#heistdriven

Eden’s eyes are filled with fury. Even as Spencer lay there, slumped, bloodied and beaten, he still challenges her.    ‘ Go on then, kill me ! ’    Oh, she will make damn sure he eats those words. After all these years of being at each others’ throats, Spencer should know by now that if anyone was going to kill him, it would be her. Perhaps he thinks they have too much history for her to go through with it, or perhaps he is asking because he does know she will kill him. 

If this had been a few years ago, Eden would have leveled with her own inner morals in terms of killing Spencer.    Was he worth it?    Would it serve her?    But now, none of that seemed to matter anymore. There was no leveling, there was no contemplation. Eden knew only one of them would be walking out of here alive. Perhaps in the moment, Spencer would fight back, but Eden would do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t leave... even if she paid the price of her life for it. 

It was a fascinating thing : how much hatred could masquerade as selflessness. It was not a noble sacrifice. It was filled with anger, venom, rage. She would not go down a hero, but if she went down with his blood on her hands, it would be worth it.

Her grip tightens on the knife in her hand. She had a gun tucked into her belt, but this... this was personal. Eden’s eyes follow Spencer’s as he looks down at the knife, and she lunges forward, aiming to drive it into his chest. Surprisingly, Spencer takes the defensive – perhaps human instinct – and he weakly tries to push her off him. He manages to knock her onto the ground beside him, sending the knife clattering across the floor, but Eden scrambles back up, nails clawing into the fabric of his coat as she yanks him towards her. 

Spencer lets out a pained grunt as he stumbles back over. His hands are once again pushing her away, but Eden’s persistence is stronger. She climbs over him, grabbing the knife from where it had fallen to the floor, and then she quickly moves to pin him down. 

There’s nowhere for him to run now; his grip weakens as he loses more blood, but there’s a chance he would crawl out of there alive if Eden didn’t finish the job here. Now. Without hesitation, even as the eyes she had known for many years look up at her with heavy, swollen lids, Eden drives the knife into his chest. 

She aims for the heart.

Spencer lets out a choking noise, and while Eden knew he would die from the stab alone, she twists the knife for extra measure. Leaning in now, close to his face as he chokes on his own blood, Eden presses a kiss to Spencer’s temple before her lips move to practically touch his ear. She whispers her final phrase to him, one she’d uttered to him many times before.

wolverine.

john just thinks he’s neat.

❝  mr.  moravec !   ❞        head  cocked ,  she  catches  the  movement  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye --  the  faint  stirrings  of  consciousness   as  he  shifts  in  the  chair .            ❝  welcome  back  to  the  land  of  the  living !    sorry  about . . .  ❞       she  gestures  vaguely  at  the  burly  statues  behind  him .           ❝  that .  necessary  evil ,   you  know  how  it  is .   ❞         eyes  flick  to  the  taller  man ,  bright  and  appreciative  --          ❝   thank  you  again ,  kevin .  why  don’t  you  take  jeff  out  tonight ?   my  treat .   ❞      stepping  back  from  the  glass  bar  cart ,  grace  smiles  sweetly ,   and  extends  her  hand ,   black  card  tucked  between  her  finger  tips .    she  watches  him  leave ,  patient ,  before  returning  her  gaze  to  the  semi - conscious  man  before  her .      ❝   now , spencer  --    can  i  call  you  spencer ?    i’m  going  to  ask   alec  here  to  stick  around .   it’s  not  that  i  don’t  trust  you ,  it’s  just . . .    ❞        she  pauses ,   sinking  into  the  loveseat  opposite  spencer ,   and  shrugs ,  amusement  playing  on  her  features .    ❝   well ,   would  you  trust  you ?   you’ve  got  quite  a  reputation  for  a  man  with  no  record .   ❞      behind  her ,   the  screen  glimmers ,    production  credits  for  the  bachelorette  rolling .

❝   spencer !   ❞      her  fist  bangs  against  the  door  loudly ,  frantically .   ❝   spencer  i  know  you’re  in  there .  open  the  fucking  door !  ❞    down  the  hall ,  a  room  door  opens ,  and  an  elderly  man  wrapped  in  a  linen  bathrobe  sticks  his  head  out ,  eyeing  her  suspiciously .     

        ❝  --  young  lady ,  do  you  know  what  time  it  is ?   ❞     her  head  swivels ,  fist  suspended  in  the  air ,  the  satchel  of  legal  documents  tucked  under  her  arm  threatening  to  spill  onto  the  hallway  carpet .    

❝  yes ,  ❞     gussie  snaps .   she  feels  a  twinge  of  embarrassment  for  the  ruckus  she’s  making ,   and  for  the  late  (  early ? )   hour --   but  her  revelation  is  far  more  important  than  some  stranger’s  rest .   he’s  probably  gonna  die  soon  anyway ,  she  thinks ,  resuming  her  task .    thunk .  thunk .   ❝  i  swear  to gd ,  moravec -- !    ❞

       steady  now ,  cohen .    the  sound  of  her  footsteps  echoes  in  the  domed  lobby ,  stiletto  heels  on  marble ,  and  confidence  rushes  through  her  veins .  she  feels  taller ,  more  professional .  as  though  she's  earned  her  security  pass ,  instead  of  received  it  due  to  under staffing  in  the  public  defender’s  office .   desperate  enough  to  take  on  2Ls .  not  that  her  supervising  lawyer  cared  in  the  least .  as  long  as  she  did  his  work  and  kept  her  hands  off  his  office  stash  of  bourbon ,  mulligan  couldn’t  care  less  how  old  she  was .  it  was  hardly  inspiring  work  so  far ,  but  today . . .   well ,  today  she  has  a  client .  

      the  file  is  tucked  under  her  arm ,  between  her  briefcase  and  her  arm ,  and  she  mentally  reviews  the  details .   spencer  moravec ,  born 1984 ,  accused  of  grand  theft  and  murder  in  the  second  degree .  an  initial  reading  had  prompted  slight  nausea  and  a  bout  of  anxiety  only  solved  by  several  drinks ,  but  she’s  since  come  to  terms  with  working  on  behalf  of  a  murderer.  --  accused .  only  accused .  he  might  be  innocent .  the  interview  rooms  are  in  the  back  of  the  building ,  past  the  elevators ,  and  mr.  moravec  is  within  room  12B .   augusta  allows  herself  a  deep  breath ,   and  then  pushes  the  door  open .