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[molotov]

Who: molotov and samson
What: Talking :(
When: The morning after all of this.
Where: Brock's cabin
Rating: Probably like PG-13 at most.

She said she'd find him.

When Brock hadn't come home, and he wasn't still on the kitchen floor, Molotov figured he must have gone out to his cabin. So that was where she went. It was late morning -- she'd wanted to give him time to wake up.

With a small knock, she opened the door, peering around the edge before the door was even fully opened.

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[samson]

Alright, that did it.

He threw the dishes violently into the sink and whirled on her, glaring. "I didn't steal a damn thing from you, Molotov. I'm really fucking sorry I'm not as perfect as you, or that I actually want to do some good in the world, or that I know what duty is." That's right, he said 'duty.' Get over it.

"We couldn't work in the real world, and you know that. You know that! We're going to leave this place, and we're gonna go right back to our own lives, doing our own things, and nothing you say to me is gonna change that."

[molotov]

"Tell my father's grave that you never stole from me!" she yelled, shaking with anger, her eye flashing with tears. "Tell it to my eye in a jar that you keep on your fucking bedside table! Tell it to your mother, who I did not slaughter in revenge, or to the Ventures, who I tried to help, or to your backstabbing, cross-dressing mentor who I tried to ally with when he ran away and turned himself into a woman because he is a fucking coward! You do not know shit about goodness or duty, all you know how to do is follow orders and believe what other people tell you believe!"

Molotov punctuated this by throwing the nearest thing she could get her hands on (it was a glass).

"And I know that will not change, but at least you could care!"

[samson]

"It was war," he bellowed over her, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. Jeezy petes, this lady could talk. "I killed your dad because it was war, you left me to die in a fire because it was war."

He swore loudly when she started throwing shit, because what the hell, lady. What the hell!

"Hey, I know a hell of a lot more about duty than you do, Little Miss Looks-after-nobody-but-herself. Do you have any friends in the real world? Do you try to do anything good? You take your contracts 'cause they make you money, so don't you tell me about goodness, baby."

[molotov]

"Who else should I look after, asshole?!" she screeched, standing up to point at him accusingly. "I do not have any family, thanks to you, so all I have is myself. I am not going to adopt stray dogs just because that is what you do!"

She threw something else, a knick-knack this time. "And da, I have friends! What friends do you have, moron? People you were forced to live with for twenty years? Other loser mongrel rejects from the OSI? Hunter? It is not like you are some social butterfly with a vast network of close friendships! The only people you know outside of your little bubble are strippers and sluts! I am friends with people that you could never dream of. And do not talk to me about goodness! What are you doing that is so good? You spent twenty years fighting with The Monarch, for god's sake!"

[samson]

"Fuck it!" he said, angrily toweling off his hands and then stomping over to her, arms spread wide. "What it comes down to is you're pissed you loved me too much to avenge your asshole of a father. That's all it is! So take your fucking best shot, Molotov. Kill me right now, if it'll make you stop hating me so much!"

[molotov]

"My father wasn't an asshole!" she yelled, smoothly pulling her pistol from its holster. "And I do not want to kill you, but if you say one more fucking word about my father, I will."

[samson]

"So you do love him more than me," Brock said quietly, approaching her to the point where he had to crane his neck down to look at her, where he stopped and just frowned. "So, fine. That's all this is. You didn't love me enough to make it work either."

[molotov]

Molotov didn't even think about her next action -- it was pure instinct. She smacked him across the face with her gun.

"Do not ever say that to me again," she said, voice shaking. "I tried, I tried so hard. How dare you say I did not love you enough? You would not stand by and let me insult your mother, so do not try to make my father into an excuse."

[samson]

Brock's head jerked with the force of the blow, and he blinked a few times before looking down at her. He paused to touch his fingers to his mouth, where there was a thin trickle of blood.

"Molotov, you never forgave me for killing him," he said, still frowning. "I don't know what else that could mean, except that you love him more."

[molotov]

"He was everything I ever had," she said, so soft that it was almost a whisper. "You would never forgive me if I killed the Ventures, and they are not even your real family."

[samson]

He just looked at her for a second, frowning deeply. After a moment, he sighed, finally lowering his hands to his sides and looking away from her.

"Then I don't know what we can do."

[molotov]

Molotov let out a small laugh of disbelief. "So, what, I am not allowed to love my own father anymore?" She was quiet for a moment, then blinked away tears and moved back from him. "This is not about me loving my father more. It is about you being jealous of a man who is nearly twenty five years in the grave. If my choice has to be you or him, then I do not know what to tell you, because I love you both."

[samson]

"I'm not jealous," he said with a frown. "You're the one who brought him up. And you're the one who's still pissed at me about it. I don't know what to tell you, 'cause if you can't forgive me, then I really don't know what we're going to do."

[molotov]

"What's to forgive?" she asked, incredulous. "You have never apologized or felt remorse. I am not going to forgive you just because I love you, or because we are married. That is not how forgiveness works. It is not a right for you to be forgiven, Brock. I brought him up because you lied and said you never stole a family from me. Even you cannot believe that."

[samson]

"If he killed me, would you forgive him?" he said immediately, frown deepening. "You know him better than me, would he have told you he's sorry?"

[molotov]

"He would have apologized for the fact that he allowed me to love you at all," she said, "and no, I never would have forgiven him. I might not have said anything to him, I might have still obeyed, but I never would have forgiven, even for a second."

[samson]

Brock was getting tired of just standing there, so he sat down heavily on the sofa, head in his hands. "I can't apologize for something I'm not sorry for," he said quietly, looking vaguely at the floor. "It was war. I'm not sorry I did it."

He paused, squinting a little, trying to figure out how to put this into words. This entire conversation was not Brock's strong suit. "I'm sorry I had to do it," he continued slowly, a bit haltingly. "I don't even know if I had to. I know he would have done the same thing to me. But mostly it was just ... I guess it was because of you that I did it. I wanted to hurt you. Bad.

"So I'm sorry I wanted to do that."

[molotov]

Molotov was silent for several very long moments, walking away to the other side of the room and leaning against the wall.

"So it was not war," she finally said. "You just wanted to make sure we could never be okay. You wanted to hurt me so badly that I could never heal, no matter what happened. Why? Because you loved me?"

[samson]

"No, that wasn't about you," he said, looking up sharply. "Well ... okay, it was about you, but not you. It was about the woman who killed my partner, not the woman I loved. You just wound up being the same person."

[molotov]

"Your partner wasn't dead," she said, her voice flat and measured, her eye just an angry slit. "So you did not hurt the woman who killed your partner, because she does not exist. There was only the woman you loved."

[samson]

"I know that now," he said with a frown. "So I guess I'm sorry I made a mistake. But he still would have killed me if he had the chance, so I don't ... I mean, should I be sorry I got to him first? Would you want me dead instead of him?"

[molotov]

"No," she said, immediately and honestly, "I would not. I just want you to care about everything else, and to admit that it was not me. I asked you so many times, I begged you, I waited over twenty years for you, alone and locked away. And all that ever mattered to you was my job. Did you even really love me, Brock? Or was I just wasting time, hoping?"

[samson]

"Don't ask me that, Molotov," he said, rubbing at his face with both hands, which he then dropped to his lap and slouched miserably on the couch, frowning at his feet. "Of course I loved you. You're the only woman I ever loved. Ever. But when you're like us, when you do the things we do ... you can't separate the job from the person."

He looked over at her. "We're killers, Molotov. It's really all we're good at. I couldn't really quit my job either."

[molotov]

Molotov looked away and inhaled sharply, her face crumpling for a moment before she recomposed herself. "You separated it here," she managed to say evenly. "I am the same person. I see nothing wrong with my work. I am not going out and killing innocent people on the street. I do not kill people with terrible lives, who are doing the only jobs they could find, like you used to, by the dozen. In sheer numbers, you take the cake, my love, and can you really say that most of those men were deserving of the deaths they got? I kill rich and powerful people, almost all of whom are doing terrible things anyway. People usually do not pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to have someone killed just because they do not like them. And even when they do, what does me taking money for a personal grudge matter when both sides are drug lords or mob bosses?"

[samson]

"The only jobs they could find -- no, don't pull that on me. Henchmen know what they're doing. They're stupid, but they know what they're doing."

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands again. "It's different. I'm doing it to protect, or I used to. And now it's to make the world a better place. I don't know," he said, just getting frustrated by this -- how was Molotov touting how much better than him she was, and how awful he was actually going to help them? "I don't know what you want me to say. I can't change the past, and even if I could, we're not even there anymore."