Work Text:
It was a gorgeous, sunny Saturday, the last day of Bryan Mills' life. A perfectly ordinary Saturday in late fall, an unexpected warm front pulling so many of Washington, DC's office workers from their stale cubicles. Bryan Mills wasn't an office worker. A discerning eye might have noticed the slight bulge of the Beretta in the shoulder holster underneath his unremarkable tweed jacket. That same discerning eye might also have noticed the wariness with which he automatically scanned most of the men in his vicinity. At the moment, he wasn't scanning for anything in particular; he was simply scanning. Too many bad men in the world and it had been his job for far too long to see that there were fewer of them for his well-honed and long practiced skills to be turned off. It had saved his life more than once. More than a hundred times. It had saved the lives of his loved ones. More than once. But today he didn't have to think about that. He was in a park only yards away from the seat of the most powerful government in the world. The sun was shining on the fallen leaves scattered through the still-green grass. He smiled at the young woman who sat on the other side of the bench to eat her food truck burrito while he continued to eat his slightly messy lobster roll with masculine dignity. Her smile widened as he used his thumb to wipe off a smear of mayonnaise on his chin.
"You remind me of my daughter," he said, guilelessly. She did. The same shiny hair; the same bright, intelligent eyes; the same easy confidence. He hoped she realized that he was being genuinely nice and not some weird, creepy bad guy.
"Thank you. You must love her very much," she answered. He was relieved, she understood.
"I do. I miss her." He sighed. He was never going to get used to Kim being at college and so far away from where he could keep track of her. Well, he had access to the resources, of course, but he tried not to use them too often; spying on your own daughter was perhaps a sign of obsession taken a little too far.
"I'm sorry, is she…" The young woman trailed off, looking uncertain.
"Oh no, nothing bad. She's just away at college and it's hard for an overprotective father to get used to," he admitted. He wiped his hand off on a napkin and held it out to her. "Sorry, my manners are terrible today. Bryan Mills."
She took his hand and held it warmly for a moment. "Fatima. Fatima Massad." She pauses for a moment as if waiting for some sort of recognition from him. The name doesn't ring a bell. She continues, "My father was Arben Massad." Again, she gives him an expectant look. Still the name means nothing. She looks disappointed for an instant before she turns back to the food in her lap. She neatly folds the remains of the burrito into its silvery wrapper and sets it aside. She takes her smartphone from her purse and starts reading something on its screen. Bryan wonders if he should say something in condolence. He noticed that she used the past tense with her father's name. Perhaps a recent loss. He goes back to the lobster roll and considers what to say to this girl who clearly loved her father as much as he loves his Kim. His thoughts and his lunch occupy him enough that he fails to notice the wickedly sharp knife that is suddenly in her hand and equally abruptly plunged into his side, right under the ribs to his liver. It doesn't hurt, not really, not yet. He knows he's going to bleed out before the hurting starts. He looks at her in confusion and surprise. His mouth opens to start the word why but before he can breathe the word out, he slips sideways and gently rolls off the bench. The sunlight and the reflection of the fluffy clouds in his pooling blood on this perfect fall day are the only things he sees. He can still hear, though.
"You killed my father. You don't even remember his name. He was just collateral damage to you, but he was my father and now he is no more."
She wipes the knife off on the mayonnaise spattered paper napkin and drops it in the trashcan beside the now still body. She doesn't smile even though she knows that there is one fewer bad man in the world. It still would not bring her father back.