Connor (RK800) Oneshots

Locked And Loaded

Can Connor kill you? 

. . . 

What have you done? Who did you anger?

Why can't he pull the trigger?

One second, and you'll be gone. One second, and he'll accomplish his mission.

One second, and he will no longer be the same. Forever.

Why do his biocomponents refuse to work?

It flashes, just an instant.

Lips. Lips kissing his own, lips kissing his cheek, his hands -

He knows you. Whoever did take care of wiping his memory— they didn't do a thorough job. Or maybe your touch was simply too much to be forgotten. Not even the most advanced technology could save him from feeling your small fingers entwine between his own. Shards of a past life. Shards that were just now starting to reassemble, broken pieces never meant to be fixed.

He can't do it. He can't kill you.

How can you be so dangerous? He sees you buying white flowers, smiling without a care in the world. Without knowing that death awaits you just a building away.

He has you in his sight. He can't.

Of course you can, Connor.

It hurts. Remembering you hurts. He can see your face, your eyes, your wild morning hair. He can hear your voice. Raspy and hoarse, so deliciously tired after your night's love.

"Death is natural, my love. Maybe that's why life is so special...because it's ephemeral. "

"Stop", he'd said, burying his nose into your hair. "Just stop."

He'd pulled you close, holding you so tight—

Pull the trigger, Connor.

Obey.

He can't.

So why does his finger curl on the trigger?

He's shaking. You're laughing.

And the arm you're grabbing, the cheek you're kissing— they're not his.

How could you? Did you care so little for him that you couldn't even tell him apart from a copy?

Or did you know? Know that the Connor you were letting embrace you was another?

He doesn't know what is worse.

Oh no, he does.

Kill the target, Connor.

"I love you, Connor".

You tell the Other. He reads your lips.

He can't.

The Other wraps his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close just the way you like it. It's tearing him apart.

He takes aim.

He fights. He really does. He can't move. You stand on your tiptoes. You kiss the Other. He weaves a single white flower through your hair.

He can't.

The Other turns around, looking up. Spotting him in no time. But there is no time.

Do it, Connor.

You look beautiful dressed in white.

He pulls the trigger.