Halt dich an mir fest
Chapter One
He had to go through with it. There was no other option. Though the bitter chill of the wind sent a shiver down his spine, the metal felt warm in Mike Weston's hand. It felt inviting. It was beckoning to him, leading him towards what they both knew was inevitable. His gaze drifted up to meet Max's. Her eyes were a sea of emotion, waves of concern and reluctance mingling with a new terror, a terror that Mike knew he had caused. He remembered her words from earlier, and they nearly stopped him in his tracks.
"Killing Lily Gray won't fix anything."
But Max Hardy was wrong. She hadn't watched Lily instruct Mark to slit her dad's throat. She hadn't suffered through countless nightmares where the scene replayed itself, never-ending and relentless. She hadn't had the perfect opportunity to avenge a death present itself, nor had she listened to the taunts of a smug Lily Gray. Moreover, Max hadn't yet lost faith in the authorities. She believed that Lily Gray could be brought to justice, and Mike simply knew that would never happen.
Weston tore his eyes away from Max and exhaled sharply. "I know this isn't going to fix anything for me," he admitted, "but it will fix you."
His period of hesitation was over. He had known all along that it would not last, and the actions came to him without effort. The three shots rang in his ears, bringing with them all the confirmation Weston sought. As Lily's body fell to the ground, crimson blood swirling into meaningless patterns against pure white snow, Mike did not feel the relief he had expected. His blood rushed through him, pulsing, reminding him that he lived on while another ceased to breathe. He had sought comfort from this action, yet it was an entirely different feeling that now welled up inside the agent. Empowerment.
"Mike! What have you done?" Ryan snarled. The other man looked up at him from his place next to the corpse, and Mike saw the disgust that accompanied his friend's words.
"What have I done?" Mike said with a bitter laugh. "What have I done, Ryan? I've done exactly what you never will. I've taken care of it."
"You call this better?" Ryan had assumed a condescending tone that Weston could not recall the man ever before adopting. No, his mind insisted, this is this tone that Ryan Hardy always uses against you. Ryan Hardy is a king, and you've merely been his little puppet. "This isn't better, Mike. How do you plan to explain this?"
Mike laughed. "I don't know, Ryan; maybe the same way you handled the cover-up last year? Or am I the only one who remembers when you shot a handcuffed man in the head?" Mike taunted.
"Mike, please." This time it was Max who had addressed him, and Mike's eyes instantly sought her out. Just as quickly, they darted away again, for he had seen something in them that he could not stand. Pity. "We'll take care of this, okay? We'll say that she ran…that she lunged at you…something, Mike. It'll be fine. You just need to…you just have to put your gun down, Mike."
Weston's gaze fell to his outstretched hand, where he found his weapon still pointed at where Lily Gray had been moments ago. He hadn't realized it, but he had made no move to lower his gun. He looked back at Max and recognized that he had been incorrect, partially. Max may have pitied him, but more than that swam in her azure orbs. This new glance unearthed understanding; she did not fault him. Mike's expression began to soften, and a small smile formed on Max's lips.
It was Ryan who broke the silence that had begun to envelope the snowy landscape. "Mike, give me your gun," he barked. "Now."
Weston's eyes shot back to the other man, and there was no mistaking the fire that had returned to them. He's doing it again, the voice in his head taunted. Using you. Like he always has. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about Lily Gray. He only cares about saving himself. Mike gritted his teeth. The request had seemed so much more pleasant, so much more plausible, coming from Max.
He doesn't want to help you. He means to control you.
Ryan stood and slowly began walking toward him, and Mike's arm knew what he intended to do before his brain had registered it. Images flashed through the agent's mind, and Mike could feel the anger welling up inside him. He was succumbing to the pain, and he was no longer sure that he cared. He saw himself in the warehouse, beaten, tortured. He saw Ryan's refusal of his help at the lighthouse, his later refusal to acknowledge Weston's existence. He saw himself crawling back to his father, only to be turned away because he was too damaged. He saw the video of Max's kidnapping and what could have happened to her at the hands of the Huntsman. He saw the defiance on his father's face as he was murdered, and Mike felt pain gripping his heart. He looked at Lily's crushed body, the chest no longer rising and falling in a frantic attempt to obtain air, and he realized what he was about to do. Looking at the weapon in his hand, Mike knew that he wasn't ready to relinquish control.
It was not the two gunshots that made him recoil. He had no remorse as he watched Ryan fall to the ground a few feet away from him. It was Max's startled gasp that reached his ears and sent him stumbling backward. Mike struggled to regain his composure as she rushed forward, falling to the ground beside her uncle. She frantically clasped her hands over the wounds in Ryan's neck and torso, and Weston noticed the brief understanding disappear from her eyes. Mike knelt next to her, placing his hand atop hers as she whispered words of encouragement to Ryan. She tensed and pulled away from him, but Mike grabbed a hold of her wrist, spinning her around to meet his gaze.
Tears streaked her ashen face, and Mike discovered that fear had crept into her eyes. He took his other hand and swept a lock of hair from her face. His gun brushed against her skin, and she tried to free herself, but his grasp was firm. "Mike, please…we can get him to a hospital…we can fix this. It's not too late," she implored.
Their eyes met, and Mike knew that his resolve would crumble if he didn't act now. Shaking his head, he replied, "We're not taking him to a hospital, Max." She started to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced her. "This is ending today, right here." She felt his gun press into her scalp and realization sunk in. "This is the only way."
"It's not, Mike," she sobbed. "Please…this isn't you; it's—"
"Shhh…" Tears were now streaming down his own face, dripping harmlessly to the snow below. Soon, Mike knew, the snow would be awash with all their blood, mingling into an endless expanse of pain until oblivion. "Just close your eyes, Max. It'll all be over soon." Save for the stifled sobs that escaped Max's body, silence fell over the pair. She no longer struggled, and relief swept over Mike.
A single shot rang out into the desolate woods.
Mike bolted awake as applause rang out from the television set. He took big gulps of air to steady his heart rate before sitting up on the couch and fumbling for the remote. He switched off the late night talk show and realized that he had been spending too many nights falling asleep in front of the tv. Only as he scanned the familiar living room did he begin to understand where he was. He ran his hand over Ryan's couch, as if to confirm to himself that it was there. That this life was real.
Memories from his dream flooded Mike Weston's mind, and for a moment he thought that it was possible that he had broken into Ryan's apartment, but he seemed to remember driving back to New York with the Hardys and being offered the couch. He exhaled sharply and leaned back against the couch, rubbing his hand across his face. It was a dream. Nothing more. You didn't shoot Ryan; you didn't kill…Max.
But he had killed Lily Gray; he was certain that that part had not been merely a dream, and the mention of Ryan's niece recalled another memory for Mike. Blinking, the agent stood up and stumbled to his friend's coat closet. After turning the knob and scanning through the few items in the closet, Weston's suspicions were confirmed: Max had left earlier in the night. Mike remembered her sitting in the back of Ryan's car on their drive back, tight-lipped and refusing to look at either man.
"Killing Lily Gray won't fix anything."
Mike sighed, pulling on his own coat and heading for the door. He nodded to the surprised Marshals outside Ryan's apartment as he descended the steps. A blast of cold winter air hit his face as he walked toward the street, and Weston could only hope that the reception he was about to receive would be less chilly.
Max Hardy was no stranger to loud noises emanating from the various floors of her apartment building, but it was rare that those noises were so close. She rolled over in bed and shut her eyes, trying her best to block out the pounding that was assaulting her aching ears. The noise continued relentlessly, and Max frowned. Sitting up in bed, her tired mind suddenly registered that the knocking was coming from her apartment door.
"Of course," she grumbled to herself as she pulled a flannel pajama shirt over her tank top, "I can't even get a few hours of sleep." The knocking persisted, and she vaguely began to wonder who was disturbing her. There were few people who knew where she lived, and even fewer who would consider this an appropriate time to show up on her doorstep. She supposed it could be Chris; she had been ignoring his calls for weeks now, and he was always prone to worrying. As unlikely as it seemed, Aunt Jenny could be making a surprise visit from Boca. A smoke alarm could have gone off in the hall, and the maintenance man assumed it was her fault. They always think I'm the one causing the cooking fires, her mind protested as she stomped toward the door. Deep down, she only hoped that this had nothing to do with one of Ryan's problems; she didn't think she could handle her uncle or Joe Carroll or who knows what else right now.
Peering through the peephole, she exhaled sharply. It was not Ryan, but it might as well have been. She threw open the door and folded her arms across her chest. "Mike, it's one in the morning," she accused. "What do you want?"
He had been expecting this reaction, so he merely shrugged. "Can I come in?"
"I'm going back to bed," she stated. Mike stuck his foot in between the door and its frame to prevent her from closing it. She saw the pleading look in his eyes as he stood in the threshold, and she sighed. "What do you want?" she repeated as she closed the door behind Weston.
"I just wanted to talk," he said shyly. "I know you were pretty mad about—"
Max frowned. "And you thought I would be less mad if you showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night?" she interrupted. "I can tell you that that isn't the case." Her tone was distant and unenthused; nevertheless, she took a seat on the edge of her couch and gestured for Mike to do the same.
Weston removed his coat and slung it over the back of the couch before sitting. He looked over at Max, a tired and weary expression on her face, and images from his dream flashed through his mind. He suddenly realized that he hadn't planned what to say to her. He had wanted to talk to her; that wasn't entirely a lie, but he knew that there was also another reason he had come here. He had sought to confirm that his dream was just that – a dream, but he had no desire to tell her this.
Max was tired. She stifled a yawn before raising an eyebrow in Mike's direction. "Well?" she queried.
Mike shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I just…I thought that maybe…" He sighed. "Look, I know that you're mad at me, but I had to do it, Max. I did."
"Yes, you had no other option but to kill Lily," she scoffed. Mike found himself deeply regretting coming to her apartment. He could tell she was irritated, but whether it was because of his actions earlier in the day or from being awoken in the middle of the night, he knew not. He was contemplating leaving when she continued in a broken voice, "You told me you weren't on a revenge mission. You and Ryan…you just do whatever you want, and you justify it by saying that it's your life. But it's not anymore. What we do…it affects all of us, Mike. You can't just go around killing people."
"She killed my dad, Max. What would you have done?" he spat. Her face turned into a mixture of hurt and anger, and, as with that first day in Max's office, Mike instantly wished he could have taken the words back.
"I didn't get that option," she informed him, "but if I had, I wouldn't have killed them. I would have made them suffer, every day, knowing what they had done to him. To me." She shook her head sadly as she stood up. "You can't respond to violence with more violence."
He grabbed her wrist as she tried to walk away. Mike winced as she pushed his bandaged arm away, and his dream image of holding the gun to her head resurfaced. "Max, please," he begged, tears welling up in his eyes, "just listen to me. I know that what I did…I know that it wasn't right, Max. I know the kind of position I've put you and Ryan in, and believe me, if there was any other way, I would have embraced it. Lily Gray never could have felt remorse," he asserted. Max said nothing nor would she look at him, but she was no longer trying to leave, so Mike continued, "We couldn't have taken her into custody. You saw the resources that woman had. She would have escaped every time we got a hold of her, and then just think of how many people would have died. Max, I had to kill her."
Max said nothing for a long time, and Mike feared that he had only made her angrier. Finally, her eyes drifted upwards to meet his, and a tear slid down her cheek. "And what happens now, Mike? You can't just run from this," she replied. "Everyone understands why you did it, but that doesn't mean that there won't be consequences…for all of us."
She looked defeated. Mike reached for her hand again, and although she flinched, she made no effort to pull it away. "Max, Ryan and I will take care of this," he promised. "No one will know that you were there."
She shook her head, and another tear fell from her eyes. "I don't care about that," she insisted, "but you'd be a fool to believe that Mark and Luke aren't going to retaliate, and they have all of Lily's resources."
He gripped her hand more tightly, insisting, "They're scrambling without Lily right now."
"As far as I'm concerned, that makes them all the more dangerous," Max maintained, sitting next to him. "They're mourning and vengeful, and you know how that feels. They're going to come after you."
"I know, Max. I know, and I'm prepared for the consequences," he declared.
She looked away from him again, and he could feel her body stiffen. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she uttered, "I don't want anything to happen to you."
He smiled and stroked her hand, vowing, "It won't. You're going to have to put up with me for a long time, Max."
Max knew that his words were only wishful thinking, that they held no true merit, yet she nevertheless returned his smile weakly. Softly, she replied, "That's a promise I'll hold you to, Mike Weston."
Author's Note: I would have put this at the beginning, but, well, I didn't want to ruin that opening scene. ;) Anyway, I actually started this before 2x14 aired and decided not to change the plotline because I admittedly found it a bit odd that Max, the "do-gooder" as Ryan called her, would automatically be fine with Mike killing Lily and act as if nothing had happened in her very next encounter with him. So, with that said, you can consider this an AU story that will have at least two more chapters (perhaps more), but I'm also already working on a separate one-shot for 2x14, so I don't have an exact idea of when this will be updated. Finally, the title was inspired by the Revolverheld and Marta Jandová song "Halt dich an mir fest."