Kill Me [mad cackling because could you imagine jamie's face]
It’s funny how something so minor could turn a life upside down.
One month in and Sebastian could barely find the resolve to pick himself up, to gather the shards of himself scattered haphazardly across the floor, and piece them back together to form some semblance of the man he had been merely weeks ago. Without the tug of duty and the beckoning of work, he could barely find the discipline to drag himself out of bed, could barely justify the need to put the bottle of whiskey away.
He’d finally come full circle—fallen back into himself, his past as the desperate, lowly ex-soldier before Moriarty had appeared to offer him a job and a life.
How fitting that she’d be the one to take it away.
All sense of self-worth had been torn from him the day Jamie had fired him, banished him, and told him to not even consider coming back. Any inkling of purpose had diminished up to the point where it stood, pathetic and negligible, against the immense guilt that had come in its wake. Guilt and anger.
At himself. And the fucking agent.
It’s six weeks in before he manages to get himself an address, six weeks before he manages to set out to find the man with nothing but a gun holstered to his shoulder and one intention burned into the back of his mind.
He doesn’t expect to find the man, stumbling to the door, a weak, questioning, “Jamie,” falling from his lips as he tugs at a door stopped by a chain. The man looked as pathetic as he felt.
"Moran? What—”
"This is for the good of everybody, agent. Shut the fuck up."
A slight pause.
"You’re not looking too hot."
Coulson sees the gun against his forehead when it’s too late.
Had Sebastian known that Jamie had been planning to apologise some time in the coming week, he would have waited.
Without hesitation.
It’s funny how something as minor as a fight can turn a life upside down.











