This idea popped into my head out of nowhere and I just had to write it! It's my first HOC fic. English isn't my native language, so there might be some mistakes.

Sadly I own nothing.

He loved it. He reveled in it. He always knew what he was doing. He was precise. And he was the best.

He never took up petty assignments. Not that anyone with a petty assignment would come to him, considering how much they would have to pay. He was the best, and for that he cost the earth.

So did his companion. She was lethally beautiful and beautifully lethal. He knew that a man of his profession should not - must not - get involved in a romantic relationship. She could be used as a bargaining chip, as bait, as something that would destroy him. And vice versa of course; if anyone dared so much as threaten her, painful ways of death would spring into his mind immediately. It was like a reflex, an instinct. He would protect what was his no matter what.

He could watch her for hours. When she shot their target down. When she undressed. When, trembling, she came undone beneath him. She was the loveliest creature that he had ever set his eyes upon, and she could be both cold and tender. She was like snow, beautiful, perfect, but cold and not in your hands for long. But she had been his for decades now. And when she was with him, she was soft and affectionate - and it was genuine, not like when she flirted with people in order to get information or a passport that they would later forge.

Both of them had many names. They changed them all the time, more than once during each op. No one knew their real names, apart from each other. He knew that people who did what they did should not - must not - reveal something like that to anyone, yet they had done just that. They trusted each other a lot. They trusted each other too much. They trusted each other not just with their lives, but with their secrets as well.

He knew that her name was Claire. He knew that she was from Texas. Of course, he could have found out that and more merely by using his computer skills and hacking here and there. However, what mattered was that she had told him those things. She had shared her past with him. She had ripped her chest open, wrenched her heart out and put it in his hand to do with as he wished.

She had also told him that she had been raped at a young age. That was when she became as cold as ice. She never told anyone about it. She didn't call the police. She dealt with it on her own. In her own words, she strangled that girl, the victim, so that she wouldn't strangle Claire.

He admired her courage and strength. Knowing that she would regard any death that did not come from her own hands as more than what the bastard deserved, he had found him. He had tracked Dalton McGinnis, commissioned General in the Marines. He had brought him to her as a present for their 20th anniversary. The barely-there smile on her angelic face was as deadly as any gun. She had made that man scream until he could scream no more. She had given him no mercy; instead, she had left him there, to slowly die from blood loss.

They had fucked next to the dying, rotten Dalton McGinnis. He had lost himself in her wet heat once again, almost not believing that the woman he was holding was real. Her kisses had been almost bruising that night, and her nails had clawed on his back. After coming down from their high, he had noticed the red that stained them.

"I like you with blood on your hands," he had said. It had sounded like a prayer. He was her worshiper, now and forever.

Her hands remained clean during each assignment. They would shoot their targets from a distance. Some of their clients believed that it was impossible to manage to shoot someone in the head from as far away as they could, but he had always been bent on proving that he could do what others found impossible.

One of the things considered impossible was the assassination of the President of the United States, Garrett Walker. Nevertheless, he had done it, with Claire. His bodyguards had meant nothing.

Nothing mattered to them; they always got their job done. He loved political assassinations. No gangs came to them anymore. No, their clients were serious people, people who wanted Presidents and Prime Ministers to be disposed of. And he and Claire were always there for that, the two equals, the two great forces of the universe. He had no respect for all those politicians. The new ones were all foolish, and the old ones, from decades and centuries ago, were fading. Great men lay in ancient graveyards, cold and increasingly forgotten.

Nothing was forever - except the two of them.