. I set aside my shot glass and release the safety on my Colt. I creep towards the door, glance out the peephole.

It's him.

I plaster on a fake smile and open the door. "Are you looking for a kiss underneath the mistletoe?" I tease.

His own smile is forced. In that moment, I understand. I know what words he's going to say.

"Sarah," he says, "we need to talk."

"No," I correct, "I need to talk. I just hope you'll understand."

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