Story: Three Graces
Challenge: Rainbow Sherbert #1 - Red
Word Count: 714
Summary: Cas gains a little closure, and ensures an old debt is repaid. One way or another.
Notes: Finally I managed to get this done, I don't even know why it's taken me ages! This mostly applies to my Pumpkin Pie #1 and #15; Cas has wanted a little revenge ever since I finished the first arc...
The intercom was a harsh, grating noise that scraped over his nerves every time it sounded. He thought he’d have become more used to it but over the years it had got worse, like sandpaper over the soul. He slapped the button with more force than was strictly necessary. “Yes? What is it?”
His secretary’s voice, when it came, was hesitant. “Sir, it’s your, uh...”
“Spit it out, woman.”
There was a pause, and when her voice came again it was cool, detached. “Your two o’clock, sir.”
“Send them in—” He stopped, suddenly unsure. He couldn’t remember her name. The click told him she’d terminated their conversation anyway; it’s not like it was important. He rearranged the pens on his blotter, straightened up the name plate. His sources told him that this was probably the most important contact of his career—
The door opened and his jaw dropped. Really, that man had no business being here. That man was supposed to be dead.
More important things engaged his mind than the status of that man though. The gun pointed straight between his eyes, for instance, occupied a significant amount of his attention. “You forgot what I said.”
“Wh...” Words failed him. Twelve years had passed, but those easily disregarded words of their last conversation suddenly seemed incredibly pertinent. “We can discuss this, you know.” It was easy to sound professional while his subconscious paddled madly; he’d had years of practice. How had he even faked the appointment? He’d spoken to him directly and there was no way he’d forget that voice. If he’d realised he’d never have agreed to this...
“No. We can’t.”
“Oh.” He groped madly for the call button underneath the desk; security guards should be piling in any minute now.
The mercenary raised his eyebrows. “Security alarm?”
He could feel himself paling, the blood draining from his face with indecent haste. It was a silent alarm, he knew it was, that was why there was no resounding klaxon. But the corner of the big man’s mouth had quirked up into something that could, if you were determined, be taken as a smile.
And there was the distressingly obvious lack of guards.
He hammered the button a few more times, staring down at his desk rather than be forced to look down the barrel of Ademza Cas’s unwavering gun, but the door behind the mercenary remained resolutely shut and the room continued to contain only them. The soft press of steel against his hot forehead came as expected. “What did you do?” Before, he’d tried to keep the shake from his voice. This time he knew there was no bluffing.
“They won’t be coming.”
He didn’t doubt it. “I can pay you.”
The gun prodded insistently against his head. “You said that last time.”
“I did pay you!” Shrill, embarrassing; he didn’t care any more.
Cas snorted. “Half.”
“You were—” He didn’t want to complete the sentence. It was clearly inaccurate: Cas was very obviously not dead; the payment was outstanding. “I was told the payment wouldn’t be necessary. You couldn’t claim it.”
“You didn’t even try.” If the words had been shouted, if there’d been fury evident behind them, he’d have felt better. Instead it was the same impassive tone, like the big man was discussing the weather. “Hospital bills aren’t cheap.” The smile grew. Teeth were visible, but it didn’t make it any more comforting. It wasn’t a smile that had any practice behind it. “You’ll see.”
The worst thing, the very worst part of it all, he decided as he slowly met Cas’s stare, was that his eyes held no emotion at all. They, more than his words or the gun to his head, told him that Cas meant every single word.
The gunshot was deafening.
Cas stared down at the slumped form, the glossy puddle spreading across the desktop and devouring the neat paperwork. Shame; didn’t look like he’d get to find out what a bullet to the head did to your finances after all. He re-holstered the gun, giving the cooling corpse a contemptuous stare. The pool had already reached the edge of the desk, the gentle drip-drip onto the carpet a soothing sound.
He didn’t envy the cleaners. The stains probably wouldn’t ever quite come out.