Work Text:
Chan can’t take his eyes off the head on the table. As the voices around him fade to a murmur, Chan looks over the bruises and blood on Ken’s disembodied head and he's taken back to their first encounter, when he pulled Ken out of a cell in a Bangkok police station; one of several young men who had been caught in a Theerapanyakul fight ring, but the only one with no passport or papers to prove who he was or that he had a right to be in the country.
Chan's offer of work was a golden ticket out of jail and Ken took it readily.
It was beneficial to everyone. Ken was already a competent fighter, though Chan’s guidance refined his style. And his English skills were an asset in Chan’s mind. Too few of the bodyguards spoke it, and Kinn’s English was passable but nowhere near Vegas' level, putting him at a disadvantage with their international dealings.
It wasn't a surprise to watch Ken rise through the ranks. Maybe Chan should have been surprised though, maybe he should have dug deeper as to why Ken was in the country with no identification and no history, and then this whole mess could have been avoided.
After the meeting concludes, Chan takes the box back to his office. He places it on his desk and stares at it. Though it's closed, the image of its contents are burned into his mind. It's all Chan will see when he tries to sleep tonight.
Bodyguards die, that's just a fact of the job. And yet each death is a blemish on Chan’s soul, a failing that he can't escape. Did he train them enough? Did he prepare them enough? Did he anticipate every risk, or could he have done more? Every death has him pouring over reports, trying to solve where he went wrong, to avoid it happening again. Good bodyguards could die protecting their charges, but Chan has always thought great bodyguards bring everyone back alive.
Blood stains have seeped through along the bottom edge of the box. Guilt has seeped out with them.
Korn ordered him to get rid of the head, and Chan knows the expectation is that he tosses it into the river or even out in a landfill. It's what a traitor deserves.
But Chan can't do it.
He rests a hand on the box lid and sighs as he promises Ken that he will treat his remains with dignity. He'll have them cremated and then he'll keep Ken here in his office. A reminder of the taint on his legacy, of letting personal feelings cloud your judgment, and of ignoring the warning signs behind a cocky smile.
“I’m sorry I failed you,” Chan says, to the room. His life is plagued by ghosts of men who died under his command…why does this one weigh so heavily?
“Because you don’t know why I did it,” a voice whispers. “ And if you could have stopped me.”