Chapter Text
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It wasn’t supposed to be him and the fence, it was supposed to be him and her. It was supposed to be them.
Then He took her away.
Now it would be him and the fence and together they would take Him out. She had her own reasons, and he told her he agreed with them, but his true reasons were far more personal. His reasons had more to do with losing her, the one person who could make him see reason when fire burned in his eyes and in his veins. His reasons had more to do with losing the only person he’d ever loved and who’d given him love (not lust- there is a difference. He knew plenty of lust, and what he felt for her was not that) in return.
His true reason was revenge.
The fence did not need to know. He would know, and He would know, and that was enough.
~~~
Maybe it was supposed to be like this.
Maybe it was supposed to be him and the fence.
They made a formidable team on the streets and between the sheets; she handed down the law, he carried out the law. Maybe this really was all he was good for- muscle and fire, rum and fighting- he was good at them all. He would not remember her telling him that he was meant for more, that he was more. She was gone and would never come back- more fever dream than memory.
So he did what he was best at. He lived in the now.
He shoved the fence into the wall, fingers tangling in her hair, tongue down her throat, and shoved the damned fever dream from his mind.
Maybe it was supposed to be like this.
~~~
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He and the fence were supposed to rule together.
But everyone knows that the Queen does not marry the Executioner.
So he drank to forget and he drank and remembered.
He never was worth anything anyway.
Maybe it was supposed to be like this.
~~~
It was almost supposed to be like this.
The Queen was gone, the Executioner had become King, and five million in Spanish gold sat beneath his throne.
He did his best to ignore the hammering outside. He did his best to ignore it. He did. But it all reminded him too much of a time when he chopped lumber, and he was no better than they were anyway.
If anything, he was worse.
If there was a doubt before the man told him to leave, there could be no doubt after he’d actually left. He flung the cup at the mirror, ignoring the shattering of the glass in favor of running his hands over his face. He took a seat.
Then there was a sword. His sword.
He was back, apparently not for revenge, but for the son he’d lost. He wondered why He didn’t go after her. She was the most logical person to follow his footsteps. Then he remembered that she would be married now, with children, and that he would never see her again.
Maybe, he thought, it was supposed to be like this.