The Professional: Roots
DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own connected with this is the movie, which I bought for 9.99 at Wal-Mart. Everything else is Mr. Besson's, and more power to him.
A NOTE: By all means, please review. Keep in mind, anyone who can't resist flaming will be hunted down and will have a rabid wombat inserted into their trousers. Serious.
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Almost there Leon thought, as he stumbled through the lobby. Escape was just a few feet away.
Leon felt terrible. Almost every part of him hurt. The bullets, the debris from the explosion, it was almost too much. But Leon kept going. Soon he'd be with Mathilda, at Tony's. He just had to keep going. Almost there. A few more steps.
The sound behind him. It was a familiar sound, one that Leon had heard a hundred times over in his life. It was a hammer being cocked back. Leon reacted without thinking. He crouched down to one knee, simultaneously spinning around and drawing his automatic. A gun went off, a heavy gun by the sound of it. Leon had a brief glimpse of a light suit, rumpled and expensive. Still on instinct, he thrust the gun into the suit and pulled the trigger twice.
The man fell back, to the ground. His heavy gun fell out of his hands, as he no longer had the strength to hold onto it. Leon stood up, breathing heavy. It had been a long day. He cautiously approached the shot man, keeping the gun up and aimed at the forehead. He noticed that his hand was shaking a little. Not much, but it was something to worry about later.
The man on the floor was smiling. Smiling. His eyes had the glazed over, yet still excited look of a man who is high, and doesn't want to come down. His face was unkempt, his breathing uneven. Leon glanced down at his front, knowing what he would see. The blood was already beginning to spread. This man didn't have very long. He coughed once, sending blood flying from his mouth.
"Norman Stansfield?" Leon asked.
The man on the floor coughed again, his eyes suddenly focused on Leon.
"This," Leon said, cocking the automatic and sighting it on Norman's forehead, "is from Mathilda"
Tony glanced at the girl in his restaurant. She was sitting at one of the tables, back against the wall, just like Leon always did. She was already picking up on his habits. What the hell? Tony thought She's only 12, for Christ's sake! Tony shook his head and poured himself a shot of bourbon.
"Hey kid! You want anything?"
"A glass of milk." Tony stopped again, and then poured a glass of milk. Shaking his head, he brought both glasses to the table, and sat back down. The kid looked up at him, with pain-filled eyes.
"Where's Leon?" Just hearing the question, the hurt that was inside it, made Tony pause, and throw back the drink before answering.
"Look, kid. I got a scanner in the back of my store here. I've been listening in. Anything that involves so many cops had to be important, huh? Anyway, they just said that it was over."
"He's dead?"
"There are still too many bodies to identify, but it looks that way kid. I'm. I'm sorry."
"But they didn't find his body?" Now the eyes were excited, hopeful. Tony looked down into his empty glass, decided to end this now.
"No, but they will kid. Now listen, and listen good. Leon's dead! You hear me, he's dead. He ain't coming back all right! So just let it go."
The girl cried then, buried her head in her arms. Tony felt bad, felt like shit. It had to be done. If she'd kept on hoping, it would have been worse. He softened his tone.
"Look kid, you think I ain't hurtin too? I loved that guy. I practically raised him. But we both gotta move on now, you and me. We just gotta accept that Leon's."
"Right here."
"Leon!" The girl's head shot up. There, in the doorway, was a bruised and bleeding Leon. HE was in a SWAT uniform, Tony noticed, but he was alive. Tony stood as Mathilda ran into Leon's arms, and watched the two hug each other as if neither would ever let go. He swallowed hard, and turned towards the bar.
"I'll just get some milk."
DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own connected with this is the movie, which I bought for 9.99 at Wal-Mart. Everything else is Mr. Besson's, and more power to him.
A NOTE: By all means, please review. Keep in mind, anyone who can't resist flaming will be hunted down and will have a rabid wombat inserted into their trousers. Serious.
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Almost there Leon thought, as he stumbled through the lobby. Escape was just a few feet away.
Leon felt terrible. Almost every part of him hurt. The bullets, the debris from the explosion, it was almost too much. But Leon kept going. Soon he'd be with Mathilda, at Tony's. He just had to keep going. Almost there. A few more steps.
The sound behind him. It was a familiar sound, one that Leon had heard a hundred times over in his life. It was a hammer being cocked back. Leon reacted without thinking. He crouched down to one knee, simultaneously spinning around and drawing his automatic. A gun went off, a heavy gun by the sound of it. Leon had a brief glimpse of a light suit, rumpled and expensive. Still on instinct, he thrust the gun into the suit and pulled the trigger twice.
The man fell back, to the ground. His heavy gun fell out of his hands, as he no longer had the strength to hold onto it. Leon stood up, breathing heavy. It had been a long day. He cautiously approached the shot man, keeping the gun up and aimed at the forehead. He noticed that his hand was shaking a little. Not much, but it was something to worry about later.
The man on the floor was smiling. Smiling. His eyes had the glazed over, yet still excited look of a man who is high, and doesn't want to come down. His face was unkempt, his breathing uneven. Leon glanced down at his front, knowing what he would see. The blood was already beginning to spread. This man didn't have very long. He coughed once, sending blood flying from his mouth.
"Norman Stansfield?" Leon asked.
The man on the floor coughed again, his eyes suddenly focused on Leon.
"This," Leon said, cocking the automatic and sighting it on Norman's forehead, "is from Mathilda"
Tony glanced at the girl in his restaurant. She was sitting at one of the tables, back against the wall, just like Leon always did. She was already picking up on his habits. What the hell? Tony thought She's only 12, for Christ's sake! Tony shook his head and poured himself a shot of bourbon.
"Hey kid! You want anything?"
"A glass of milk." Tony stopped again, and then poured a glass of milk. Shaking his head, he brought both glasses to the table, and sat back down. The kid looked up at him, with pain-filled eyes.
"Where's Leon?" Just hearing the question, the hurt that was inside it, made Tony pause, and throw back the drink before answering.
"Look, kid. I got a scanner in the back of my store here. I've been listening in. Anything that involves so many cops had to be important, huh? Anyway, they just said that it was over."
"He's dead?"
"There are still too many bodies to identify, but it looks that way kid. I'm. I'm sorry."
"But they didn't find his body?" Now the eyes were excited, hopeful. Tony looked down into his empty glass, decided to end this now.
"No, but they will kid. Now listen, and listen good. Leon's dead! You hear me, he's dead. He ain't coming back all right! So just let it go."
The girl cried then, buried her head in her arms. Tony felt bad, felt like shit. It had to be done. If she'd kept on hoping, it would have been worse. He softened his tone.
"Look kid, you think I ain't hurtin too? I loved that guy. I practically raised him. But we both gotta move on now, you and me. We just gotta accept that Leon's."
"Right here."
"Leon!" The girl's head shot up. There, in the doorway, was a bruised and bleeding Leon. HE was in a SWAT uniform, Tony noticed, but he was alive. Tony stood as Mathilda ran into Leon's arms, and watched the two hug each other as if neither would ever let go. He swallowed hard, and turned towards the bar.
"I'll just get some milk."