It's shorter that the other chapters, sorry. Please, let me know what you think of it so far! :)


What had been done to him, she thought, to make him at the same time so vulnerable and so strong. He had been almost clinical in his self description, when he spoke about what he'd been through he had stated fact with a strange detachment. Yet, he had feelings, hidden deep inside, beneath what ever it was that They had put him through and he seemingly thought it would be best to hide them. That single tear had been more eloquent that a whole torrent. Arianne had seen broken people times and times over. Parents holding their dying child, men and woman being diagnosed with horrible illnesses, children seeing their parents slowly losing their minds to dementia... Yes, she had seen broken. She had been taught how to deal with it, how to behave with grieving people, how to help ease their pain, yet she didn't know what to say to that man, that very broken man that desperately kept trying to hold on to his shield and armour, that refused to show his human side, yet viscerally craved to do so. So she just sat beside him and wrapped her arm around him. Reflecting on it later on, she realized she should have waited to ask those questions. They had slipped from her lips before her brain could restrain them, making her feel like she had pushed the knife further in the wound. Had he killed that man? Who was she trying to fool... She already knew the answer to that question! Could she trust him? That had also been an irrelevant one, yet she really needed to hear him say so. Of course she could trust him. She already had, allowing him in her house in the dead of the night, following him to this hotel room without knowing what was in his mind. The real question was : is it wise to trust you? And she didn't want to hear the answer to that one yet.


He had been expecting screams, slaps, tears, curses, not that warm embrace. Was it really how "non agent" people reacted to such a confession? Was it how he would have reacted had he not underwent the procedures, the chem alteration, the missions... Had he really lost that much.

He could not afford to think about it now. He needed to move, to get in the train, go to the cache in Liverpool, get his new passport and cards, get to know his next mark's habits and terminate him. If he didn't, They would come investigate, They would find her and hurt her. He remembered the file he had heard about. Another agent who had fallen in love while in a mission. The agent had been "set aside" They had told him and the "liability" had been taken care of. He knew too well what "taken care of" meant. She had been eliminated and he could not bear to expose Arianne to such an end. He had to leave.

- I need to go now, he heard himself say. I have to be somewhere very soon, for work.

There was a delay before she answered him.

- Are you going to kill again, she ask him, shifting uncomfortably next to him.

- Yes, he whispered.

- How long do you need to keep doing this?

- Until I fail, he said. Until I die, he thought.

They remained side by side a little while longer, neither one of them knowing what to do, what to say. It's not every day one follow a trained assassin through the city. Finally, Aaron stood up.

- Wait! She said, trying to delay the inevitable. Let me at least take off your stitches, I brought scissors, she added pulling the metal tool from her sweater pocket.

He looked at her dumbfounded.

- You still want to help me? I am a killer you know? An assassin. I kill people! I'm dangerous.

- Yes, I know, she told him, standing in front of him. Yet you did not kill that night, nor the morning that followed, nor tonight. So yes, I still want to help you Aaron.

Motioning for him to sit on the bed, she went in the little bathroom and brought a soapy towelette. In silence, she kneeled once more between his legs and proceeded to clean his face, being really thorough around the stitches. She then cut the tread just bellow the knot and carefully pulled them out. He didn't move at all during the procedure. In fact, he was barely breathing, once again looking at her face, trying not to think about her very warm skin. He never wanted to forget it. In fact, he know he wouldn't. His memory was phenomenal and he would probably still recognize her twenty years from now, given he managed to live that long.

- You healed fast, she whispered once she was done. The scars are barely visible!

- It's the chems... Wounds are less painful, heal faster and scar less, among other things, he supplied looking at his feets.

- I don't want you to go, she suddenly blurted out.

When he didn't seems to have registered what she said she continued.

- You could settle down, tell them you've changed your mind. You don't have to be a killer.

- I can't quit Arianne. It's not a job, it's my life. When I agreed to join the program I gave them my life.

- Promise me to come back.

At that last remark, his eyes that had been fixed on his shoes during their conversation shot back to her face. Had he heard right? Had she gone completely mad? To see him, him! Again?

- Have you lost your mind?

- No, I too won't to see you again, she mumbled, blushing.

- Have you not listened to me? They could kill you if They found out! He was now gripping her shoulders with both hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise. I can't let that happen! After today, you will never see me again and you must promise me never to come looking for me again. You must forget I ever existed.

Damm, his eyes were burning! Don't let the tears out, it will make it harder, he thought. So he steeled himself for her reply.

- I won't forget, she said. Her voice breaking, she added, I can't.

Even with his chem inhanced memory, the next few seconds remained blurry, yet engraved in his memory. Her warm and soft hand was at the base of his skull, pulling him closer. Than her lips were in his own, chapped, salty and wetted with tears. It was clumsy at best, she clearly hadn't kissed many times, yet it was the best he ever remembered having.

Than she was gone.


It had been three months since she had left him in that dusty hotel room. She had upheld her promise and had not tried to find him again. Even if she had tried, she doubted she would have have been successful. She had not forgotten him though. She could not banish the memories she had of him. Where was he? Was he wounded again? Who was taking care of him? Had he killed again? Could she have prevented those death by calling the police? Probably not. Assassins were not stopped by petty officers. Had he killed, probably. Was he wounded, she hoped not, but she prefered not to think about it. As for the care, she highly doubted it was optimal.

It was four in the morning when the doorbell rang, waking her. She groggily made her way to the door, nearly tripping on her cat who, annoyed about this unpleasant waking, was mewling indignantly. Who ever was at he door was getting impatient for the bell rang again, followed by heavy but slow pounding on the door. Once she had reached the entrance, Arianne tried to identify the rude individual who thought it was funny to disturb sleeping people at four in the morning, but she was greeted with nothing but empty blackness. Who ever was at the door must have been obstructing the peephole. Annoyed and not thinking about the potential danger, she opened the door. Hopefully, she had quick reflexes, for she was greeted with a large black mass collapsing on her. She caught it, nearly falling on her back in doing so and tried to understand what was happening when she heard mumbled in her shoulder:

- 'm sorry, 'm so sorry.

It was human, male, sickly pale, sweaty, it had short sandy blond hair sticking to it's forehead, it was shivering.

- Aaron!


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