A/N: I know I should be posting the next chapter of Shakespearean Fool, but I had this idea and I knew if I didn't write it, it would drive me insane. I'm posting it now because I also know that if I don't, it will disappear into the black hole of my hard-drive. So here it is:

Hit 'Um Low

Hit 'um low, Olive Oil!

How many times have I heard those words?

The first time was the night that separated my life. I knew he would come; he'd never disappointed me. I wasn't surprised when I heard the sound of his cane whooshing over my head to hit the terrorist behind me.

He'd looked like a revenging angel that night.

And when he held me back during my father's last breath, I wanted to be the demon.

Do you want the truth about that night? The truth is, I don't remember my father dying as much as I remember those words. They marked the turning point—the crossroads if you will—of my life. And since that night, I've followed their directions.

The second time I heard them, it was my conscience talking as I left my hero on my doorstep. I hit him where it hurt most: in the heart. To this day, I wish I hadn't. I wish I could tell you why I left. Perhaps if I had a shrink, they'd say it was fear of commitment or love or something like that, but it doesn't matter now; it's too late.

After that, I lost track. But if you ever bother to count the people I've killed, you've got the number. Every time I tied my hair back with the same red kerchief he'd worn, I heard them. Every time I attacked, I followed their orders. Every time I delivered the final blow, I obeyed their command.

And then that night on the docks, the words changed.

Well, the speaker did.

It was him again, my revenging angel. He was different now, more the devil than the god, but my opposite in everything that mattered.

The words came easily to his mouth, and for the first time in years, the adrenaline rush of pushing a knife into a body didn't accompany them. I remember the moment of emotion the sound invoked only because it was the first feeling I'd had since I'd said goodbye.

The months that followed the scene at the dock were some of the hardest. I remember them mostly as a haze of emotions that I'd long since forgotten existed. And I remember the moment when I realized that I couldn't stay. After all, if I'm oil, my hero is water, and oil and water never mix.

So I hit him low.

I died.