Chapter Text
Her apartment smelled faintly of coffee and old books, the kind of quiet warmth Carter was not familiar with. Lena let him in, her smile soft, her eyes tracing his face like she was trying to read something hidden there. He let her.
“Rough day?” she asked, touching his arm lightly.
“You could say that.” His voice was steady, calm, almost comforting. He didn’t sit. He didn’t take off his jacket nor his gloves. He just looked at her, drinking in the sight, as if trying to memorize every curve, every shadow. Trying to find the piece he was missing.
She tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes. “You look tired... Is everything alright? I've been worried about you since the other day.”
Carter moved closer. “I'm fine. I just… wanted to see you.”
Her smile widened just a fraction, and when she leaned in, his hand rose, tracing the outline of her shoulder, the slope of her collarbone. Fingers that could snap a neck with ease mapped her like he was sketching her into memory. She shivered under his touch, not in fear, she trusted him. And trust he knew was something that cuts deeper than any blade. He kept track of her reactions, the subtle shift of her breath, the slight twitch of her mouth, the collection of things that made her.
“You’re...warm,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“What?”
He kissed her then, slow, deliberate, reassuring. An act almost sentimental. Her lips felt softer than nights before, and for a heartbeat he thought he might shatter. Her hands rose to his chest, not pushing, just grounding him. And for a moment he let himself imagine a different life: mornings with her laughter, nights without blood. The promise of a life he knew could never have. It was almost enough to make him falter. Almost.
The promise was incomplete.
And his hands had already circled her neck.
She stiffened at the shift, pulling back to look at him, confusion blooming in her eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers, whispering low, intimate:
“Shh. Just breathe. With me.”
Her pulse fluttered beneath his thumbs. He felt it like a drumbeat, frantic, desperate. The voices and the noise finally fell silent, replaced by a clarity so sharp it felt holy. This wasn’t rage. This wasn’t lust. This was release.
She shouldn't have opened that door.
Her nails dug weakly into his arms, but he only held her tighter, mouth brushing her ear. Words soothing. A farewell lullaby.
“It’s alright. You know I won't hurt you. Just close your eyes. Let me take the past away.”
The world narrowed to her heartbeat against his palms, the shallow gasp of her breath, the growing stillness spreading through her limbs. Flashes of memory bled through, crashing, reforming, vanishing.
A body crumpled on the kitchen floor, blood pooling like paint on tile, the smell of iron heavy in the air. Back then, the act had felt like power. Now, as Lena sagged against him, it felt like peace.
He had once reclaimed the life that he had been stolen. But now...now he would make sure the life he had carved for himself was never taken again. He wasn't that boy. Not anymore.
When her final breath shuddered out, his grip loosened, cradling her weight carefully as though she were only asleep. He lowered her gently to the floor, brushing a curl of hair from her face with the same hands that had stolen her last breath.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, voice nearing into something almost reverent. "I can keep you now."
For the first time in a very long time, the silence in his head was absolute. No voices. No more noise. Just quiet. And for the first time in his life, he felt whole.
Carter sat there for a long time, Lena’s lifeless body in his arms, like a mourner at a bedside, whispering prayers no god would hear.
The room was still. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge and Carter’s breathing, slow and calm, as he sat on the floor with Lena in his arms.
Her head rested against his chest, her curls spilling over his jacket like ink. He hadn’t moved for what felt like hours.
The phone lay beside him, its screen dark, but his thumb brushed over it again and again, hesitation turning to decision.
Finally, he typed the words and hit send.
Done.
Hoffman arrived twenty minutes later. The quiet weight of footsteps was heard down the hall before the door clicked open. He stepped inside and stopped.
Carter didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.
He knew Hoffman would come.
The older man’s eyes swept the room once, sharp and assessing. His gaze fell to Lena’s body, then to Carter’s face, unreadable in the dim light.
Carter finally lifted his eyes. There was no shame there, no guilt or remorse. Just calm.
“You were right.”
Hoffman crossed the room, crouched down, and studied Carter like he was trying to read the pieces of him that were left. There was something different. Not hollow, not broken. Reforged. And something in his quiet serenity unsettled Hoffman more than his usual sharpness ever did.
Carter fingers brushed over Lena’s jaw one last time before he laid her gently on the floor. He studied the detective's face for a second.
“I've made my choice.”
A silence stretched between them, thick with implication. Hoffman’s mind raced, weighing the possibilities. The advantage the situation offered him.
But beneath it all, something else stirred: recognition. Loyalty, as twisted and absolute as the path they walked now together.
Finally, Hoffman stood and held out a hand.
“Get up. We make this quick.”
Carter took it, rising to his feet. The contact fractured the moment, as though Lena had never walked back into his life. A complete stranger was now laid on the floor. Stripped of the warmth of memory.
As Hoffman helped get rid of any traces of evidence, he glanced sideways at Carter.
“Its finally over,” Hoffman said.
Carter’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”
The younger man’s face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something. And Hoffman understood more than he wanted to admit.
The scene was staged as a break-in, neat, clean. No prints, no evidence. The phone gone. They moved with practiced silence, two shadows in perfect sync.
And when it was done, Carter looked at him, and something passed between them. A vow without words.
He had chosen.