Absolution

X: Four Pieces and All that Lies Beneath

+Author's note:

We are one step closer to the end of things. It feels like we're almost there. And I will, as I often do, leave things a bit open ended in case I feel like penning a sequel later as well. I do have other stories that are waiting for some tweaking. I have the less heavy NOT A HERO and the quirky love story of Darkened Sky that needs my attention. Also, I'm kind of obsessed with Revelations at the moment so I may work on that angle and see where it takes me. Probably my intense fascination with Jill currently that does it.

I like the idea of her as the protagonist. She and Leon are a constant fascination for me. Of course, I always do odd pairings. That way its less likely to step on toes.

I also need to work on my smutty love story when the mood calls me.

Here we explore a little more of the ties that bind. We side step the action for a minute as we look a little further into the man who makes the story. He's a complex entity is our hero. He feels deeply, harshly, and from all sides. He has regrets and hopes and pressure from everyone and everything. He bleeds, he yearns, he aches and he remembers and holds close that which is dear to him. But, at the end of the day, he is also a man and so his thinking is that of a man. As we know, he has yet to acknowledge the big "l" that comes with what he feels. Only our most hated spy has ripped that word from his mouth, against his will.

Once again, keep dropping me lines and helping me along here. I like that this has so much traffic behind it. I took a heavy break from writing fics and didn't expect such a happy return when I came back. It's good to know, love it or hate it, that I still write stuff that entertains.

Slainte.

....

X. Four Pieces and All that Lies Beneath

FAC FORTIA ET PATERE

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

― Stephen Chbosky

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Hoffnung, Germany 2017

Naked, he lay on his back, staring up into the darkness above him. He was, as he'd once been, splendid in the sheer scope of his beauty. His hands were stacked behind his head and the dark of the room cast the planes and angles of his body in shadow.

The ceiling fan turned quietly, sending tendrils of cool air across his exposed skin. The body was slim and exquisite with its contrast. The flutter of scars told the story of man who'd survived death and danced with the devil. Every muscle told the story of a man who'd climbed back from the brink of madness and made himself strong again. He was the warrior once more.

His eyes drifted closed on his tired mind. The spill of shadows over his skin teased at the promise of something more sensual, something darker and more obsessive. It seemed to hunger for more of him, it seemed to offer him something if he just let it take him and love him and hold him. He slid his hand over and flicked on the lamp.

The darkness fled, shrieking.

He fell asleep with the lights on.

Sometimes he had trouble remembering the time before the darkness had gotten his hooks into him. Sometimes he wondered what his life would have looked like...if he'd just turned back the way he'd come.

....

Raccoon City, 1998

Somewhere between the time he'd left the house and the time he'd left for the first day on the job, he'd stopped at a place called Rosemary's. Rosemary's was a small one room salon on the corner of west shit street and nowheresville. It was run by a woman who smelled of cigarettes and summer sunshine and scotch. It was a heady combination to a kid just fresh out of the police academy and looking to piss off his father.