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femgenficathonTitle: Passing All Understanding
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daegaer
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Violence
Prompt: 44) Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood. -- Marie Curie (1867-1934)
Summary: Sakura reflects on how she reached her current position.
Author's Notes: An AU, based on Schuldig's crack to Sakura. "Aim better! You'll never make a good hitman like that!" Thank you,puddingcat for your beta!
There was a moment when everything was clear, when all the world made sense. She could understand how it was she got to this point, how she stayed where she was, and there was no condemnation, no shame. Just, for that split-second: understanding. It was something that she couldn't hold on to, that she knew would fade with the resolution of the moment, the draining of adrenaline. It would go, and she would have to search for it again, but now, the target on his knees in front of her, she knew what it all meant.
Sakura pulled the trigger.
* * *
She should hate Schuldig. She should hate all of Schwarz. Instead, she hates Nagi, and the people Schwarz kills. They deserve it, their weakness disgusts her.
"Good girl, Herzchen. Pull the trigger."
She does, and Schuldig laughs and throws an arm around her shoulders. He points out the surprised look on the corpse's face. Crawford tightens his lips and looks away. Farfarello has already gone searching for something more amusing than bullets and quick deaths. Nagi looks bored, eyes firmly fixed on nothing. He's pretending, he can't fool her. They are her study, her project.
Understanding Schwarz means staying alive.
* * *
There were only so many ways a girl with little German and neither visa nor passport could support herself. Sakura told herself that cleaning was honest work; soon she'd have enough money for a better, safer room.
When the man who had watched her for weeks dragged her to his flat to demonstrate her duties as one of his new girls, Sakura screamed and wept.
And remembered her lessons.
That evening, in a new city, she dropped the blood-encrusted scissors into a river and bought herself a really good meal. Time for a better life; she was a skilled worker.
* * *
She can't shoot fast enough. Schuldig shoves the stopwatch into her face, annoyed.
"If your targets were ninety and arthritic they'd have reached cover by now! Faster! Are you just going to spray the whole area with automatic fire?"
The right answer is -
"No, Schuldig."
"Why not?"
She mustn't waste time thinking. "It's sloppy. It attracts more attention than single shots. It's - " She risks a look at his face. "Crawford-san wouldn't pay for the ammunition."
He laughs, a little surprised. He likes to poke fun at Crawford, and Sakura's wondered if he likes others doing so too.
Now she knows.
* * *
Her first few contracts were bargain-basement offers, means to a higher-paying end. It was easy not to care when she was killing drug dealers and their employers. It was practically a social duty for which she was paid. These people did more damage than she ever could, could destroy lives just as thoroughly as an assassin.
She owed them nothing. If a target thought he was taking a nice girl to dinner, so what? Let him pay for his own last meal.
"Don't pretend this is justice," she told her reflection.
She came out of the bathroom, pistol drawn.
* * *
Schwarz are casual around death. Farfarello stops, mid-torture, looking mildly annoyed.
"I've a song going round in my head. Fuck off, Schuldig."
"Not me, pal."
"Is it Livin' La Vida Loca?" Crawford says.
"You hear it too? Jesus, Schuldig - "
"Hey, Nagi's the one with the secret Ricky Martin crush."
"You're pathetic," Nagi says.
As they bicker, Farfarello's victim crawls towards the door. He almost makes it before Crawford shoots him in the head. Sakura steps back. Schuldig will be annoyed if blood gets on her pretty pink sneakers. She's casual about death herself these days, and the shoes are new.
* * *
She could have gone home years ago, she thought, and yet she stayed in Europe. What was at home, but for lies about her past and shame? She could do more in Europe. Even if she had no right to call her actions good, she was still killing those who destroyed lives.
It was like Aya-san and his friends, she decided. He was too modest to call his actions good, but they were necessary. She would work towards that, would be like them.
Not all of her actions were strictly necessary, but then she had a lot of expenses.
* * *
Sometimes, in her dreams, Sakura is a knight in shining armour. She rescues women from abusive men, shoots rapists in the crotch and watches them bleed out. She returns lost children to their parents. She never recognizes any of the people in these dreams, is not confronted with those she couldn't kill. In other dreams she sits on a high hilltop, observing the weak and unsuspecting through rifle sights.
"Pull the trigger, Herzchen."
She never has to look to the side to know he is smiling. In the morning she longs for sleeping pills to escape both heroics and horror.
* * *
She had enough money for a holiday. She could lie on a beach somewhere letting the sun turn her brown. She could use it as an opportunity to sound out contacts in Italy or Greece.
She was not going to give this up, she thought. She had come too far and survived too much and the idea of getting a nine-to-five job to which she would wear heels and tights horrified her even more than her current employment.
Killing people was easy, in a way that frightened her less and less.
And the pay was just so damn good.
* * *
There's a moment when everything's clear, when it all makes sense. She understands how she reached this point, how she stays where she is, and there's no condemnation, no shame, just understanding. She knows it'll go again, and she'll have the dreams in which she rescues all those women who are herself, that she'll think of Aya-san and his own sad justifications. Right now, the target on his knees before her, she knows.
She likes being the one on this side of the gun, she likes the feeling of power the wolf has over the sheep.
Sakura pulls the trigger.
Author:
daegaerFandom: Weiß Kreuz
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Violence
Prompt: 44) Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood. -- Marie Curie (1867-1934)
Summary: Sakura reflects on how she reached her current position.
Author's Notes: An AU, based on Schuldig's crack to Sakura. "Aim better! You'll never make a good hitman like that!" Thank you,
puddingcat for your beta!There was a moment when everything was clear, when all the world made sense. She could understand how it was she got to this point, how she stayed where she was, and there was no condemnation, no shame. Just, for that split-second: understanding. It was something that she couldn't hold on to, that she knew would fade with the resolution of the moment, the draining of adrenaline. It would go, and she would have to search for it again, but now, the target on his knees in front of her, she knew what it all meant.
Sakura pulled the trigger.
She should hate Schuldig. She should hate all of Schwarz. Instead, she hates Nagi, and the people Schwarz kills. They deserve it, their weakness disgusts her.
"Good girl, Herzchen. Pull the trigger."
She does, and Schuldig laughs and throws an arm around her shoulders. He points out the surprised look on the corpse's face. Crawford tightens his lips and looks away. Farfarello has already gone searching for something more amusing than bullets and quick deaths. Nagi looks bored, eyes firmly fixed on nothing. He's pretending, he can't fool her. They are her study, her project.
Understanding Schwarz means staying alive.
There were only so many ways a girl with little German and neither visa nor passport could support herself. Sakura told herself that cleaning was honest work; soon she'd have enough money for a better, safer room.
When the man who had watched her for weeks dragged her to his flat to demonstrate her duties as one of his new girls, Sakura screamed and wept.
And remembered her lessons.
That evening, in a new city, she dropped the blood-encrusted scissors into a river and bought herself a really good meal. Time for a better life; she was a skilled worker.
She can't shoot fast enough. Schuldig shoves the stopwatch into her face, annoyed.
"If your targets were ninety and arthritic they'd have reached cover by now! Faster! Are you just going to spray the whole area with automatic fire?"
The right answer is -
"No, Schuldig."
"Why not?"
She mustn't waste time thinking. "It's sloppy. It attracts more attention than single shots. It's - " She risks a look at his face. "Crawford-san wouldn't pay for the ammunition."
He laughs, a little surprised. He likes to poke fun at Crawford, and Sakura's wondered if he likes others doing so too.
Now she knows.
Her first few contracts were bargain-basement offers, means to a higher-paying end. It was easy not to care when she was killing drug dealers and their employers. It was practically a social duty for which she was paid. These people did more damage than she ever could, could destroy lives just as thoroughly as an assassin.
She owed them nothing. If a target thought he was taking a nice girl to dinner, so what? Let him pay for his own last meal.
"Don't pretend this is justice," she told her reflection.
She came out of the bathroom, pistol drawn.
Schwarz are casual around death. Farfarello stops, mid-torture, looking mildly annoyed.
"I've a song going round in my head. Fuck off, Schuldig."
"Not me, pal."
"Is it Livin' La Vida Loca?" Crawford says.
"You hear it too? Jesus, Schuldig - "
"Hey, Nagi's the one with the secret Ricky Martin crush."
"You're pathetic," Nagi says.
As they bicker, Farfarello's victim crawls towards the door. He almost makes it before Crawford shoots him in the head. Sakura steps back. Schuldig will be annoyed if blood gets on her pretty pink sneakers. She's casual about death herself these days, and the shoes are new.
She could have gone home years ago, she thought, and yet she stayed in Europe. What was at home, but for lies about her past and shame? She could do more in Europe. Even if she had no right to call her actions good, she was still killing those who destroyed lives.
It was like Aya-san and his friends, she decided. He was too modest to call his actions good, but they were necessary. She would work towards that, would be like them.
Not all of her actions were strictly necessary, but then she had a lot of expenses.
Sometimes, in her dreams, Sakura is a knight in shining armour. She rescues women from abusive men, shoots rapists in the crotch and watches them bleed out. She returns lost children to their parents. She never recognizes any of the people in these dreams, is not confronted with those she couldn't kill. In other dreams she sits on a high hilltop, observing the weak and unsuspecting through rifle sights.
"Pull the trigger, Herzchen."
She never has to look to the side to know he is smiling. In the morning she longs for sleeping pills to escape both heroics and horror.
She had enough money for a holiday. She could lie on a beach somewhere letting the sun turn her brown. She could use it as an opportunity to sound out contacts in Italy or Greece.
She was not going to give this up, she thought. She had come too far and survived too much and the idea of getting a nine-to-five job to which she would wear heels and tights horrified her even more than her current employment.
Killing people was easy, in a way that frightened her less and less.
And the pay was just so damn good.
There's a moment when everything's clear, when it all makes sense. She understands how she reached this point, how she stays where she is, and there's no condemnation, no shame, just understanding. She knows it'll go again, and she'll have the dreams in which she rescues all those women who are herself, that she'll think of Aya-san and his own sad justifications. Right now, the target on his knees before her, she knows.
She likes being the one on this side of the gun, she likes the feeling of power the wolf has over the sheep.
Sakura pulls the trigger.
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