Author: Cold Ember PM
The line between who he was and who he was pretending to be was beginning to blur, fading slowly. Nikolai centric. Oneshot.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Crime - Words: 313 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 1 - Published: 03-17-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4137791
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I've decided to take a little trip into the wonderful world of Eastern Promises. This is what I thought might be going through Nikolai's head at the end of the movie.
I don't own anything. Unbeta'd.
He's in far too deep to get out now. He could have, probably should have, taken the out that had been offered to him all those weeks ago on the roof of the hospital, but yet here he was. He hadn't taken the out because this was his job. This was who he was.
His wife was dead. She had died years ago. Killed by a man that had wanted to make him suffer, to punish him for the swift justice that he had been instrumental in dealing out to the man's brother. He had killed him. And then he had accepted this mission. Because he had nothing left to lose. No one to miss him. No one to ask the questions that always got asked when someone simply disappeared. No one that cared what happened to him.
Some days he wondered if maybe he was in too deep, some days he himself almost believed that he truly was a heartless Russian mobster. But that was only some days. All the other days were filled with disgust at the things these so called people did to each other. But still, he felt as though he was truly becoming the psychotic driver turned mob undertaker turned mob boss that he was playing. Felt as though the line between who he was and the part that he was playing was slowly fading away until one day it would be gone completely.
As he sits there in the restaurant, flipping the beads over his fingers absently he hopes to god that he is not about to lose his soul to this farce.