Kill Me Dead

I don't know, I just don't know. Assassins, guns, ammo, and a head cold. Takes place over about 3 weeks, give or take a day. Implied slash.

The robed man looked up from his cup of bitter tea and got to his feet to get the door. "Who is it?" he croaked.

The door was knocked twice in reply.

"Alright, fine, have it your way," he muttered as he unbolted the lock and opened the door. A man in a dark gray coat and slacks stood on the other side. "Oh, it's you, come on in," he'd been expecting the other man and he sat down again while the other closed the door.

"You look like shit. Should take care of yourself better," the newcomer said as he set a brown paper bag on the table. The robed man looked in the bag and pulled out some chicken soup.

"I know," the brunette replied as he opened the container and took a whiff. Smelled like homemade.

"So why don't you?"

"I figure why should I, you're going to kill me anyhow."

His fellow assassin shook his head. "No, not while you're sick."

One eyebrow was raised and the raven haired man was looked at in mild surprise. "You're going to nurse me back to health just so you can kill me?"

"It's my nature," he said with a shrug.

"The caring killer."

"That's why I'm known as 'Mother', you know that," he said as he sat next to the brunette and took a plastic spoon and napkins from the bag. "It's what's left of my humanity. At least, that's the excuse the department's psychiatrist is spouting."

"Aye, I know," he sighed and took the spoon before eating a spoonful of the soup. "It sounds like some of the governments. Did you know that if a prisoner on Death Row can't be killed on his reserved day if he's sick?"

"Yes, I know," Mother said as he watched his target eat the soup. He finally stood and looked around the apartment before locating a small suitcase and packing it. "Come on, up and at 'em."

"Why me?" the brunette muttered as he stood and caught the shirt and jeans that was tossed to him.

"Sorry, pal, but it has to be."

"I know. So where are we going?" he asked as the raven haired man came out of his bedroom with a jacket and helped the brunette into it.

"A safe house that I'm in for the time being until my job is complete."

"You really are going to kill me, aren't you?" he asked quietly.

"You're on the list, you have to die," Mother said as he held the door open and the pair walked out.

-:-:-:-:-:-

A fit of coughing alerted him and he sat up in his bed. "Are you okay, Chris?" Another fit of coughing answered him and he got up to get his patient some medicine.

A bottle from the medicine cabinet in his kitchen was grabbed, along with a shot glass, and the raven haired man made his way to the guest bedroom right next to his.

He sat down on the brunette's bed and poured the red tinted medicine into the shot glass before helping Chris up and tilting his head back to drink. "You really are pathetic when you're sick, you know that?"

"Kill me now," was the soft reply and Mother shook his head.

"Sorry, pal, but rules are rules," he pat the brunette's head and let him fall back onto his back.

"Don't like rules. Rules were meant to be broken," he murmured.

"Sleep and recuperate so I can kill you."

"Not much of a goodnight, Mother."

"Sweet dreams, Chris," Mother said as he pulled the blankets back up over his patient so he could stay warm.

"That's nicer," he said sleepily and the brunette rolled over to go back to sleep.

Mother couldn't help but pat the brunette on his head again and push some loose strands of hair from his face before standing, stretching, and returning to his room.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"What's your name?" Chris asked as he watched his care-taker and will-be murderer cook some soup.

"Mother," was the blunt reply.

"That can't be it, what's your real name?"

The assassin in question looked over his shoulder at the sick man. "Chris, how long have we worked together?"

"On and off for a couple years," the brunette said after a moment's thought.

"And have you ever wondered why I never told you my real name?"

"Because we were told not to," he answered.

"Correct! You don't ask what someone's real name is in our field of business."

"But you know mine, why can't I know yours?"

"Because you are an idiot," Mother said as he set the bowl of tomato soup in front of the brunette.

"That's not fair, Mother!" Chris said plaintively.

"Life was never fair, you know that," he sat down across from the brunette and drank some iced tea before he noticed Chris looking at him with what his sister once called puppy dog eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No.

"But Mother-"

"No. Eat."

Chris picked at his soup, pouting.

"Sam," Mother said softly after a short pause.

The brunette looked up at the name. "Sam? That's your name?"

"Don't let anybody know that I told you, got it? Otherwise I make your death very painful," Mother threatened mildly and Chris nodded. "Eat your soup."

The brunette smiled and dug into his soup. "You make good soup."

"My sister taught me."

Chris blinked. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"She's dead now."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, she lived a happy life," Mother clinked his glass in the tabletop before getting up and pouring more tea into his glass.

The brunette slumped in his chair and thought about this new information. He didn't know that Mother --Sam-- had family, let alone a sister. And one that had died, too.

"Hey," Mother's voice shook him out of his reverie and he looked up. "Finish your soup so I can give you some medicine and you can go back to resting."

"Sam, I've been resting all day! Please don't make me go back to sleep!" Mother leveled a steady gaze on his patient and Chris shut up.

"You want to get well, do you not?"

"No."

"Wha-? Why not?" he cocked his head slightly, looking at Chris in surprise.

"You're going to kill me."

"So?"

"So?! Sam!"

"What?"

"ARG!" he thumped his head on the table. "I'm seriously not liking you right now."

"You're really not supposed to, ya know." Mother looked down at the gun resting on the back of his chair and he murmured softly, "No one should like their killers."

-------

"So, how would you like to die? Usually I do it execution style, but since I've had to take care of you first, I figured you should have a small say in the whole matter."

"You can't kill me," Chris objected. "I'm still sick!"

"Chris, you've been well for the past five days, you keep putting this off."

"Damn, I was hoping you hadn't noticed."

Mother smiled slightly, "Look, unless you have something bad wrong with you, a cold shouldn't last any longer then two weeks, maximum. And that's with someone with a slightly weak immune system."

"But, Sam-"

He held up one hand to stop his target. "I'm sorry, Chris, but rules are rules. You have to die."

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking care of me, I appreciated it."

"You're quite welcome, it was nice taking care of somebody again," he finished cleaning the gun and loaded it. "Decided on a way to die yet?"

"Well, if anything I want to live now that I know you're going to kill me, but I'd like a day, just a day, to get things in order."

"Already done by the Organization."

"Oh, I guess you're right."

"Hmm."

"Well, what does one usually say when they're about to die?"

"In my experience, people tend to pray to their God, asking for forgiveness. Some cry, some beg, others don't have the time to do any of it. I've had some targets actually go down fighting. One thanked me once, saying that she'd finally be released from the hells that she put herself and others through. I kind of felt sorry for that one."

"That's so sad."

Mother shrugged. "All in a day's work, Chris." He waved the gun around, "I can make it real pretty, if you like. Very little blood and only one shot."

"Would it be painless?"

"I don't know, you'd have to come back to life and tell me."

Chris smiled slightly at Mother's dry humour. "I think I'm going to miss you somewhat, Sam."

"Maybe, maybe not, you never know."

"Will you come to my funeral?"

"Sure, if you want me to."

"I want you to."

"Alright. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Is that too soon or did you want another day?"

"Oh, that. No, I guess tomorrow's fine."

"Do you mind if I ask what you did to get on my list?"

"Just something from my youth coming back to bite me on the ass."

"Sounds familiar."

"Is it?"

"Everyone does something in their youths that will eventually come back to haunt them," Mother said and picked up another clip to load. "Or in your case, bites you on the ass."

"Did you do such a thing?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

"I picked up a gun and shot a man who was going to kill a little boy. Little boy turned out to be the son of one of the higher-ups and he told his father about how I saved him. I was offered a job and it went on from there." He holstered the gun and slipped a second clip into a pocket, "That's how I got into this business."

"Well, Chris, you were fun to take care of, you really were. I'm going to miss you," Mother said as he slowly approached Chris.

The brunette just leaned on the railing behind and watched the man he'd come to care for, "You don't have to kill me, you can let me go into hiding, let me live."

"I know, but it's against the rules."

"So was letting me stay alive for so long, it's been almost two months."

Mother was silent, just aiming the gun directly at his patient-turned-friend.

"Please, we could both go into hiding, move to another country, get new identities, start new lives, Sam!"

"They'd still find us, everyone leaves a paper trail."

Chris shook his head, "Not us, we'll make bloody sure of it."

"We would be hunted down and shot in the streets."

"Not if we're careful."

"It's too late."

"It's never too late!"

"It is when you're dead."

"Sam," Chris said and looked over his shoulder to the city-scape beyond. "I'm not going to let you shoot me. I don't want you to kill me, better to be killed by a stranger than you. Come with me and see the world."

"I can't betray the people who took me into their homes."

"You're betraying me, though. You were invited into my home and I into yours. You're my friend, Sam, and this is how you repay me?"

"I'm saving you from the others, Chris, please understand this. I don't want you hurt so I have to do this."

"Idiot," the brunette said softly and turned to look over the edge of the building. "You would probably kill your own mother if you were told to."

"I didn't have to, she's been dead for years. Chris-"

"No!" Chris snapped and whirled around to glare at his friend. "You are not going to kill me! I won't let you!"

"I have the gun."

"I have something that'll hurt more."

"What's that?"

"I hate you," the brunette hissed in a voice filled with venom, even though his eyes told otherwise.

"No, you don't."

He sighed and gave up, walking over to the raven haired man and wrapping his arms around him in a hug. "Sam, will you tell my brother what happened?"

"No."

"Could you tell him I'm alright?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Sam," he whispered and released the assassin. The gun was leveled to his forehead and Chris closed his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sam said as he pulled the trigger. After Chris hit the rooftop he knelt beside the body and brushed the hair from in front of his friend's eyes. "I only wish that you could have killed me, too, Chris. And in a way, you have."

End