How Death Killed Fate

It was a lowly sort of loathing. An obsessive waiting, always pondering, daydreaming of a chance to take a dance with Fate. To test the waters of opportunity. Some said Fate was a demon, deceitful and cunning, and full of spite. Others said Fate was an idea, a concept to ration out the cruel coincidence or blissful happenings of life. But for Marx Mallahan, he knew Fate’s true identity. Fate was a woman.

Her laugh was ironic, she flicked her wrist for coincidence, and crooked her finger at destined moments, leaving a trail of deja vu in her wake. She was a romantic, she had a temper, she was petty, she was miraculous. Fate was a woman, and Marx was one of the few men who could say that he’d caught glimpses of her. Her hair blowing in the wind just before she rounded a corner. Her giggle in a quiet moment. Her skin was shining in the sun before he lost sight of her in the crowd. Fate was entrancing, and he was enthralled. 

He would find her. It was an idea at first, then a promise. He sought her out at weddings, in dark bars where the music was bitter sweet. In the crowd of accidents, or funerals where two aged lovers had passed hand in hand.

Fate knew about the men who chased her. She was aware of their attraction, always futile, always shallow. They wanted her gifts, they wanted her talents, they wanted to use her. Even so, she knew there was something different about this one. His attention wasn’t attraction. The way he looked her up and down wasn’t jealousy, or lust. She allotted him only glances of her, watching his reactions. She knew he thought her beautiful. But there was something in his eye, something in the fraction of his reaction. He didn’t want her powers. He didn’t want her. He didn’t ‘want’. He needed. Whatever he needed was consuming him, eating away at him, the flare in his eyes of determination mingled with self doubt, fear, perhaps? 

Marx was at a party at a friend of a friends, some high end, classier-than-thou type party where you drank champagne and pretended your spouse wasn’t cheating on you in the next room. Where those who had money made it clear, and those who didn’t over compensated by laughing too loudly and dressing too nicely, taking advantage of the twinkling lights to pretend they weren’t unsatisfied in their own pathetic little lives. The music was loud, the lights bright, and the air was thick with chatter. It was easy to get lost in the evening. Easy to forget that the outside word was reality rather than the fiction that existed inside this party without any mind altering drugs. 

Marx’s eyes scrutinized the room, Fate was known to frequent a celebration or two. His eyes glossed over the same spot twice, not really seeing who was there, and he knew that Fate must be there, diverting even his gaze from herself. He wondered if anyone even noticed she was there, noticed that they weren’t noticing. She was dressed in a gold, shimmering cocktail dress, she blended in with the party, another decoration. Once Marx saw her, dipping and wedging through the crowd, Fate turned her eyes slowly in his direction. Her eyes were curious for an instant, then recognizing him. She winked, before moving through the crowd away from him. He moved after her. 

Fate could feel the eyes on her. They didn’t truly see her, she chuckled. It was the best disguise. She was the prettiest in the room. The most radiant. But, like the sun, her disguise was that no one could look directly at her. She shined on their eyes, only noticed when she disappeared. She could watch without being watched. Except…there were a pair of eyes that hovered, they stared. They bore into her neck. She turned her head, slowly, ah. Of course. Him. He stared with such intensity, but what was this? In his eyes, Fate doubted he knew it was in his face. How to explain it? Regret? Reluctance? How cute, there was an agony in his look. She winked, challenging him. She turned away, leaving him in her dust as she slipped through the crowd. 

Marx didn’t want to do it. He did. No, he didn’t. This inner fight, the two screaming needs in his head. Did morals and ethics apply to a supernatural being? Would his guilt overcome his success? Would he succeed at all? He shoved through the crowd. He grabbed her hand, warm and inviting, simultaneously repulsing, the human instinct to recoil and let go of her was screaming at him. He denied it. Instead, he looked up at the woman who had caused him so much misery, laughed in his face. Made folly of his plans, and undermined his escapades. And yet, caused so much light and joy in the world he traversed. And he invited her to dance. 

“I believe we’ve met before.”

Her voice was otherworldly, sweet, and charming. “Darling, I think so.” 

“Care to join me for a dance?”

His hand wrapped around hers, her lips twitched into a smile, and the crowd seemed to part at the pair, as they made their way through the twinkling chandelier light to the dance floor. Her hand slid around his shoulders, she slid close to him, dangerously close. He wrapped his arm around her, her hand light in his other, her expression unreadable. Amused, perhaps? 

Fate knew he was trying to read her expression. Her amusement seeped through her caution, and she could see that his reluctance was in his rigidness. Would he do what he’d came here for? She thought back on all the times they’d narrowly avoided crossing paths. She thought of him as an enemy, and yet, an old friend. 

Marx felt the pain in his chest. He didn’t want to. He needed to. He knew that. It was a decision already made, a deep lock without a key. No compromise could be made. Still, in this moment, the time before the destruction, he was amazed. His mind was fogged in her presence, he knew that it was a trait, a trick, that she used to keep her distance. He smiled at her, involuntarily, and she chuckled once under her breath. She saw her effects, she saw him fighting off it. Her chin was tilted up to meet his gaze, there it was again. The challenge in her eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and twirled her, her dress shining. He drew her close again. 

“You’ve been practicing,” Fate said, her voice soft. 

“One can’t hope to get close to you without being somewhat impressive.”

“How charming.” Fate moved to the real questions. “Is this dance purely for amusement, or have you been seeking me out for a more intended purpose?” 

There it was. The flash of remorse, hesitation. She’d hurt him, she knew it. She’d been careless in the past. Earned her reputation for spite. She’d grown though. Surely she couldn’t be held accountable for what she’d done in the past? Still, Fate knew this was a forgiveness few would allot her. She’d made his job harder. She’d broken some bonds, been inconspicuously chaotic. Lavished her power and brought lovers together, saved a few from fatal events by mere ‘coincidence’. She had earned her reputation, she was aware of this man’s grudge against her. She was aware of the balance she’d thrown off. She didn’t care, usually, but in this moment, she saw their similarities…saw that he didn’t hate her for what she did, rather, he was restoring balance. It had to be done. She knew this. How tedious waiting for the inevitable. How romantic was this moment. 

“Dearest, can’t I enjoy your company for a moment? Chasing you down is such a drag.” He rolled his eyes dramatically before turning them back to stare into her eyes. 

“Ah, you sound like all the rest of my wanna be suitors.”

“Have they ever come this close?”

Fate touched her finger to his nose. “Now, you know I’m not that easy.” 

He laughed a little, dipping his face a little closer, seeing if she would recoil. She held her posture. “Who ever said chasing you was easy?”

Fate’s glow was dimming, Marx’s eyes were adjusting. He could see her mind racing behind her eyes. He wanted to pour over her thoughts, he wanted to know what could be going through her mind. If she knew what he was here to do, If she understood why. She must understand. “Careful,” she said, feigning playfulness. “Get any closer and we’ll have to find somewhere more private.” It sounded like an invitation to something adult. Rather, it was an invitation to a conference. To drop the facade, converse without banter. Marx understood that she must know, now. He stared deep into her eyes, wondering if he was ready. He’d waited so long, sleepless nights trying to find her. When he did sleep, she appeared in his dreams, laughing at him, egging him on. She was always steps ahead, seeing his movements, and allowing him only a glimpse. 

He didn’t want to. The challenge was gone from her eyes. The shine was gone. He dropped his hand from her, and stepped back, putting his hands in his slack’s pockets. Fate smiled now, real. 

“Catching up to you isn’t as fun as chasing you, dearest. I’d hate to end this lovely relationship we have.” 

Fate winked again, her expression knowing, now. The playfulness was gone. “Oh, I disagree.” And with the attitude of a mouse caught in a cat trap, she turned around, and walked through the crowd, Marx following her, to the gardens. 

Fate accepted the cigarette, his closeness was natural as he lit it for her. Here in the night air, they were their true selves. The black suit he wore masked, but did not wholly disguise to her trained eyes, the scent radiating of him. The bags under his dark eyes were more prominent now. In the night air, it was easier to see how it swallowed him. He did not love his profession as she loved hers. He mourned silently, enduring it. He was careful, gentle, and precise. She was wild, free, and impulsive. He hated her and he hated himself. 

Fate blew the smoke at him, he closed his eyes in response. When he opened his eyes, the mask was off. The look of remorse was prominent. He looked sorry. His hands shook in their pockets, not from the cold. She looked him up and down. In all his years, he had become confident in his work. Only now, he quivered. He stood away from her. She smiled to herself. How silly was he. How cute. 

“Such hesitation, cat got your tongue?”

“You know, I truly think, I might not want to go through with this.” 

Fate hadn’t expected his honesty. He ws blunt, no trace of the effects of the party on his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. 

“Oh come on, Death comes to us all.”

He laughed dryly at her poor excuse at humor. Irony was a favorite of hers.

“Not for you. Never for you. You were always one step ahead.” 

Fate couldn’t stand his reluctance. It was painful enough, but his own hesitation was the driving dagger. If he was going to restore balance, let him do it devoid of preference. She did not want this saddened connection. It was unfair. It was unfair for him to be hurting at his own motives and decisions when she would be the victim. 

Marx could feel the hour approaching. It swelled in his body like venom, like an alarm to perform the task he’d been begging himself to find the strength to do. Fate reached up, an understanding in her eyes, and stroked his cheek, coming close to him. 

“Darling, just do it. You’ll never know unless you try…” Her demand was soft. They were incredibly close, close enough to do what he needed to do. He tilted her chin up, and dipped his head slowly, taking in her scent as his own overwhelmed her. Pressing his lips to hers, he held her for one fragile moment. She fell limp in his arms when he pulled away, her last breath escaping her lungs, her eyes still closed from their embrace. 

That is the story of how Death killed Fate.