[He's almost forgotten what it's like to feel this comfortable. The firm mattress beneath him, the crisp smell of the air that surrounds him, the feel of his own strong and sturdy constitution... They're all nice -- the latter most especially -- but it isn't what Wrench thinks when he considers the term. Comfortable, like he doesn't give a shit about anything. Like for once, he could just lie here with his eyes closed and feel at peace in a way he's not sure he ever has. No concern for who might be after him, who's waiting to see him put down his guard so they can pounce. No worry about whether he'll make it to tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, or even what the sense is in trying. He's just fucking comfortable.
When you kill for a living, you can't help but wonder about the afterlife. Back when he was still green and things like that were more liable to turn his stomach, Wrench poured over theories in the hopes of finding something he could stomach. In the end he never found the kind of hubris it must take to think he knew for certain, but the one thing he can bet on is that he's never been bound for any sort of Heaven. There's no great reward waiting for him, after what he's done. If this is Hell, though... Well, he's been doing some folks some favors, hasn't he?
Eventually he does open his eyes and sit, if only to test the weight and dimension of this body he can remember almost having left. He flexes his arm and rolls his shoulder, and finds the wide bandage around his wrist. The dull pain triggers a familiarity that almost turns his stomach, and he stumbles to his feet at the same time a figure bursts through the door.
At first, Wrench doesn't recognize the shape of the man before him. Or maybe he just doesn't want to believe it, because there's no surer sign that this must be a kind of Heaven or a kind of Hell. It's been nearly five years. An agonizing half-decade, and he never got to say a real goodbye.
It was Malvo who told him his partner was dead, and Fargo fallen. Malvo who'd done it. Wrench had sworn to kill him, but someone else had gotten there first. And with the whole world crumbling in on him, he'd had to run. It was the hardest fucking decision of his life to leave with no closure. For the first year he'd checked the papers and watched the news and held out hope, but Grady never reappeared. Life had continued, shit had happened, and now this?]
You're here, [he replies, baffled. Wrench wants to rush forward, but he keeps his distance.] You're alive? Where have you been?
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When you kill for a living, you can't help but wonder about the afterlife. Back when he was still green and things like that were more liable to turn his stomach, Wrench poured over theories in the hopes of finding something he could stomach. In the end he never found the kind of hubris it must take to think he knew for certain, but the one thing he can bet on is that he's never been bound for any sort of Heaven. There's no great reward waiting for him, after what he's done. If this is Hell, though... Well, he's been doing some folks some favors, hasn't he?
Eventually he does open his eyes and sit, if only to test the weight and dimension of this body he can remember almost having left. He flexes his arm and rolls his shoulder, and finds the wide bandage around his wrist. The dull pain triggers a familiarity that almost turns his stomach, and he stumbles to his feet at the same time a figure bursts through the door.
At first, Wrench doesn't recognize the shape of the man before him. Or maybe he just doesn't want to believe it, because there's no surer sign that this must be a kind of Heaven or a kind of Hell. It's been nearly five years. An agonizing half-decade, and he never got to say a real goodbye.
It was Malvo who told him his partner was dead, and Fargo fallen. Malvo who'd done it. Wrench had sworn to kill him, but someone else had gotten there first. And with the whole world crumbling in on him, he'd had to run. It was the hardest fucking decision of his life to leave with no closure. For the first year he'd checked the papers and watched the news and held out hope, but Grady never reappeared. Life had continued, shit had happened, and now this?]
You're here, [he replies, baffled. Wrench wants to rush forward, but he keeps his distance.] You're alive? Where have you been?