Title: Playing God

Author: Lusmeitli

Rating: R (for graphic violence)

Show: DA

Disclaimer: They’re not mine. Don’t sue.

Genre: Drama

Pairing: A/M implied

Summary: Revenge is what he seeks, but can Alec go through with it?

 

Warning: This fic contains graphic violence. You are not advised to read this if you are under sixteen or easily offended by physical violence.

 

A/N: This is rather experimental and just a little something that was in my head that needed to get out. You should know by now that I’m only giving you the utmost necessary information. J So a lot is merely IMPLIED (as in not explicitly explained). Come on, folks, fill in the blanks yourself! And it’s quite dark. You’ve been warned. J

 

 

 

It takes so little to kill someone.

 

Alec remembered how it had been explained to them at Manticore.

 

“First, you place your hands around the throat. Add pressure, mostly with your thumbs. You feel the pulse slow down and the victim’s cold, sweaty hands trying to pry yours away. You’ll see the lips turn blue, the mouth agape, drool dripping out, eyes huge, bulging, about to pop out. You’ll hear the gagging and gasping for air. You can smell the fear, the sweat. Sometimes they pee or shit themselves. Keep the pressure on the throat until you know for sure your victim is dead. Approx. two minutes. That should do.”

 

Alec remembered how he had overheard some X-5s in the shower once.

 

“You see the despair and fear in the eyes of your victim. For a moment, a very brief moment, you feel pity. And at the same time an incredible rush of adrenaline. The power you hold in your hands, literally. You decide on life or death. Yes, for a moment, you play God.”

 

But no one had said anything about how you can feel the life being sucked out of the body. How it goes limp. How it kicks and twitches as reflexes kick in. No one ever told him about the last struggle.

 

An incredibly long two minutes’ struggle.

 

That should do.

 

Alec knew the routine. A relatively quiet and quick death. Usually, he would switch into assassin-mode. But still, he always felt that little moment of pity, when the light was fading in his victim’s eyes, begging him for one last time, silently asking  him “why?” (sometimes almost accusingly), when that heartbeat was not yet weak enough, when the victim’s hands around his wrists would go slack. The moment of being totally at his mercy.

 

And yes, they came back to haunt him. He had never asked why he was to terminate someone. He just did. And his victims’ souls kindly returned the favour. The haunted him each and every night, not wanting to know that he had had no choice. Mocking him, accusing him, laughing at him, taunting him. But worst of all torturing him.

 

But this one, this one was altogether different. He struggled much more. He didn’t pee himself. He nearly managed to pry Alec’s hands off his throat. And Alec didn’t feel pity, not with this one. He hated this one way too much to feel anything human for him. But Alec didn’t feel happy either. Not even content. All he did feel was emptiness, where there once had been rage, hot, white, blinding anger, the wish for revenge, the only thing that had kept him going for the past few years.

 

And now that he had finally caught him, who had taken from him what he had loved most in this world, the only one he had truly loved, he didn’t feel satisfaction. So many nights he had pictured this moment. When he had stared at numerous motel ceilings, all looking the same. Yes, he had it pictured to every little detail. How he would drink in every last second of that bastard. How he would enjoy killing him and not feel guilty for it. How he would make sure this one didn’t get away with it. Not this time. Not ever again.

 

But as his hands slowly throttled the man in front of him, all he could see was her face. Max.

 

 

“Take care.”

 

“You’re starting to sound like Logan.” She joked.

 

“I’ll ignore that,” he had smirked, his expression turned serious. “I mean it. Be well.”

 

“Don’t fuss over me. I’ll be back before you can say Blue Lady.” Another assuring smile, her eyes warm.

 

He let go of her hand reluctantly.

 

 

All he could see was Max.

 

 

“There’s got to be something! Do something! Save her! She’s strong, a transgenic!”

 

Mole put a heavy hand on Alec’s shoulder. “But we’re not immortal, Alec. Let her go. It is too late.”

 

 

All he saw was Max.

 

 

“I want to take you somewhere special.” Their fingers intertwined.

 

“Where?”

 

His soft chuckling made her rise her head from where it rested on his chest to meet his eyes.

 

“Where?” she asked, poking a finger into his chest.

 

“I want to go walking with you when the first snow falls.”

 

Instead of the usual frown, her eyes watered up, she swallowed and smiled. “You’re turning into a softie, you know that?” she said after a moment.

 

 

Max.

 

 

“THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Her eyes aflame, shooting daggers, her nostrils flaring. She was really pissed off this time.

 

His words were almost inaudible, but all the same heart breaking. “I want you, Max. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

Her face changed. The anger evaporated. Her eyes searching his incredulously.

 

A long moment of silence. Then her whispered words: “You already have me.”

 

 It was the beginning.

 

 

Alec couldn’t do this. It wouldn’t bring Max back. His grip loosened, he let go and stepped back. The man in front of him sucked in much needed air, coughing, slipping down the wall to sit onto the floor, his hands on the bruised skin. Alec heard how the heart beat of the man became stronger again.

 

“4…,” cough, “494...”

 

Alec looked down at the man with utter contempt. His decision made.

 

“What?...”

 

The man watched, still rubbing his throat as Alec took a gun from his belt. He made sure there only was one bullet in the magazine. Then he handed the gun over.

 

An incredulous look, the hint of an evil smile. “I… could shoot you, 494.”

 

Alec smirked at this once so confident and dangerous man. “You’re surrounded by hundreds of transgenics who would love to return some of the nice treatments you bestowed upon them. One shot, Special Agent White. Choose wisely.”

 

With that he turned around and left the room, closing the door, not once looking back, his steps steady. Alec knew he had done the right thing. Playing God wouldn’t bring her back. Wouldn’t fill the empty side in his bed, wouldn’t make him hear her sing softly and off-key whilst she was in the shower. It wouldn’t make him feel her warm body in his arms again.

 

He just rounded a corner, when he heard the shot.