Snow fell all around him, on that cold, frozen December evening. All around him, flakes of white fell, kissing his cheeks as his eyes stared out into the foggy, gray expanse of the sky. He sat slumped against a park bench, and simply watched.
In the distance there was a flashing of red, a warning light, a touch of blinking like a beacon against the endless emptiness of that nameless park lost in the suburbs of Moscow. It reminded him of her. How much he missed her, how much he loved her, how'd he'd never stopped loving her, how he'd have given her everything.
And he felt such regret. It wasn't supposed to end this way. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't fair.
He remembered her, back when they were young. She was so full of fire, so full of energy, so full of life and light and hope. He missed that, now. He had for years.
He remembered their first kiss, that soft, awkward thing that they both shared. He remembered their first intimate moment, their first touch, their first time together, their first time he held her, and she held him, and in the din of the night, the first time they made love.
And he remembered their parting.
"…but you can't do that! How could you do that, Ron!?" Kim all but screamed, her voice hoarse from the vicious argument that had been raging back and forth between the two. Alone in their home, she grabbed the engagement ring on her finger and all but threw it at him, instead letting it crash against the wall beside him.
"I'm doing this for us, Kimmie! Don't you understand? Don't you get it!? I have to do this, for you, for us!" His fist slammed against the table, and the wood almost splintered under the crushing blow.
Kim only stared at him a moment, before turning on her heel and running from the room. Ron breathed deep, hand aching as he glared at her retreating back. Why couldn't she understand? He had to do this. His country needed him, and he'd answered the call. They'd be taken care of, both he and she, and in a few years he could retire on a good government pension and they could raise a family.
She couldn't understand it. He didn't know why.
He saw the glinting ring lying against the floor, and he gently lifted it, the band warped slightly from the impact against the wall.
He let her go.
The next time they met, there was nothing but rage and malice and hatred between the two. She couldn't stand to look at him. He didn't know why.
He found out later just what he'd sold his soul for.
The memory brought a chuckle to his lips, one that was reduced to wet, wracking coughs. The pain in his chest spiked once more, and his hand drifted up against the fibers of his thick coat.
They'd lied to him, of course. It's what the government does, after all. Kim knew better, she'd been warned off by Dr. Director months before, when the Fed had cut off Global Justice's funding, in favor of their own black bag group.
He should have listened to her.
Too late now.
Specs of red kissed his lip, touching bits of crimson against his collar. It reminded him of his first mission.
"…take the shot. I repeat, take the shot."
Ron hesitated for just a second, before he pulled the trigger. This man was evil. He was serving his country, making it safe for Kim, for his family, for hers…
His head vanished in a spray of blood and his body fell with a soft thump. Ron felt sick.
He had written Kim, again, earlier that day. Written to her about how he was sorry, how he wanted to make up with her. He'd sent her their old ring, the one she'd thrown at him months before. He desperately wanted her back. It hurt without her, and he wanted her back with him.
Gunshots echoed through the night, even as he vanished into the mists, rifle and all.
She was his better half. With her, he never would have done this, never would have let them control him like they did. She would save him. She would come back to him and things could be like they used to be.
Three week later the letter was returned, unopened.
He sent it again, and it came back thusly.
He tried again. Another man died by his hands.
It came back untouched.
Ron sobbed into his arms that night.
She wasn't going to come save him.
The memory was bitter, but somehow sweet. He supposed that, when you were looking back, the world seemed so much better, even the bad parts. His life hadn't gotten any better, since then. He was a company man, now. They owned him, totally and completely.
Since then, he'd lost count at the number of men and women and, in some cases, children, that had died at his hands. He wasn't a hero any more, even though they told him he was. He was he thing he'd always been afraid of, always hated. It made him want to cry, but he didn't have that in him anymore, either.
He had made the choice to come and work for the government that he'd loved so much. He decided to come serve as their hand, as their fist. Kim had left him because she didn't want to see him become what he was.
He didn't see that then.
He saw it now.
Five years had passed, the next time he saw her. It was on the television, sitting alone in his empty apartment, drowning in another bottle as he stared listlessly at the news. It was down time. Nobody needed to die, he'd figured.
So he watched and drank and saw her, standing tall against the background.
She was young, fresh and new, and the people loved her.
She was running for office, though which one, he couldn't remember. She was still as beautiful as he remembered her. Standing tall, righteous and proud.
Anything was possible for a Possible.
He missed her so much it hurt. He wanted to go to her. He knew he couldn't.
She would never accept him for who he was.
She could never forgive him for what he'd done, no matter what the reason.
And he couldn't face her.
A wracking cough tore him from the memory. Globules of blood dribbled from his lips, and the stain on his chest grew ever so slightly.
He missed her so much. She was the best of him made whole. He loved her with all his heart, though little still remained.
He pulled his bloodied, crimson hand from his chest, and in a single, painful movement, reached in to find the one thing he had from those days.
A photograph, of her and him, hugging tight ad flashing smiles at the camera.
The flash was blinding, and Ron grinned in that stupid way that he always did, teeth shining while Kim giggled.
"God, you're such a dork sometimes, Ron!" Kim laughed softly, before pecking him on the cheek. Ron grinned back and caught her lips with his.
Monique rolled her eyes at the increasingly sappy display, while Wade chuckled to himself. Rufus, the ever-present naked mole rat, chuckled right along.
The night was magical, even as the two lovers drifted from point to point, losing their friends in the crowded fairground and ducking into the tunnel of love, just to find some privacy.
Snuggled tight, Kim sighed wholeheartedly as she felt her lover's heart beat in time with hers. They were so happy, so together.
He presented her with a ring, that evening. Right there, on the fairgrounds, surrounded by people munching on popcorn and half-eaten corndogs.
Kim said yes.
It was the happiest day of his life.
He could only sigh, his fingers tracing the edges of her face, leaving a soft crimson stain, redder than her hair had ever been.
He wondered what had become of her, now, ten years later, he in his mid-thirties and she only a few minutes younger.
Was she married? Probably. Happy? Yes.
He knew she was successful. He'd seen her campaign slogans out and around, before he'd left stateside. Running for President. The first female President.
Anything was possible for a Possible.
He took in a shuddering breath. He was numb, yes, but not so much that he lost his grip on that photograph.
He still thought of her, all the time.
The regrets of a life wasted.
He could be with her, right now. He could be hers and she his.
He chose the wrong path.
But here, slowly fading in some nameless park bench in a Moscow suburb, snow falling, slowly covering him, it was too late for introspection.
Too late for a lot of things.
He wished he could have apologized to her, before now.
Before it was too late.
He should have gone to her, should have chased after her, that fateful day when she'd left.
He should have begged her to forgive him for being an idiot and doing something stupid and all of the bad things that had happened since.
He wished he could have held her again.
Just once.
A single tear fell from his eye.
His grip went slack, and the wind picked up the faded photograph from his fingers.
Empty eyes stared at the sky.
And Ron Stoppable was no more.
~END~
AN: Truth be told, this was just to get my creative juices flowing and play a little bit in a place I know nothing about. I was trying out a few things, so bear with me.
The next Through the Eyes of God chapter is coming along nicely, though, and should be up eventually. I'll keep you posted!
Inspired by the song From Where You Are by Lifehouse.