#killshield

      again, not a startling feeling. not like it should be.

        “you made it easy,” he says, point blank, drawing his sunglasses off to let hang at the collar of his shirt. his tone is even keeled. “making it easy isn’t seeing what i’m capable of. it doesn’t help,” and for as accusatory as it sounds, it isn’t. his frustration isn’t directed at grant ward. he’s become adept at directing the daggers inward. in truth, roman’s ready to sink his teeth in a lot of hands, but this man’s isn’t one of them. 

      an interesting revelation, but a truth all the same.

         “ -- oh,” he’s good. russo expected nothing less, but it’s nice when his instincts are a dead ringer. he shifts, stance knocked from parade rest and his fingers move to pluck at his cufflinks, head ducked with a modicum of false modesty. “you’re thorough. good. i just hope you didn’t skip over all the other impressive things on the list.”

         the silence bleeds out between and before them like many things have. ( many people. blood on blood on blood and it’s such a bitch to get out. )  it bleeds until it’s dead; gone, faded from existence. it bleeds and russo smiles, the smallest twitch of a smile. 

                “apparently, killing is frowned upon,” he states, deadpan and no shift in his expression either which way. ward doesn’t move, doesn’t have a tell. “even when it’s called for.” 129 confirmed kills, but that doesn’t count everybody outside of the war. it doesn’t count the people he’s had strings on and the ones he’s plucked until they screamed. it doesn’t count the castle family because that’s on him, even when his finger wasn’t on the trigger. “you’d think it –” 

      it doesn’t count –

               “no, makes me feel less.” ward answers, like he knows what billy was thinking, and maybe he does. because a killer is still a killer, no matter the shade you wear or the shadows you hide behind. justified or not. you drop a man, you’re not the same. 

                “mm,” he hums. feel less, he says, and billy can’t relate, not quite -- not really; see, because when was the last time he felt anything at all? “funny how that works, hm?”