Notes: The characters aren't mine and the story is! This is just another random blurb I came up with, but it is not humourous in the least. In fact, there are a couple of character deaths, just to warn you. Even though I am in love with the idea that there was a relationship between these two characters in the past, I don't think anything could ever work out for them after all that's happened and all that they've done to each other. In my mind, the following is the only conclusion that their connection can arrive at now. And just to make it clear, this takes place during a time after the antidote to the Apoptoxin was made.
He never really knew which of them had fired first. He supposed that in the end it did not actually matter. But even though he came as soon as he had heard the shots, it was not quick enough. Only one was still alive when he arrived on the scene---the girl, though she was fatally wounded. The other was already dead, killed instantly by what seemed to be a bullet to the heart. Blood was splattered on the snow all around them, painting a morbid picture. He stood for a moment in shock, not knowing what to do or how he even felt about the scene before him.
Certainly he had expected it to come to this, someday. There truly was not any other solution, under the circumstances. They had hated each other and had been striving toward the very meeting that had taken place. If that was the only way that the score could be settled, then so be it. They were willing to die to see that happen. At least, that was how he saw it.
Finally he seemed to come out of his trance, moving toward the nearest body. He was kneeling down when she spoke.
"He's already dead." Her voice had a rasping tone, and she coughed up blood as she held a hand firmly over the chest wound. She knew that she would not last. She had finally taken her revenge, but was this truly what she had wanted? It was amazing---she had found something to live for over the past couple of years. Now, in one moment, all of that would be taken away. But it would not be because the others were dead, as had always happened in her nightmares. Instead she was the one dying. She had not planned for it to be like this, even though she had known in her heart that it could very well happen.
He ignored her and reached out, touching his fingers to the other's neck as he checked for a pulse. There was nothing, as he had known there would be.
"You cared about him . . . didn't you?" She watched through vision blurred by imminent death, and by the hot tears that were breaking loose. She was not certain why she was crying. Perhaps it was for her sister, or for the life that she herself was now leaving behind. And perhaps . . . perhaps it was for other things as well. Things that she would never speak of; secrets that she would take to her grave.
He did not answer. He clenched a fist, looking over at her. She looked back, her blue eyes expressing a certain, bitter satisfaction.
"Now you know what it's like, to lose someone you care about." Her voice was barely there now, and her breathing was becoming shallow. A stray tear trailed down her face as she felt her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. Kudo . . . I'm sorry, she said silently. She did not want to die, but it was too late for things to be any different. "I always wanted the both of you to feel the pain I've felt," she spoke now, with difficulty, "but I knew it would be impossible for him to. He . . . he's never cared about anything except himself."
"He loved you." He had always known that. Nothing had ever been said, but it had not needed to be. It had been obvious, at least to him. His comrade's obsessiveness over eliminating her all stemmed back to the fact that he believed she had betrayed him. In fact, when he thought about it, she had probably felt the same about his ally.
A weak snort. "He had a fine way of showing it."
After this comment there was silence, and when he glanced at her again, he found it almost certain that she had passed on. She was still, and there was not any visible movement in her chest. He went over to check, anyway, but he did not find anything that he was not expecting.
With a sigh he straightened up, surveying the gruesome scene. He had witnessed so many incidents of bloodshed through the years, but they rarely had bothered him at all. Sometimes he even felt a sense of triumph or satisfaction, depending on the situation. But he felt none of that now. He felt a mixture of emotions---confusion and emptiness at the forefront. Though he had known it would likely come to this, he had never wanted it to. He had thought maybe it would be different, that they might survive and only she would die. But she had been too determined to take his comrade down with her. If she had to die, she would not go alone. And she had not.
It was strange, the things he would think of at times. Now he was wondering what would have happened had they not all been part of the crime syndicate that had torn all of their lives apart. Maybe then the two laying dead in the snow would still be alive. For all he would know, perhaps they would have been able to lead some semblance of a happy life together. But being part of the Black Organization had distorted all of their souls inexorably. Even he recognized this, as twisted as he himself was.
He remained where he was for a long moment, wondering what to do with the bodies. But at last he reached down, taking hold of the tall blonde under the arms and dragging him into the black car parked nearby. He would leave the girl for whoever would come for her. She was not one of them, and had not been for some time. There would not be a reason for him to take her body.
He sank down into the driver's seat. He did not want to do this. He did not want to take control of the car and drive away, but there was not anything else to do. He had to leave now, taking his comrade's body back to the base. And after that, then what? He did not know. His mind was a blank. He knew he would likely be paired with someone else to continue the work. The Black Organization was not defeated, though he felt that it had been greatly crippled. They had lost one of their best operatives.
The drive back to the base was the longest that he had ever taken. He kept half-expecting to hear the click of a cigarette lighter, followed by the familiar dark voice making a comment on what had taken place. But of course there was silence.
It was not that the two of them were necessarily friends; in their business, one could not afford that. But they had known each other for years, in any case. They had always been part of the crime syndicate, as their families had been as well---or what there had been of them. His associate had been an orphan, raised by one of the elder members. And he himself had had two brothers in the consortium, both of whom were dead now and had been for years. He and his ally had somehow ended up as partners eventually, with the other as the higher-ranking of the two. Their partnership had lasted for years, only ending now---with his comrade's death.
One got used to someone being around after so long. He was not sure that he liked the idea of being alone now, or of having a different partner. He did not think he liked that at all.
He tightly gripped the steeling wheel. "Was getting rid of Sherry really worth giving up your life, bro?" he remarked quietly in the silence. Gin had not expected to die, he was certain, and yet he surely would have known that it was likely to happen when he and Sherry had their confrontation.
He listened to the dead stillness all around him. He would have to get used to that, somehow.