donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2007-12-09 12:21 am
donutsweeper) wrote2007-12-09 12:21 am
The Hunter
Title: The Hunter
Pairing/Warning/Rating: none, rated G
Word Count: 255
Summary: Jack is on a hunt
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeron_lanart. Now with commentary.
Jack stands alone in the darkness, looking up at the silhouetted figure. Waiting. Watching. The nightly ritual he observes is a familiar dance by now. The minutes count down in his head; he knows instinctively when the sleep will have taken the man he seeks. The man he hunts.
When enough time passes he surreptitiously sneaks inside, noiselessly making his way past the building’s defenses, down the corridors, up the stairs, and through locked doors with ridiculous ease. Carefully avoiding the creaky floor board he creeps into the bedroom. The revolver glistens in his fist. One bullet, that’s all it will take, only the truly weak need three, and he is not the weak one here. He will never be the weak one again.
The sleeping form mumbles, shifting slightly on the bed. In the moonlight Owen looks younger, more vulnerable, less like a threat and more like prey. With a small shake of the head Jack reminds himself that this is necessary. The man had defied him, claiming he was relieving him of command before killing him and nearly destroying the world in the process. How could he ever truly trust him again? He raises the gun and in a rush of anger and determination pulls the trigger. But all that happens is the soft click as the hammer falls on the empty chamber.
Next time will be different. Next time he’ll actually have a bullet in the gun. Next time, he tells himself as he slips out, like a thief in the night.
Pairing/Warning/Rating: none, rated G
Word Count: 255
Summary: Jack is on a hunt
Author's Note: Written for
aeron_lanart. Now with commentary.Jack stands alone in the darkness, looking up at the silhouetted figure. Waiting. Watching. The nightly ritual he observes is a familiar dance by now. The minutes count down in his head; he knows instinctively when the sleep will have taken the man he seeks. The man he hunts.
When enough time passes he surreptitiously sneaks inside, noiselessly making his way past the building’s defenses, down the corridors, up the stairs, and through locked doors with ridiculous ease. Carefully avoiding the creaky floor board he creeps into the bedroom. The revolver glistens in his fist. One bullet, that’s all it will take, only the truly weak need three, and he is not the weak one here. He will never be the weak one again.
The sleeping form mumbles, shifting slightly on the bed. In the moonlight Owen looks younger, more vulnerable, less like a threat and more like prey. With a small shake of the head Jack reminds himself that this is necessary. The man had defied him, claiming he was relieving him of command before killing him and nearly destroying the world in the process. How could he ever truly trust him again? He raises the gun and in a rush of anger and determination pulls the trigger. But all that happens is the soft click as the hammer falls on the empty chamber.
Next time will be different. Next time he’ll actually have a bullet in the gun. Next time, he tells himself as he slips out, like a thief in the night.
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