A/N: Takes place during "Personal" from Deeks' point of view. And yes, I do have an addiction to Hamilton thank you for noticing. FYI this will not be the last Hamilton titled fic I write. I have at least two more in the works. So...you're welcome! :) Enjoy!
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.
Is this where it gets me, on my feet, sev'ral feet ahead of me?
...
If I throw away my shot is this how you'll remember me?
What if this bullet is my legacy?
-"The World Was Wide Enough" Lin-Manuel Miranda
Blood soaked his sweatshirt. Damn. Gunshot wounds hurt.
He'd imagined death so often it felt more like a memory than an unknown. He'd known the day he pulled the trigger, the second he made the decision to take the life of his former partner, that his own finale would be equally bloody. He'd accepted that reality, resigned himself the consequences of his actions. Someday, sooner rather than later, he would have to pay.
Best-case scenario he'd imagined it would be a firefight that got him. Quick. Painless. Here and then gone. Worst case an undercover op gone wrong. Something long and slow. Tortured by the hands of his captor. He'd thought about it over and over, picturing the scenarios in his mind as he lay awake at night. Every case he'd worked he'd wondered…would this be it? Would this be the day he didn't go home?
Never had he pictured it happening like this; just an everyday hold-up gone bad. It was less dignified than what he'd hoped for. He didn't even have his gun with him. It had been foolish to hope for a hero's end. He was no one's hero.
He gasped for air. Choked on it.
His mother was going to be a wreck when they finally tracked her down. All the lies he'd told her over the years, trying to protect her, they were going to hurt like hell. He'd never get to tell her that he was sorry, god was he sorry to leave her like this; alone, without any sort of goodbye.
He could feel consciousness slipping away. His vision blurred.
He'd thought he had a little more time. Thought he'd have a sense of when it all might go down, a hint of warning. Thought he'd have time to get things in order, atone for his sins. He'd hoped that in paying for his mistakes there would be some relief, the weight of his transgressions finally lifted from his shoulders. Instead all he felt was more guilt, more shame, as every lie he'd ever told, every wrong decision he'd ever made, flashed before him in spectacular color.
Fire was spreading across his stomach, his back, his chest. Dying was far more painful than he'd thought it would be.
The shooter walked into his field of vision, took aim. This was it. His story would conclude here on a dirty, liquor store floor. It was the death he deserved. But not the one he wanted.
A/N: Leave your love in the reviews!