"Young Ethan, I understand how much this is troubling you," Sister Yolanda told the gunfighter as they walked through the courtyard of the Rip Off Church.
"I know, that it, it wasn't anyone's fault. Things just fell into place, but I, I can't help but feel that I am responsible, because it was my gun, it was my life," he told the old woman.
Sister Yolanda may not have truly been a nun, but she did try to do her best to serve the spiritual needs of the city as much as the firepower needs. Very few came to her, but she hadn't ever seen any who did as troubled as this man.
"God, he is unknowable in what he intends for all of us. Do you feel that he has truly abandoned this city? That he has abandoned these people," she asked him philosophically.
"Honestly, I think this is where God gathers the coal for the fires of Hell. Sister, I know you don't even have any illusions of where you are headed. Rock is different though. He doesn't belong in the darkness the most of us wallow in," he unconsciously let his hand fall to where a weapon should have sat.
"Has he said anything to you, since," she asked.
"No Sister, he hasn't. I don't want to force him. It's only been a day, and, things like this take time to process. I'm a natural born killer, I can handle it. My first life, was an innocent man who was just in the wrong place. It didn't mess me up, I reveled in it. I can't imagine what Rock is feeling right now. Oh, Sister, I think one of your people is trying to get your attention," he noticed someone trying to get the Mother Superior's attention.
"Oh my. I apologize, I had forgotten that there were some shipments arriving that needed my attention. Please, keep me informed of how the poor man is doing. He is so nice and polite, not unlike you."
Ethan's face fell, "Sister, everything about Rock is unlike me. Manners are universal, it is the heart that matters. Even a rude person can have a good heart."
"Remember that Ethan, when you find yourself at your worst, those words may help you keep your heart," with that she left.
"Rocky Baby really did it then," he hadn't heard Eda come up to him.
"Yeah. He saved my life," he replied.
"You never know what you will do until it hits. Do you think it will change him, for the better or worse," she joined him as he sat on a bench near a rosebush.
"I don't know. As long as I have known him, I haven't ever gotten that good of a read on him. It's like he should be there, but there is something that keeps him just above everything," Ethan looked at his hand as he spoke.
Eda frowned, "How is Revy dealing with it?"
"She hasn't executed me yet, so make of that what you will. She isn't talking to me either. I don't know what to fucking do. I can't even fucking wear a gun right now. I tried to wear one of my automatics, an old Glock 17L, not even related to that old .38 in any way. I touched it, and I put it back," he caught a little bit of a twitch when he mentioned the weapon, "I have never, never, had trouble wearing a gun before. This has me as fucked up as him, I can just handle it better."
Eda stood up, "Like Yolanda said, let us know. Me and Rico have a bit of a soft spot for him."
As she started to walk off something hit Ethan. He started whistling as she walked, and then he went through the chorus of "Convoy", and the woman stiffened up.
"I kinda thought so, with how you moved, and the somewhat manic personality. Where the fuck is my gun," he said as she turned around.
"So you, uh, you suspected. What finally gave away enough to make you try," she asked.
"You twitched when I said what I was going to carry today, the same as you stole from me. I won't say anything to anyone, I have worked with enough spooks to have some respect for them. Plus, why would I want to do anything that would take that fine ass of yours out of my sight," he chuckled as she came back.
"Now you are just trying to get in my habit. You know how the business goes. I actually wish I could have gotten them to pull you out with me, not only were you a really good fuck, there is something about you. You actually seemed to give a damn about me, beyond just the mission. What was that nickname you used back then? It was something stupid," she asked.
"Misfire, I went by Misfire for that mission. God that was years ago now. I figure you are probably still with Langley," he turned his sight to the clouds as they passed by.
"You are still as sharp as ever. I thought about trying to say something to you at some point, but the old ingrained habits get in the way. As far as the gun, you must have just been staring at my tits, and never looked over to my left. I still use it, been through a few barrels. You were right, the agency hasn't come up with anything half as good to issue. Big surprise that a fucking mercenary knows more about guns than the United States government," Eda pulled it from its holster and offered it to him.
"Keep it, the one I have now shoots better," he told her.
"Hey, you ever get a little bit antsy, let me know, I might like another ride. I remember just how good you are," a wicked smile split the fake nun's face.
"Screw that, next time you might take my kidney," he said laughing.
"Revy, thank you," Rock said.
They were still laid in his bed. They hadn't moved since the day before. Neither one had wanted to. They were completely fine like they were. Revy had briefly left to use the bathroom and get some water while he was asleep. She had given Ethan the cold shoulder, which, she wasn't angry with him anymore.
Ethan was right that it wasn't really anyone's fault. It was just a combination of situations that not even God could have seen coming. If she thought about it, there was always the chance that she would have been the one that he had to kill a man to save. She was a pretty good match for the average man physically, but she would most likely have died in that same situation. Ethan was a fucking beast of a man, and he nearly bought it.
"Rock, do you want to learn to shoot," she asked him.
"You aren't going to ask me the same question that Ethan asked me," Rock wasn't sure what she was getting at.
"I don't mean to kill, I guess we found out that you, you do have it in you. There is more to shooting than killing. A lot of people do it to relax. Me and Ethan go target shooting quite a lot now, even Heidi goes with us now," she told him.
"I don't know. Like I said, I am afraid of what I felt. I didn't ever think that killing, could be so easy. That it would be so easy to want to. What if the next time I hold a gun, it isn't to save someone. What if the next time, you are the one that I kill," tears started to stream down his cheeks again.
"Rock. Do you want to kill me," it may not have been the best question, but it was the only one that she could think of.
"No, I don't even want to think about you dying, let alone me being the one to do it," he replied.
"Then why should you be worried about it?"
"What about that state you get in, where you kill everything in your way. What if I can't stop myself, and you, Dutch, Benny, or even Ethan or Heidi ends up in my sight. God, why isn't actually killing a man the part that bothers me. Why do I even have the time to consider any other part of it. I'm not like you, I don't want to be like you. I don't want that to be who I am," his words were accompanied by even more tears.
Revy sat up, "Rock, if you got the chance to leave here, where would you go?"
"What, what do you mean? Where is this coming from," Rock was confused by the question.
"Like I said. Rock, you don't truly belong in Roanapur, you aren't truly dead like the rest of us yet. You did what you did, to save a life. I do what I do, because I enjoy it. I am weak to that voice in my head that wants the death and chaos. You aren't, you had the chance to kill Ethan right then, didn't you," she asked him.
"I, I, I, I guess I did. Why would I have killed him? I had just saved him."
Revy took him by the face and looked him right in the eyes, "You resisted the voice. That desire. If you truly couldn't, there would be four empty casings in that cylinder. Rock, I can't tell you not to pick up a gun anymore, that time has passed. Don't feel like you have to though, like I said, don't pick up one you don't have to. In the end though, you are the only one who decides if you have to. That isn't a choice anyone else can make for you."
When she let go of his face he took a deep breath. He looked at his hand, the hand that he had held the gun in. It felt so natural to him at that moment.
"Revy, where did you leave your guns," he asked.
"Just outside the door," she went and grabbed them and then returned to the bed.
"Can you hand me one, I want to see something," he asked her.
She hesitated for a moment, still worried about his state of mind, but she decided to do it, "Here."
"It felt so natural, but, it doesn't now," he said as he wrapped his hand around the grip.
"It doesn't," the gunwoman asked.
"I don't feel the same thing I did then. It feels kind of like a brick in my hand. Is he here," Rock asked.
Revy kind of knew where he was probably going with this, "He left it on the table upstairs. Do you really want to do this?"
He nodded. They left the room, and climbed the stairs to the office. Dutch looked up as they entered, but he said nothing. Heidi popped her head out of the cleaning closet. Benny and Ethan were nowhere to be seen. There on the table though, sat Ethan's .38. Rock walked over to it, and picked it up.
"It feels clumsy," he said.
"It doesn't feel like it did yesterday," Revy asked him.
Rock shook his head, "No, it doesn't feel anything like it," he held it out like he had, but it refused to level live it did, "it's like I was only able to do it right in that moment."
They heard Ethan's voice, "Never should I sin, lest that sin have meaning beyond my heart. For I, I shall not endeavor to live in luxury, while those who toil live in squalor, for I have earned nothing. I earn my luxury, for I sin, in the name of those who toil. Rock, how are you feeling?"
Rock let out a breath, "Better. I feel, lighter than I did right after. Where did that come from? I don't think I have ever heard that before."
Ethan came over and took his weapon from Rock's hand, "It was out of a journal of a knight. I got lucky to find an English translation abandoned in Romania while I was there. I think he may have been Bohemian, sometime in the late 1300s. I guess he had a large estate, and was referring to the serfs that worked the lands. He wasn't really a manager of the land, knew nothing of raising animals, but he was, at least in his mind, an excellent warrior. He protected the serfs, and because he protected them, they were loyal to him, and made his estate profitable, and that profit, after the tax, allowed him to make his home comfortable. He didn't do it for himself though. You were able to step up, because you had something to protect. You don't have any reason to hold that gun now, so why should it feel right. Want to go get a drink?"
The maid felt, off. She had no weapons on her. Not even a fighting knife. Her young master had forbidden it. So that, unfortunate, situations could be minimized. She wasn't the most in favor of it, especially as she was also forbidden from acquiring any weapons unless it was absolutely necessary. Were it anyone but her young master, she might have concealed at least a small knife.
She looked back down at the photo in her hand. She had been going through some of her stuff that she had not looked at since she was employed by the late Lovelace head. It was a photo that meant so much to her, even though she wanted to leave behind those times. It had been taken around eighty five, and showed five young people along with an old man.
The old man was something else. He was an old Mexican man that, ironically, came to have taught them due to the cheap Chinese made ammunition failing and only knocking the breath out of him when she shot him twice in his chest, only drawing blood, but not even chipping the bone of his sternum. He had only agreed to teach them, because they were little more than children, and his own adopted son had disappeared in that ambush. He was always more patient than the men who trained most of the other older fighters.
When he died of cancer three years after the picture was taken, he had asked her that if she ever found Caleb, he would relay the message that he was always proud, no matter what side of the fight she was on from him.
"Manuel, you were like a father to us. I hope that some day that I can fulfill your wish. If he still lives, I will relay your message to him. Caleb Coffey, how do I find you though," Roberta asked as she never took her eyes off the photograph.