A/N: Thx again for the reviews, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's full of D/A interaction
Chapter 12 Explaining oneself
He locked the door behind him, leaning against it and took a deep breath. Feeling like a coward he slowly turned around to face the grey steel door. He had watched her all night until the sun was up high. The moment she seemed to wake up he fled the room. He was afraid to face her. He craved to talk to her, explain her, but what was there to explain? She never accept him. She did not even wanted him to kill the Irish bastard. He was sure it was not because she wanted to do it herself. He was the killer, she the angel. She never be able to kill someone in cold blood.
Why was it so easy for him? It seemed so rational normal to him to end Seamus O'Grady's life along with his men. Leaving any kind of enemies behind was illogical and dangerous. Still he knew that people thought it to be immoral to kill even such persons. He even ended the lives of numerous innocents - not feeling the slightest sense of guilt. Before the rocket tore up his body, he was sure to end up in hell, but that was not causing fear in him. Even if he still was to, it was of no consequence to him.
He had accepted it as fact once the nuns started to teach him. Redemption was unreachable for him as long as he could not regret his deeds. If he had not accepted those assignments somebody else would have and the orphanage would have been forced to close it's gates. Then it had not been those contract killings that had made him belief, he was to end up in hell. It was the murders he had committed before the nuns had taken him in. He could not even remember feeling any hate doing it, he just recalled doing it.
Since then there was only one being on this planet that had ever caused him to have so strong confusing emotions. And she was right behind this door. What was he going to do? It pained him so much, being so close and yet so far away. One step into the room could be the end of all he secretly hoped for. It was so unlike him, but he clutched to it. Being more afraid to let it go than to let her in.
Being in that room with her he had realised how precious those emotions were. The pain, the desire - the worry, the joy - he never felt more alive than watching her sweet face. How she cuddled into the pillow as she went over into a sleep phase. Touching her cheek was like burning his fingertips with fire. Was it for fearing she might wake up or the guilt to touch her like that being what he was?
He took out the new strain of hair he had collected from her, it was nothing like having her so close and her scent travelling across the room to her. Almost disappointed he put it away. He turned away from the door leaving the corridor he light a cigarette. Maybe the smoke would diminish those strong cravings for her by taking her scent away. It was a delusion, but it seemed lately that only on those his style of life was able to function.
At least the angels were now out of business. Hopefully the blonde woman was no longer on the target list, being not nearly as dangerous without her two friends. What was he to do? Release his angel after killing the primary target? If he would not finish the job another stepped in and might even kill her - not matter how closely he was going to watched over her. There was no way around Dr, Curshner had to die and fast or she was to take more people close to Dylan with her.
It was either sacrificing her or his silly hopes. But then being irrational as he already began to think, would he be able to preserve them? Did he really want to become more delusional? Making mistakes would not kill him, well not for long. He snipped his cigar half -smoked to the ground and stepped on it. Maybe he could explain her, maybe she was able to understand. It was one of his hopes that she wanted to and he knew what made him believe in that.
The way she stood on the roof watching him, even running his hair over her face. He took it then and now for sign of wanting to understand. Even though he was taken away by the rush of intensive feelings as he sniffed on her hair, still halfway caught by the touch of their lips. It had been impossible to just keep that to himself. He wondered what gave him the strength to turn away from renewing that sweet experience.
Then again he could not kiss and betray this intimacy by cuffing her. Fortunately he had seen picking her up from the sofa, that one was closed far to tight and removed them right away. At that moment he almost felt glad having killed that bastard. Luckily he had waited at the hospital for her and decided to follow her. He still was confused by the Alex' accident and felt better being close to her. In front of the door he took a deep breath and unlocked it.
Hoping she was not expecting him right behind it. A fight would make things only complicated. As if they were not already. He saw her rising up from the bed as he entered and closed the door. He had his eye on her as he locked the door again. It was very obvious that she disapproved very much about her kidnapping and he dreaded that the sour look on her face resulted not only from that deed of his. Her hands opened and turned into fist in a constant rhythm.
"Damn it", the angel began, "what do you think you are doing?" He looked a moment down then he came closer to the table. It was all that parted them. She watched him searching his face, her expression changing from anger to the one she had shown on the roof. Slowly he took the notepad he carried around for the seldom case that he was forced to communicate. He was not sure why he did not spoke the words. He knew he could, if he wanted to.
He wrote in elegant letters: "Protecting you."
Almost in bewilderment she looked at him. "In my vocabulary I call it kidnapping!"
She seemed really mad at him and that hurt too, only differently. He shook his head, not really being aware of it. What was the best way to start? He hesitated, laying the pad on the table, using several sides, to clearly write the message down: Let me explain - The order was to - stop you from -interfering, - if had not - my successor would - have killed you! He turned the pad and gave it to Dylan, quickly read through the pages. "So you just, holding me here until you killed that poor woman?"
He nodded, but seeing the look in her eyes, he took the pad back and wrote on one side quickly: You can't save her, you'll die with her! It changed nothing in the angels face. He became more and more desperate as he realised that even understanding the logic behind it, she never approved. Her expression was so similar to the one she gave Knox as he was bragging about how he used her. He felt losing the grip on himself. It was more than he could stand, so he turned and head for the door. He felt so weak, as if he was the one trapped, not the one with the key. Maybe it was just having so much to communicate and not the means to accomplish it. He almost reached the door, as he heard Dylan call him Anthony. It surprised him the only person who lately used that name was the Mother Superior and even that not even to often.
The nuns might have given him that name, but it meant nothing to him. He never introduced himself to anyone as Anthony. Not to the men who brought him in the business and taught him how to kill, not to anyone inside the organisation and not even to his contact, but now he was glad she knew and used it. She made it sound so natural and he felt a certain warmth swapping over him. With his heartbeat becoming stronger he turned to her.
"I guess I should thank you - for saving my life … again", Dylan's careful look made him tremble inside. It seemed she still cared, like she must have when she cried out for him as he fell. He took the notepad still in his hand and scribbled on the next empty page: "I feared you were assuming, that O'Grady might be behind it, I simply had to follow."
The angel slowly had stepped around the table, but stopped as he looked at her. Finishing the long sentence, he crossed the distance eagerly and gave it back to her. He had no idea what changed her mood, but as she showed a faint smile, reading what he had written, he felt again this strange craving. Her lips were so beautiful. Maybe he could dare to kiss her. He had the feeling she wanted it, too, for suddenly she said with a much softer voice.
"I'm glad you did, I …", she broke off closing her eyes. He still could not believe what was going on, he placed his hands on her arms, pulling her to him. Softer then the last time, for now he was not surprised by what he longed to do, gone through it already million times lying trapped in that coffin. There had been so much things he had not noticed the first time as he rushed into that kiss. Her warm and soft breath, the deep almost melodious breathing and the so familiar scent of her hair filling the air between them.
He moved his head closer and the moment he was about to kiss, something went wrong. He felt it both. How her breath stopped and her eyes popped open. She caught him completely off guard, pushing him back and causing him to fall on the floor. His reflexes got him up squaring, he looked up shaking all over uncontrolled, hurt from the betrayal and the withdrawal of that intimate moment. The pain caused by that was nothing compared to the cut Dylan's loathing stare at him hurt.
He was speechless, not understanding until her trembling lips formed slowly words of pure hatred: "You did it!"
Realising she was referring to Alex, he got up violently shaking his head. "Don't try to deny it - you wrote it down yourself." She plunged the notepad like a dagger at him, her face white and red with anger. He was so disturbed by all this, he just kept on denying what he heard the only way he knew to and backing off.
Like a fury she stood there barking at him: "How could you even thinking about kissing me?" Almost near panic unable to stand her words and the tears in her eyes anymore, he fumbled out the key and opened the door. "Don't dare to lock me in here", he heard her saying, fleeing the room. As he was in the corridor he already had grabbed the door behind him and pulled it shut. The angel that seemed to have turned into a hellcat, was pulling on her side. Only with the greatest effort he was able to lock it.
He let him fall against the opposite wall, he thought there was nothing worse than dying, but he had been wrong. As easily as he could stand any physical pain as badly was he prepared for this. The tears that run down his cheeks proved it. He was actually crying. Had he ever done so before? He could not remember. Hearing her sobbing even through the thick steel door, made it not better. He needed to get away from her. Breath in fresh air, he needed the comfort of his clear rational world. Doubting he was able to reach it anymore, he slowly stumbled down the corridor like a beaten dog.
Chapter 12 Explaining oneself
He locked the door behind him, leaning against it and took a deep breath. Feeling like a coward he slowly turned around to face the grey steel door. He had watched her all night until the sun was up high. The moment she seemed to wake up he fled the room. He was afraid to face her. He craved to talk to her, explain her, but what was there to explain? She never accept him. She did not even wanted him to kill the Irish bastard. He was sure it was not because she wanted to do it herself. He was the killer, she the angel. She never be able to kill someone in cold blood.
Why was it so easy for him? It seemed so rational normal to him to end Seamus O'Grady's life along with his men. Leaving any kind of enemies behind was illogical and dangerous. Still he knew that people thought it to be immoral to kill even such persons. He even ended the lives of numerous innocents - not feeling the slightest sense of guilt. Before the rocket tore up his body, he was sure to end up in hell, but that was not causing fear in him. Even if he still was to, it was of no consequence to him.
He had accepted it as fact once the nuns started to teach him. Redemption was unreachable for him as long as he could not regret his deeds. If he had not accepted those assignments somebody else would have and the orphanage would have been forced to close it's gates. Then it had not been those contract killings that had made him belief, he was to end up in hell. It was the murders he had committed before the nuns had taken him in. He could not even remember feeling any hate doing it, he just recalled doing it.
Since then there was only one being on this planet that had ever caused him to have so strong confusing emotions. And she was right behind this door. What was he going to do? It pained him so much, being so close and yet so far away. One step into the room could be the end of all he secretly hoped for. It was so unlike him, but he clutched to it. Being more afraid to let it go than to let her in.
Being in that room with her he had realised how precious those emotions were. The pain, the desire - the worry, the joy - he never felt more alive than watching her sweet face. How she cuddled into the pillow as she went over into a sleep phase. Touching her cheek was like burning his fingertips with fire. Was it for fearing she might wake up or the guilt to touch her like that being what he was?
He took out the new strain of hair he had collected from her, it was nothing like having her so close and her scent travelling across the room to her. Almost disappointed he put it away. He turned away from the door leaving the corridor he light a cigarette. Maybe the smoke would diminish those strong cravings for her by taking her scent away. It was a delusion, but it seemed lately that only on those his style of life was able to function.
At least the angels were now out of business. Hopefully the blonde woman was no longer on the target list, being not nearly as dangerous without her two friends. What was he to do? Release his angel after killing the primary target? If he would not finish the job another stepped in and might even kill her - not matter how closely he was going to watched over her. There was no way around Dr, Curshner had to die and fast or she was to take more people close to Dylan with her.
It was either sacrificing her or his silly hopes. But then being irrational as he already began to think, would he be able to preserve them? Did he really want to become more delusional? Making mistakes would not kill him, well not for long. He snipped his cigar half -smoked to the ground and stepped on it. Maybe he could explain her, maybe she was able to understand. It was one of his hopes that she wanted to and he knew what made him believe in that.
The way she stood on the roof watching him, even running his hair over her face. He took it then and now for sign of wanting to understand. Even though he was taken away by the rush of intensive feelings as he sniffed on her hair, still halfway caught by the touch of their lips. It had been impossible to just keep that to himself. He wondered what gave him the strength to turn away from renewing that sweet experience.
Then again he could not kiss and betray this intimacy by cuffing her. Fortunately he had seen picking her up from the sofa, that one was closed far to tight and removed them right away. At that moment he almost felt glad having killed that bastard. Luckily he had waited at the hospital for her and decided to follow her. He still was confused by the Alex' accident and felt better being close to her. In front of the door he took a deep breath and unlocked it.
Hoping she was not expecting him right behind it. A fight would make things only complicated. As if they were not already. He saw her rising up from the bed as he entered and closed the door. He had his eye on her as he locked the door again. It was very obvious that she disapproved very much about her kidnapping and he dreaded that the sour look on her face resulted not only from that deed of his. Her hands opened and turned into fist in a constant rhythm.
"Damn it", the angel began, "what do you think you are doing?" He looked a moment down then he came closer to the table. It was all that parted them. She watched him searching his face, her expression changing from anger to the one she had shown on the roof. Slowly he took the notepad he carried around for the seldom case that he was forced to communicate. He was not sure why he did not spoke the words. He knew he could, if he wanted to.
He wrote in elegant letters: "Protecting you."
Almost in bewilderment she looked at him. "In my vocabulary I call it kidnapping!"
She seemed really mad at him and that hurt too, only differently. He shook his head, not really being aware of it. What was the best way to start? He hesitated, laying the pad on the table, using several sides, to clearly write the message down: Let me explain - The order was to - stop you from -interfering, - if had not - my successor would - have killed you! He turned the pad and gave it to Dylan, quickly read through the pages. "So you just, holding me here until you killed that poor woman?"
He nodded, but seeing the look in her eyes, he took the pad back and wrote on one side quickly: You can't save her, you'll die with her! It changed nothing in the angels face. He became more and more desperate as he realised that even understanding the logic behind it, she never approved. Her expression was so similar to the one she gave Knox as he was bragging about how he used her. He felt losing the grip on himself. It was more than he could stand, so he turned and head for the door. He felt so weak, as if he was the one trapped, not the one with the key. Maybe it was just having so much to communicate and not the means to accomplish it. He almost reached the door, as he heard Dylan call him Anthony. It surprised him the only person who lately used that name was the Mother Superior and even that not even to often.
The nuns might have given him that name, but it meant nothing to him. He never introduced himself to anyone as Anthony. Not to the men who brought him in the business and taught him how to kill, not to anyone inside the organisation and not even to his contact, but now he was glad she knew and used it. She made it sound so natural and he felt a certain warmth swapping over him. With his heartbeat becoming stronger he turned to her.
"I guess I should thank you - for saving my life … again", Dylan's careful look made him tremble inside. It seemed she still cared, like she must have when she cried out for him as he fell. He took the notepad still in his hand and scribbled on the next empty page: "I feared you were assuming, that O'Grady might be behind it, I simply had to follow."
The angel slowly had stepped around the table, but stopped as he looked at her. Finishing the long sentence, he crossed the distance eagerly and gave it back to her. He had no idea what changed her mood, but as she showed a faint smile, reading what he had written, he felt again this strange craving. Her lips were so beautiful. Maybe he could dare to kiss her. He had the feeling she wanted it, too, for suddenly she said with a much softer voice.
"I'm glad you did, I …", she broke off closing her eyes. He still could not believe what was going on, he placed his hands on her arms, pulling her to him. Softer then the last time, for now he was not surprised by what he longed to do, gone through it already million times lying trapped in that coffin. There had been so much things he had not noticed the first time as he rushed into that kiss. Her warm and soft breath, the deep almost melodious breathing and the so familiar scent of her hair filling the air between them.
He moved his head closer and the moment he was about to kiss, something went wrong. He felt it both. How her breath stopped and her eyes popped open. She caught him completely off guard, pushing him back and causing him to fall on the floor. His reflexes got him up squaring, he looked up shaking all over uncontrolled, hurt from the betrayal and the withdrawal of that intimate moment. The pain caused by that was nothing compared to the cut Dylan's loathing stare at him hurt.
He was speechless, not understanding until her trembling lips formed slowly words of pure hatred: "You did it!"
Realising she was referring to Alex, he got up violently shaking his head. "Don't try to deny it - you wrote it down yourself." She plunged the notepad like a dagger at him, her face white and red with anger. He was so disturbed by all this, he just kept on denying what he heard the only way he knew to and backing off.
Like a fury she stood there barking at him: "How could you even thinking about kissing me?" Almost near panic unable to stand her words and the tears in her eyes anymore, he fumbled out the key and opened the door. "Don't dare to lock me in here", he heard her saying, fleeing the room. As he was in the corridor he already had grabbed the door behind him and pulled it shut. The angel that seemed to have turned into a hellcat, was pulling on her side. Only with the greatest effort he was able to lock it.
He let him fall against the opposite wall, he thought there was nothing worse than dying, but he had been wrong. As easily as he could stand any physical pain as badly was he prepared for this. The tears that run down his cheeks proved it. He was actually crying. Had he ever done so before? He could not remember. Hearing her sobbing even through the thick steel door, made it not better. He needed to get away from her. Breath in fresh air, he needed the comfort of his clear rational world. Doubting he was able to reach it anymore, he slowly stumbled down the corridor like a beaten dog.
