A/N: I made a really dumbass error before, but it is now fixed. Typos have also been corrected. Sorry if anyone read it before and thought I was smoking crack while watching the series.
"Kill her."
Two words.
"Kill her."
He took it and pretended to be the heartless bastard he really was. He nodded, didn't blink, didn't speak. Professional. Like he did this everyday.
He did this everyday.
He wished his hands would shake. He wished he could cry. He wished he could feel something, something besides –
"Kill her."
They'd expect him to use a gun, because he always used a gun –
professional –
because he'd always used a gun if anything was different, they'd know. And then the looks wouldn't just be that he killed her, then –
always with a gun –
it would be that he'd loved her.
Loved her …
and killed her, because he always killed them. They said a name, he picked up his gun and it was done. Every time.
"Amon," Zaizen was cutting his cigar – fucking hedonistic – while he ordered Amon to kill (her) Kate, "It's time. I trust you'll take care of this?" Amon nodded because he always nodded, and he didn't say anything because he never said anything. And then he'd gone to his car, drove to Kate's house and killed her, because that's what he did, and he didn't know how to do it any other way. Because he'd never seen how you let them go, the shape and color and composition of mercy, what kindness tasted like –
Kill her?
He'd seen it in that warehouse, when he watched her clumsily set fire to a witch and everything surrounding him. He saw her blood on his hands, splattering dull brown on his coat, because he knew black hid bloodstains, dripping down the wall, soaking the carpet
it's so hard to get out bloodstains.
And he'd seen before, walking down the hall at Harry's this girl. This girl who was small and delicate and could fit into the space between his arms, this girl –
Kill her?
This girl who could fix him, because he wanted to be fixed for her. Because he had never cared enough about any girl – woman – before that he wanted to be better for her, that he wanted to put down the gun and say "Fuck you" when they ordered him to kill and be with her.
Kill her?
He stayed up all night thinking about her. She was tattooed on his eyelids, teasing him through the night, teasing him the way she didn't have the courage to do herself when he actually saw her –
Because he could feel her surrendering to him, even when she didn't mean to. Because wanted to lay his gun down at her feet. Because he wanted to say –
Kill her.
Not this time.