Kellerman one-shot: Don't make me do this
Title: Don't make me do this
Author: calm_breeze
Pairing/Characters: Kellerman (and mention of Sara, Veronica and Daniel Hail)
Category: Gen (in series - season 2: Bolshoi Booze and Fin Del Camino)
Rating: PG-13 (only one swear word)
Summary: Kellerman wrestles with what is at his core. There is reference mainly to the motel room of Bolshoi Booze and the room used in Fin Del Camino for Kellerman's breakdown.
Spoilers: Season One and Season two
Author's Note: Thanks to
seen_the_rain for the beta and also doing a great job of holding my hand when I wrote this - it would not have been attempted without her and certainly would never have been posted.
Don’t make me do this
Was the killer instinct still there? It felt like it was there. But the button, the ‘on’ switch was blurry and out of focus. It used to snap into place, hum into life, take control and do its job quicker than he could open his mouth and breathe.
It was never a decision and quicker than a reflex. It was like another being, the other half of his imaginary tag-team that would spring off the side-lines and drop like a dumbbell on to whoever was in his way.
And yet, it didn’t feel like an alter ego. It was hot-wired through his veins. They shared the same blood and oxygen but the contamination that seeped from this other spectre turned his insides black. He would even profess that he liked it. Liked the way it felt. It feels.
Sitting on the edge of the bed and at the edge of his nerves, he wiped the putrid sweat from his brow with anything, his palm, his stained sleeve or a forearm. He never felt dry or clean. The contamination flowed in his blood, the dirtiness seeping from the inside out through every opening in his protective shield. Every pore, gland and tear duct oozed. It grew like a monster in his chest cavity, every voice, plea, and every single last word whispered to the barrel of his cocked gun as the hollow eyes stared through the loaded column.
He used to be able to look at the eyes, straight through the black holes and straight through the pain and the remorse because it was an order.
“I thought it was right. It was in service”
Her brown eyes seared his skin open exposing the flesh and bony cage and the beast seething within. The wide-eyed stare she gave him begged to be forgiven and let go but there was something within those eyes also that dared him to give in. Something that wasn’t quite ready to concede, something that was still fighting with every fibre of remaining existence to get the upper hand over them.
‘I have someone behind me’ he had thought when he had dragged her into the parasitic motel room by her insolent red hair and the frayed material of her shirt that clung to her skin with the humidity. ‘There is someone and something I am doing this for and they are resting everything on me’. A call of duty should always be answered and acknowledgement given to those who can.
The shiny plethora of hardware, metal and gold, each hanging on a stripy coloured noose to hang around his neck stood facing him like a shooting guard. He had taken a polishing cloth to them and lined them up, a nauseous twisting in his gut as they reflected back his face and he saw the other him staring out in defiance. He felt sick that someone had once presented him with these as a mark of honour and pride. He stood, suited once again after so many years, to attention in front of his reflection and wondered if this was the time he was supposed to ask for forgiveness. That was now.
Back then he was weak, it was weak and the red head in the bathroom sat dripping wet, twitching with shock and holding one person’s face in her mind to keep herself quiet. He knew sitting across from her and even with a wall between them that she would take it to her grave and it pissed him off that she would do that.
‘Do it’ he was told. Duties and orders rang in his ears and he wondered which of them came first. He sat alone the company tied up in the next room not his to take comfort in.
‘Fuck! Why couldn’t she just tell him what he needed to hear?’
She wouldn’t be let go, but he would not have to be in the firing line too and not in another situation of having to dispose of another uncooperative body. Every morning when the sunlight sliced through his retinas and gave his brain the unwelcome wake-up call he would jolt out of the stuffy sheets, constricting his limbs like a straight jacket, and stumble to the door over all the bodies he had had packed up and sent off. They would claw at his conscience, which was only allowed to show its face in the morning before the suit was put on, and bite at his heels. Their dead remains paved the path he walked on and he may forget the number but he would never forget the faces.
“Leave me alone” he would whisper to those who couldn’t answer him.
Going back again he remembered the night he had been so close to the last body he would have to black bag and he had gotten in the way, disobeyed the oath and made him make the wrong choice. What was worst was that he hadn’t completely lost himself in that moment. The next morning his soul was still there, still laughing with that voice as cold as winter and turning his spine to brittle ice. Out of everyone he had stared down the line of his gun to this should have been the one to affect him the most, undo him and tear his insides out. Yet when he woke up the killer inside him rejoiced, acknowledged its strength and bolstered its ego.
Sitting on the edge of the bed among the sheets that smelt funny and unclean, he felt there was something else. The devil and angel sat on his shoulders vying for him to join the duel with one of them, sell his soul to one only cause, one last time. Their voices whispered in his ears and he felt like his whole body was on fire. His skin was blistering underneath his cotton shirt and his cuffs were fusing into his melting flesh. He wanted to tear at the shirt and get it away from his body. He wanted to throw himself in to freezing cold water, put the fire out and feel sweet release.
‘Just this one last…job and then you will be rewarded for all the good service you have provided’
‘What if it doesn’t end with her? What if your love will never be returned and all this time you thought you were earning something…but promised nothing?’
“Shut-up!” he screamed.
He rocked back and forth and gave his two new spectres time to talk. ‘Play-out’ he thought, it was pure theatre. Does a puppet on a string have freedom of will when he has two, three or ten masters? What happens if they are all pulling in different directions? The tiny wires tangle and make him spin within the web. A life of service knows no freedom. Would there ever be an end point, a clean slate or a do-over? Every day felt like a point of reckoning, and as soon as one target was accomplished new boundaries were pushed and the lines of reasoning were erased a little bit more.
The red head was still in the bathroom. Her mind inevitably flying in every direction, but what was the drive of those thoughts? Escape, concealment of the truth, search for the truth, planning, revenge even? Why, when there were so many reasons and facts for her not to keep that man’s plan safe, would she still clamp her mouth shut and stare at him with eyes like steel spears? The painted pink flamingos looked on like saints watching his sins mutilate him with a strange almost religious calm.
She had pissed him off and now he had to screw her up. There was no choice. She had no choice, he had no choice. This was not true but it was the outcome of events they had been forced to believe. In the last few slow seconds while he let her drop, held the cool steel barrel to his temple, felt the material of her t-shirt slip past his fingers and the harsh edges of the weapon scratch at his sweat drenched skin he thought about when he was young. He thought about his sister and when he believed that nothing would ever shackle his soul, drag him down and matter as much to him that it would make him do the things he had. He had done things. Things, that if he thought of them now all at once, his heart would stop dead so he held his breath, closed his mind, pictured his sister once and then turned to the black.
She hit the cold water and he pulled the trigger.
Author: calm_breeze
Pairing/Characters: Kellerman (and mention of Sara, Veronica and Daniel Hail)
Category: Gen (in series - season 2: Bolshoi Booze and Fin Del Camino)
Rating: PG-13 (only one swear word)
Summary: Kellerman wrestles with what is at his core. There is reference mainly to the motel room of Bolshoi Booze and the room used in Fin Del Camino for Kellerman's breakdown.
Spoilers: Season One and Season two
Author's Note: Thanks to
seen_the_rain for the beta and also doing a great job of holding my hand when I wrote this - it would not have been attempted without her and certainly would never have been posted.
Don’t make me do this
Was the killer instinct still there? It felt like it was there. But the button, the ‘on’ switch was blurry and out of focus. It used to snap into place, hum into life, take control and do its job quicker than he could open his mouth and breathe.
It was never a decision and quicker than a reflex. It was like another being, the other half of his imaginary tag-team that would spring off the side-lines and drop like a dumbbell on to whoever was in his way.
And yet, it didn’t feel like an alter ego. It was hot-wired through his veins. They shared the same blood and oxygen but the contamination that seeped from this other spectre turned his insides black. He would even profess that he liked it. Liked the way it felt. It feels.
Sitting on the edge of the bed and at the edge of his nerves, he wiped the putrid sweat from his brow with anything, his palm, his stained sleeve or a forearm. He never felt dry or clean. The contamination flowed in his blood, the dirtiness seeping from the inside out through every opening in his protective shield. Every pore, gland and tear duct oozed. It grew like a monster in his chest cavity, every voice, plea, and every single last word whispered to the barrel of his cocked gun as the hollow eyes stared through the loaded column.
He used to be able to look at the eyes, straight through the black holes and straight through the pain and the remorse because it was an order.
“I thought it was right. It was in service”
Her brown eyes seared his skin open exposing the flesh and bony cage and the beast seething within. The wide-eyed stare she gave him begged to be forgiven and let go but there was something within those eyes also that dared him to give in. Something that wasn’t quite ready to concede, something that was still fighting with every fibre of remaining existence to get the upper hand over them.
‘I have someone behind me’ he had thought when he had dragged her into the parasitic motel room by her insolent red hair and the frayed material of her shirt that clung to her skin with the humidity. ‘There is someone and something I am doing this for and they are resting everything on me’. A call of duty should always be answered and acknowledgement given to those who can.
The shiny plethora of hardware, metal and gold, each hanging on a stripy coloured noose to hang around his neck stood facing him like a shooting guard. He had taken a polishing cloth to them and lined them up, a nauseous twisting in his gut as they reflected back his face and he saw the other him staring out in defiance. He felt sick that someone had once presented him with these as a mark of honour and pride. He stood, suited once again after so many years, to attention in front of his reflection and wondered if this was the time he was supposed to ask for forgiveness. That was now.
Back then he was weak, it was weak and the red head in the bathroom sat dripping wet, twitching with shock and holding one person’s face in her mind to keep herself quiet. He knew sitting across from her and even with a wall between them that she would take it to her grave and it pissed him off that she would do that.
‘Do it’ he was told. Duties and orders rang in his ears and he wondered which of them came first. He sat alone the company tied up in the next room not his to take comfort in.
‘Fuck! Why couldn’t she just tell him what he needed to hear?’
She wouldn’t be let go, but he would not have to be in the firing line too and not in another situation of having to dispose of another uncooperative body. Every morning when the sunlight sliced through his retinas and gave his brain the unwelcome wake-up call he would jolt out of the stuffy sheets, constricting his limbs like a straight jacket, and stumble to the door over all the bodies he had had packed up and sent off. They would claw at his conscience, which was only allowed to show its face in the morning before the suit was put on, and bite at his heels. Their dead remains paved the path he walked on and he may forget the number but he would never forget the faces.
“Leave me alone” he would whisper to those who couldn’t answer him.
Going back again he remembered the night he had been so close to the last body he would have to black bag and he had gotten in the way, disobeyed the oath and made him make the wrong choice. What was worst was that he hadn’t completely lost himself in that moment. The next morning his soul was still there, still laughing with that voice as cold as winter and turning his spine to brittle ice. Out of everyone he had stared down the line of his gun to this should have been the one to affect him the most, undo him and tear his insides out. Yet when he woke up the killer inside him rejoiced, acknowledged its strength and bolstered its ego.
Sitting on the edge of the bed among the sheets that smelt funny and unclean, he felt there was something else. The devil and angel sat on his shoulders vying for him to join the duel with one of them, sell his soul to one only cause, one last time. Their voices whispered in his ears and he felt like his whole body was on fire. His skin was blistering underneath his cotton shirt and his cuffs were fusing into his melting flesh. He wanted to tear at the shirt and get it away from his body. He wanted to throw himself in to freezing cold water, put the fire out and feel sweet release.
‘Just this one last…job and then you will be rewarded for all the good service you have provided’
‘What if it doesn’t end with her? What if your love will never be returned and all this time you thought you were earning something…but promised nothing?’
“Shut-up!” he screamed.
He rocked back and forth and gave his two new spectres time to talk. ‘Play-out’ he thought, it was pure theatre. Does a puppet on a string have freedom of will when he has two, three or ten masters? What happens if they are all pulling in different directions? The tiny wires tangle and make him spin within the web. A life of service knows no freedom. Would there ever be an end point, a clean slate or a do-over? Every day felt like a point of reckoning, and as soon as one target was accomplished new boundaries were pushed and the lines of reasoning were erased a little bit more.
The red head was still in the bathroom. Her mind inevitably flying in every direction, but what was the drive of those thoughts? Escape, concealment of the truth, search for the truth, planning, revenge even? Why, when there were so many reasons and facts for her not to keep that man’s plan safe, would she still clamp her mouth shut and stare at him with eyes like steel spears? The painted pink flamingos looked on like saints watching his sins mutilate him with a strange almost religious calm.
She had pissed him off and now he had to screw her up. There was no choice. She had no choice, he had no choice. This was not true but it was the outcome of events they had been forced to believe. In the last few slow seconds while he let her drop, held the cool steel barrel to his temple, felt the material of her t-shirt slip past his fingers and the harsh edges of the weapon scratch at his sweat drenched skin he thought about when he was young. He thought about his sister and when he believed that nothing would ever shackle his soul, drag him down and matter as much to him that it would make him do the things he had. He had done things. Things, that if he thought of them now all at once, his heart would stop dead so he held his breath, closed his mind, pictured his sister once and then turned to the black.
She hit the cold water and he pulled the trigger.