Equilibrium - Ficlet - Shattering
Title: Shattering
Fandom: Equilibrium
Pairing: Partridge/Preston (implied)
Summary: Preston's thoughts as he meets Father. (MAJOR SPOILERS)
Preston was almost smiling as he rode in the black limosine. The turmoil, the ceaseless roil of emotions and questions was quieter - easier to ignore. He had a task before him, a task he had been trained to do for all his adult life. Father was the criminal. He would be the executioner.
The over-zealous attendent was a fly buzzing. Prestion could feel his gloves moisten with sweat. So close. Father could be only a short distance away. The hulking darkness of the guards told him that much. His plan - concieved in the moments Brandt had spared him - was working.
The younger Clerick had been so sure, so arrogant and Preston had neither forgotten nor forgiven the man's involement in Errol's death. The look of dawning comphrension and then fear masked by outrage. Preston surrendered his sword and took his seat. He focused on keeping his breathing even and steady.
The guards came to full alertness even as he stiffened and Brandt leant to whisper in his ear. The smugness in his tone made Preston bristle as the full extent of the deception was revealed. Dupont's voice - insiduous, poisionous and sibulant - washed around him as he flailed for something real, something solid.
All he could see was the resignation in Errol's eyes as the book rose to hide his face. The regret, the sorrow...the pain, Preston had caused by his blind, stupid loyalty to Dupont-Father. Errol. Silent and watchful, a guardian angel in black. His friend, the one constant in a life that had achieved almost nothing. Preston heard the last of Dupont's speech and remembered the glee in his eyes when he had gone to investigate his partner. An investigation that had led to Errol's murder.
For a moment, everything outside stopped and everything crystalised. Preston looked up into the smug face and the turmoil died. Everything was clear and he knew with absolute certainty what he had to do. "No. Not without incident."
A flex of his arms and the guns click down into place. His training floods back, reflex and instinct replacing concious thought. He springs from his chair in an explosion of movement and the guards fall. A moment of stunned stillness. Then the bodies slump to the ground. He feels the old certainty. He is a Clerick of the Grammaton Order and there is the truest form of sense offender to be brought down. He points a gun at the screen where Dupont looks back in mild bewilderment and growing fear.
His lip stings as he looks along the barrel of the gun to the broad, perplexed face. "I'm coming."
The screen shatters, along with the last of Preston's misconceptions and he walks out into a new future.
Fandom: Equilibrium
Pairing: Partridge/Preston (implied)
Summary: Preston's thoughts as he meets Father. (MAJOR SPOILERS)
Preston was almost smiling as he rode in the black limosine. The turmoil, the ceaseless roil of emotions and questions was quieter - easier to ignore. He had a task before him, a task he had been trained to do for all his adult life. Father was the criminal. He would be the executioner.
The over-zealous attendent was a fly buzzing. Prestion could feel his gloves moisten with sweat. So close. Father could be only a short distance away. The hulking darkness of the guards told him that much. His plan - concieved in the moments Brandt had spared him - was working.
The younger Clerick had been so sure, so arrogant and Preston had neither forgotten nor forgiven the man's involement in Errol's death. The look of dawning comphrension and then fear masked by outrage. Preston surrendered his sword and took his seat. He focused on keeping his breathing even and steady.
The guards came to full alertness even as he stiffened and Brandt leant to whisper in his ear. The smugness in his tone made Preston bristle as the full extent of the deception was revealed. Dupont's voice - insiduous, poisionous and sibulant - washed around him as he flailed for something real, something solid.
All he could see was the resignation in Errol's eyes as the book rose to hide his face. The regret, the sorrow...the pain, Preston had caused by his blind, stupid loyalty to Dupont-Father. Errol. Silent and watchful, a guardian angel in black. His friend, the one constant in a life that had achieved almost nothing. Preston heard the last of Dupont's speech and remembered the glee in his eyes when he had gone to investigate his partner. An investigation that had led to Errol's murder.
For a moment, everything outside stopped and everything crystalised. Preston looked up into the smug face and the turmoil died. Everything was clear and he knew with absolute certainty what he had to do. "No. Not without incident."
A flex of his arms and the guns click down into place. His training floods back, reflex and instinct replacing concious thought. He springs from his chair in an explosion of movement and the guards fall. A moment of stunned stillness. Then the bodies slump to the ground. He feels the old certainty. He is a Clerick of the Grammaton Order and there is the truest form of sense offender to be brought down. He points a gun at the screen where Dupont looks back in mild bewilderment and growing fear.
His lip stings as he looks along the barrel of the gun to the broad, perplexed face. "I'm coming."
The screen shatters, along with the last of Preston's misconceptions and he walks out into a new future.