A/N: Inspired by this week's prompt over at the LiveJournal community tamingthemuse. Please enjoy. Don't own Genrex, just playing with them, etc and so on.
The pale, calloused hand holding the pen stopped as the owner stared at the name he'd used for so long it'd become natural to him, striking it through with a single diagonal line and resigning, after a moment of thought, the name that had been his before his life began anew. That was how these things worked after all, this sentimental passing of the torch between father and son… He felt himself smile at the thought; one teenage boy had been so many different things – friend, enemy, destroyer of dreams and bringer of hope – to so many different people, but he would never know the most important role he'd played in the lives of the two people who cared for him the most.
He unbuttoned his cuffs one at a time, rolling his sleeves carefully past his elbows and, fingering the magnetic clips he'd been inseparable from for twenty years, released the clasps that held them there. The faint click each made as they came free was deafening in the heavy silence that hung in the room, with the final one seeming to echo in his ears like a gunshot as he removed the swords from them, laying each hilt reverently in the velvet lined case they'd been in when he'd first gotten them. He pressed the clips into their spot in the lid, folded the paper he'd been writing on so that it would just fit over the weapons and closed the lid, his ears ringing in the total silence that closed in over him as he stared at it. His hands shook for the briefest of instants as he took them away from the case to roll his sleeves back down, steady as stone by the time he buttoned his cuffs again. He was ready to face death.
His feet lead him to the boy – sound asleep on his back, one leg dangling over the edge of his bed while he snored peacefully – and he put the case on the nightstand, sure it would be seen when he woke up. He felt a pang of regret as he paused just for a moment outside of her door and hoped that, for once in his life, everything went right and the boy told her before his killer could tell her his lies. The truth would hurt, but knowing him, hearing his lies without the truth would completely break her. A lesser man would have stopped his walk at that point.
A lesser man's steps wouldn't have lead him right to the room where his end awaited him, Death's hermetically sealed suit a stark contrast to the steel walls and the blade in his hand. But Six was not a lesser man. He would stare Death in its heavily lined face while its grey eyes flashed and words like traitor, pussy and bleeding-heart flashing through its mind as it took its first step towards him. He felt nothing – no pain, no hate, no regret – when the blade struck home.
Rex swore and reached out to smack his alarm when it went off early, his hand falling on the case instead and forcing him to open his eyes. He saw the vague outline of it, backlit by the red glowing numbers that proclaimed it barely 1 a.m., through the sleep still blurring his eyes and the darkness of his room, fingers brushing the wall as he pulled it towards him and his Nanites ordered the lights on. The box was decorated with a single symbol – he thought it looked similar to the one on the tantō he'd been given, but the language all looked the same to him anyways – inlaid in gold, and was a dark green instead of his first thought of black. It opened easily on well-oiled hinges when he lifted the lid, seeing first the paper and then the clips in the lid, his eyes wide when the paper shifted just enough to see part of the hilt of one of the swords.
The writing on the paper was small, but neat and nearly typewriter perfect. Don't believe any of his lies, Rex, it said. He will tell you I failed a mission, or that I took my own life, anything he can to make you believe him. But you're smarter than that. We're traitors in his eyes – you, me and Rebecca. These are yours now; I let him have my life, even let him have the satisfaction of taking it himself, but I will not let him defile my legacy by claiming my weapons. Take Rebecca with you and run, Rex, as far away from Providence as the two of you can get. Knight isn't the only one who will try to end you.
Through the rage that boiled in his stomach, he noticed the signature. Six had been crossed out, replaced by a name Rex assumed was the one his mentor had been born with. His hand clenched tight around the paper as his entire body shook with the need to break something, though the other hand traced the hilts of the swords the same loving way he'd watched the older man feel them when he thought no one else was looking. Breath coming in ragged bursts that were half rage and half barely contained sobs; he carefully refolded the paper and put it back where it'd been, closing the lid and calmly getting to his feet before a hand slammed down on his alarm clock. The plastic shattered under the force of the blow, slicing his hand open and shocking him as blood soaked the electrical wiring.
He grabbed his jacket and bag, hid the case at the bottom, and let his feet lead him slowly to her, picking shards of shattered plastic out of his skin as he walked. She was asleep when he got there, sheets in disarray and mumbling to herself like she was having a nightmare. "Doc?" His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but her eyes flew open as if he'd shouted, focusing first on the empty expanse next to her and then on him. "We have to go."
The tone of his voice seemed to be enough to snap her fully awake, she didn't seem the least bit tired when she asked "Where's Six?" He felt the rage boil in his gut again and took several deep, even breaths to steady himself. "Rex?"
"Dead," the word left his mouth faster than he could think of a less blunt way to put it. "Knight killed him. We have to go," he repeated, "We're in danger." Her eyes were glassy, distant, but she threw herself out of bed and into motion almost immediately. Did you expect this to happen too, then? He found himself thinking as he watched her take a duffel bag out of her closet, turning to face the door when she started to strip off her nightshirt where before he would have stared. Did everyone expect this to happen but me?
He took the bag from her and hoisted it over his left shoulder, his own resting on top of it as he lead the way out the door, right hand free in case they met resistance and needed to fight their way out. Neither of them wore a communicator, they would dump their trackers somewhere and do exactly what Six's last words had told them to do. They would run, but Rex had no intention to hide, not for long. Knight and whoever else had decided they needed to die would pay for this, even if it was the last thing he did.