Title: Something of Revelation
Author Tiamat's Child
Rating: Hard PG-13, or possibly a soft R, I'm a bad judge. Due to psychological nastiness, in any case.
Fandom: Lawrence of Arabia
Pairing: None. At all. Honest.
Disclaimer: These versions of these men belong to David Lean. It was his mad opus, he gets the credit.

Summary: In which Lawrence makes a most unpleasant discovery about himself.

Author's Notes: Don't look at me. I was in the mood for fluff, or at least as fluff as you can get with LoA. The blasted muses had other plans. This thing freaks even me out.

Something of Revelation

The gun is lowered and Lawrence watches the man's eyes because he can't look away. It's not possible, he needs to watch, as that is his duty. An executioner must watch his victim's eyes. He is cheap, if he does not.

Someone told Lawrence once that you can see your future in the eyes of a man you're about to kill. All Lawrence can see is fear.

And fear is there, in him, bright and cold somewhere behind his breastbone. But there is anticipation too, and a keen knowledge of power he has never even almost had before, trembling and ready in his limbs and joints.

Lawrence pulls the trigger, and there is a sharp report and a quick jerk. The fear and anticipation gather and spike, turning his knees and arms strong and weak at once. His breath is caught by a fierce joy, held close and tight by a triumphant satisfaction. One beat of time, two, and Lawrence throws the gun from himself as hard as he can manage, whirling away, needing escape.

He's never felt anything quite this good before.

The sand, at least, is as firm in its yielding as it always is as he strides across it, holding himself rigid. He tries to ignore the fact that the tension in his shoulders is really rather pleasant, just as he tries to ignore Ali's attempt to calm him, to comfort, to piece back together something that is broken now. He mustn't listen.

Ali doesn't understand. Ali thinks that Lawrence is upset because the man is dead (no names for those killed, it makes it safer), because fate and the desert took him despite all that Lawrence tried to do. Ali doesn't know how horrible Lawrence is, under his pretty words and pretty deeds. Ali is a far better man than Lawrence, because it doesn't even occur to Ali that Lawrence might have enjoyed killing.

Lawrence keeps walking, pulling away from Ali. He won't listen. He mustn't. Not now. Now he doesn't want to hear a word the other man might have to say.

There should be blood on Lawrence's robes.