One shot. Asphodel’s POV. Sometimes, you like to forget things, until a single detail brings it all back.
Haven’t written anything in awhile but here, have a shitty little thing I did.Ending is kind of rushed, I know, I’ll edit it later. I’m tired. This turned out gayer than I thought.
Like if you do. Reblogs allowed. Hope you enjoy.
Warnings: almost child death, implied death, guns. If I missed any that someone would like me to mention please feel free to send an ask. Anons are on.
It’s just a job.
They lean against the wall, glancing behind it every now and again to ensure the target is still there. Suit and tie and briefcase and all that shit. It’s always a suit and tie these days, with political revolution being the latest trend it seemed. Asphodel is tired of it.
Ada checks and rechecks her guns, long twin things polished until they make Del’s eyes hurt from the sunlight glinting off of them. Really, this is Ada's job, not Del's. She's just there to give an extra kick if plans go wrong. What better way to spend Friday night with your girlfriend than to kill a fucker together?
Movies, maybe. She's found that she likes the cartoons - animated, Ada called them - more than the ones with real actors in the roles themselves. She especially loves the soundtracks. She's tried recreating them a few times on her own violin, though they always come out wrong. Ada says it'll take a bit, but she'd be able to play them eventually.
Then she'd make her put the violin down and drag her to the couch for kisses and cuddling (Ada will claim that it’s for extra heat, with the heater being broken and all, but they both know Del is colder than the chambers she was born in and Ada makes a certain face whenever Del’s bare feet touch hers, but Del doesn’t care and complies anyways). And everything would be alright.
She looks back at their target, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket , glancing at a silver watch. It's shiny. Maybe if no one notices she’ll grab it along with his wallet.
That thought flies out the brain window with a loud cry. Not hers, of course - she's a professional for fuck's sake - but…. a kid's. That wasn’t part of the plan. It takes her longer than it should to process the faint sound of an engine leaving (cars? In this area? Either they’re stupid or stuck up enough to think they’re invincible. Which was kind of the same thing). They can't be older than ten, at best - though Del can’t exactly judge - running towards the suit and tie grinning and giggling, a mess of curls flying out behind them along with the back of a pretty blue dress.
Curls.
Black curls, unkept despite the dress and shoes that showed money or at least some kind of status. Black curls that bounced with each step and spun around when the suit grabbed their hand and spun them around. Black curls with droplets of red in them, black curls chopped off with a knife so no one could grab them, black curls that she used to run a hand through when they were both on edge and-
"Del?"
She freezes, forcing her eyes to look away from the kid, look away from that fucking hair. "Yes?"
"Are you okay?" Ada asks. She hasn’t looked up once from her equipment. "See anything?"
She should say she's fine. She should say no, nothing at all, just a thought. She doesn't.
"There's a kid," she says, voice flat, quiet, more so than usual. That's already a warning sign. She needs to hide her shit better.
Ada looks over to where they stand, suit and tie and now father looking down at a little kid in a dress who is happily showing it off and talking excitedly. Del doesn't catch the words - it's too high pitched, she thinks, not at all the quiet murmur she was all too used to. Quiet whisperings in the dead of night and little smirks and almost laughs when she manages to pull one out from them and the loud scream that tore that all apart when they -
She really, really wants to punch herself sometimes.
"Shit," Ada mutters, tightening her hold on the guns. Del could see why. A glitch in the plan, if one would. Ada watches the pair, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't want to shoot a kid," she says, "but I also don't feel like staring down the opposite side of a gun."
Del snorts at that. As if she’d allow that - her or Ada. The fuckers who hire them know well enough that trying to threaten either of them is, at best, pointless, and at worst, a death sentence of their own. She voices none of this, though, and keeps her eyes on the ground, still trying to shove away images of a tiny figure in dark clothing, pale eyes curious, asking what's wrong and are you hurt and do you need to sit down or -
"We could always wait a day or so," Ada muses. "It shouldn't be too big of a risk. There's some conference coming up, probably the government still trying to pull things together long enough to actually get something done, but-"
She's cut off by a splitting screech that throws Del back to locked doors between her and more screams that got quieter as they wore on and the world collapsed on itself she couldn't do anything there was nothing she could do they wouldn't let her in she couldn't escape please stop
A gunshot rings out, louder than anything Del's heard. She blinks. Ada breathes hard, hand on the trigger, barrel aimed right where a third hit man had stood, the screech being that of the child, the asshole had tried to grab. Bright eyes, wide in horror, the little bits of red clinging to the little curls.
The eyes lock onto her.
They’re the wrong color, but it’s still enough.
She feels vomit rising in her throat, a name on the tip of her tongue.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t go back for you, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them Sa-
A second later and Ada grabs her hand along with their shit and breaks into a run, handing her something (a bag, she recognizes later, with their usual clean-up stuff) as they went. They don’t stop until they are surrounded by familiar ramshackle buildings, mostly abandoned, not far from where their own sort-of-home lies. Ada’s breath is heavy beside her, Del digging her nails into the wall behind her, trying to think, trying to breathe. She shuts her eyes. Forces the memories away. It wouldn’t do to snap right there and then, now would it?
“Are you alright?” she hears Ada say, not ask, for it’s less of a question and more of a confirmation. You’re not alright, she translates. She plays along anyways, nods. “Fine. You?” Not at all, but I’d rather not talk about it right now. And I know you aren’t either. “’m good,” she replies. Neither am I but that’s alright. We can talk later. They’ve had this conversation a bilion times, though usually it’s in the dead of night in the bedroom they’ve come to share rather than the dead streets of District Two. They stand in silence, waiting for their lungs to slow and the adrenaline to pass. “We should head back now,” Ada finally speaks. “I’ll figure out what to tell the client in the morning.” “If he needs a word of encouragement to make sure he drops it-,”she begins, but Ada cuts her off with a light, “Delllll.” She smirks and continues anyways.“-I’d be glad to lend a hand.” Ada mimics the look. “Thank you love but I think I’ll manage” “Or a foot up his ass.” “Asphodel.” “What? You know you want to see me do it.” She can’t help it, she laughs at the roll of her girlfriend’s eyes as she shakes her head, “You’re impossible,” she says, and Del takes the chance to say what she hadn’t been able to before the kill.
“I love you.” It’s their ritual, every time they can.
“Love you too,” she replies with a grin (Del will never admit it, but stars she feels her insides come undone just the tiniest bit whenever she does). “Even when you have your foot up someone’s ass.” “Especially then,“ Del states, leaning in, waiting until Ada turns her head as the signal for Del to go ahead before placing a light kiss on the other girl’s cheek. “Always,” she says, and everything’s alright again. She’s shaky, she still feels the fire in her throat, still sees the pair of terrified eyes every time she spaces out in the slightest, but she’s okay. Ada’s okay. Everything’s okay.
Later, she’ll make calls and do a few favors to make sure that kid was alright. Make sure they get out of the city. She’ll also make a few calls to see which fucker decided targeting a kid was a good idea and possibly pay them a visit. But first, she’d patch herself and Ada up. Shove the mask back in place. Make sure it doesn’t come off ever again.
Not over hair of all things.
She snorts, just to herself, and follows Ada back to their little hideout.
Besides, the person she’s thinking of is long gone, and there’s no point in dwelling on a grave, even if she’s not even sure it exists.
