fic: thievery
thievery
looper, kid blue/sara, r.
I got a job to do. post-film au.
this is your life and its ending one moment at a time.
chuck palahniuk
“Got a job for you, Kid.”
The details aren’t important. Abe’s calling him Kid again.
“I don’t like guns.” She says, short.
He follows her gaze to his gat. “Well for someone who doesn’t like ‘em you sure are holding a big one.”
She snorts, and he almost laughs too, remembers he’s pointing his gat square at her forehead, and she is staring right down the barrel. He’s impressed, for a second.
Remember, he is a coward.
“Put the gun down.” She says. He does.
He goes to lay it on the kitchen table, and she shoots him a look. “This is a family home.”
“Noted,” he says, holstering it. She has not put her rifle away, however.
“So,” she drawls, and he’s half-expecting her to light up. “What can I do for you- ?”
“Kid,” he offers. “They call me Kid Blue.”
Her gaze is fixed. Dangerous. “Is that so? Well, Kid Blue, what can I do for ya?” She stands, and he starts slightly. Two glasses and a dusty bottle of clear liquid.
Her pour is shaky, and his hand, when he takes the glass, is even shakier. “I got a job to do.” he says, waits for her to catch his gaze. “A- a friend of mine. He changed the future.”
“Did he now?” The front’s slipping, but she’s still game enough to keep it up.
“I have to put it right. I think you know what I mean, Sara.”
She blinks at the use of her name. “I think I might too, Kid.” She says, leans forward. “You lay a fucking finger on my son.”
“Understood.”
He sleeps in the barn, the first night. She is silhouetted against the sunset in her rocking chair, pulled fast to the door. Her gun rests in her palms.
She sleeps with a guard eye open.
“I was expecting you to fuck off.” She says, when she spots his shadow.
“I got a job to do.”
She sighs, and he watches her shoulders heave. “Well so have I, so run along now, there’s a good Kid.”
The second night, she leaves her bedroom light on and stands in the window. A beckoning finger and the chink of cheap glassware.
“It’s cold tonight.” She says, by way of explanation.
He grunts. “Gonna be a cold winter.”
“Yeah.” Is all she says, downs her drink, wipes her lips against his.
He almost cries when he fucks her, mainly because he hasn’t fucked anybody without paying for the privilege in so fucking long but also because he’s been sent here to kill her fucking kid. There’s something perverse in there, when she tightens, whispers kid into his hair like a prayer. He bites his tongue. She bites his neck. Round and around we go.
“I think I’d like you to go now.” She says, still panting slightly.
He bends his neck. “You gonna tell me why.”
She pulls the sheet up to her neck and fixes a glare, “You wanna kill my kid, Kid.”
“I- “ he pauses, and there’s no easy way for him to say this. “I don’t wanna kill your kid.”
A silence. It stretches, and he can feel her glare soften on his shoulder, and when he sneaks a look at her she’s frowning. He stays quiet. “You’re going to anyway.”
He shrugs, “I got a job to do.” He says, and flatters himself that she understands.
He does his job, soon enough, and he does it well. A clean shot from one temple through to the other, a look that morphs from sharp shock to sleep.
“He didn’t suffer.” He says.
The tears run streaks through the dirt on her face. “He didn’t. But you will.”
end.
looper, kid blue/sara, r.
I got a job to do. post-film au.
this is your life and its ending one moment at a time.
chuck palahniuk
“Got a job for you, Kid.”
The details aren’t important. Abe’s calling him Kid again.
“I don’t like guns.” She says, short.
He follows her gaze to his gat. “Well for someone who doesn’t like ‘em you sure are holding a big one.”
She snorts, and he almost laughs too, remembers he’s pointing his gat square at her forehead, and she is staring right down the barrel. He’s impressed, for a second.
Remember, he is a coward.
“Put the gun down.” She says. He does.
He goes to lay it on the kitchen table, and she shoots him a look. “This is a family home.”
“Noted,” he says, holstering it. She has not put her rifle away, however.
“So,” she drawls, and he’s half-expecting her to light up. “What can I do for you- ?”
“Kid,” he offers. “They call me Kid Blue.”
Her gaze is fixed. Dangerous. “Is that so? Well, Kid Blue, what can I do for ya?” She stands, and he starts slightly. Two glasses and a dusty bottle of clear liquid.
Her pour is shaky, and his hand, when he takes the glass, is even shakier. “I got a job to do.” he says, waits for her to catch his gaze. “A- a friend of mine. He changed the future.”
“Did he now?” The front’s slipping, but she’s still game enough to keep it up.
“I have to put it right. I think you know what I mean, Sara.”
She blinks at the use of her name. “I think I might too, Kid.” She says, leans forward. “You lay a fucking finger on my son.”
“Understood.”
He sleeps in the barn, the first night. She is silhouetted against the sunset in her rocking chair, pulled fast to the door. Her gun rests in her palms.
She sleeps with a guard eye open.
“I was expecting you to fuck off.” She says, when she spots his shadow.
“I got a job to do.”
She sighs, and he watches her shoulders heave. “Well so have I, so run along now, there’s a good Kid.”
The second night, she leaves her bedroom light on and stands in the window. A beckoning finger and the chink of cheap glassware.
“It’s cold tonight.” She says, by way of explanation.
He grunts. “Gonna be a cold winter.”
“Yeah.” Is all she says, downs her drink, wipes her lips against his.
He almost cries when he fucks her, mainly because he hasn’t fucked anybody without paying for the privilege in so fucking long but also because he’s been sent here to kill her fucking kid. There’s something perverse in there, when she tightens, whispers kid into his hair like a prayer. He bites his tongue. She bites his neck. Round and around we go.
“I think I’d like you to go now.” She says, still panting slightly.
He bends his neck. “You gonna tell me why.”
She pulls the sheet up to her neck and fixes a glare, “You wanna kill my kid, Kid.”
“I- “ he pauses, and there’s no easy way for him to say this. “I don’t wanna kill your kid.”
A silence. It stretches, and he can feel her glare soften on his shoulder, and when he sneaks a look at her she’s frowning. He stays quiet. “You’re going to anyway.”
He shrugs, “I got a job to do.” He says, and flatters himself that she understands.
He does his job, soon enough, and he does it well. A clean shot from one temple through to the other, a look that morphs from sharp shock to sleep.
“He didn’t suffer.” He says.
The tears run streaks through the dirt on her face. “He didn’t. But you will.”
end.