Hushed Willows that's nice, that's a nice sentiment

i smiled like an idiot writing this post, ngl.

 

Buchanan expected her to look at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Like one would look at a sword that had cut down too many lives to count: tentative, horrified, even. He deserved it. He deserved the fear and the disgust. He had done almost everything The Officer had commanded him to: loyally, without question. The little girl had been a ...fluke. A flaw in the system that had otherwise ran smoothly, without trouble. A single good deed did not cancel out all the wrong he'd done: to innocents that had never done anything to him to deserve their deaths by his jaws. There was never any evidence that they'd ever done anything to The Officer, either. It hadn't been Buchanan's place to question him for questions brought pain and pain brought suffering that Buchanan had selfishly not wanted to de with.

Buchanan's steps ceased as Banner quickened her pace so that she could stop before him, facing him. His shoulders stiffened as he mentally prepared himself to bear the brunt of her disgust, having convinced himself that she would think him despicable and was going to tell him he had to find a new home elsewhere. Yet, she did not. Her gaze sought his, and he licked his jowls as she spoke, fighting around the words that got caught in his throat when Banner affirmed that The Officer had deserved his death. Of that, Buchanan would never dispute, but it had been — at the time anyway — at a personal cost to Buchanan who had killed the only companion he'd ever known. The most wretched but closest thing to a father figure he'd had and had left himself as a lost omega without his alpha.

“It's not a life I'd wish on my worst enemy, let alone condemn an innocent child to,” Buchanan explained himself humbly, not quite sure what to do with her gratitude, nor why she was thanking him. Perhaps it had been some hidden paternal instincts that Buchanan didn't even know he had or maybe he just fancied the idea of protecting the innocent. Regardless, something had sparked his insubordination when he realized what was going on. He liked to think that anyone would have done the same in his situation; but there wasn't much time to contemplate it further as Banner had begun to move closer to him, and the assassin's breath had caught in his throat. “I can't change what I did for him, anymore than I can change that sometimes I liked being an assassin,” which was the worst part. He hadn't hated how it triggered his predatory instincts, indulged them like no other prey could. It was a gross thing, certainly not one that he was proud of.

He was babbling. God, he was nervous. It was kind of hard to imagine how she — so small and beautiful — could reduce him to an anxious flutter in his stomach. Yet, Buchanan, as perplexing as it was to him, wanted her to know him; even if she ended up hating him for it. “but I can look to my future, and I have a home and the chance to be more than a peon, an assassin and I owe it to you, so thank you.” He swallowed around the lump of butterflies that had fluttered their way up the strong column of his throat, lowering his gaze in a timid manner.