Kessler watched as Cole ran full tilt through the park, only stopping to blast First Sons out of the way.
"Thirty seconds, Cole." He growled into the phone piece. Kessler watched as the time meter continued to tick down until the screen grew fuzzy and blank. It then beeped as it located the next bomb in the area. He smiled. "Four more people are saved, was it worth all that trouble?"
"I hope he kills you."
Kessler turns to the voice of his hostage and is forced to turn quickly away again. He stares hard at the street below, mustering up his ancient strength. He smirks, "I'm counting on it, my dear."
"I hope you go to Hell. And if you don't, I'll drag you down with me."
"If I find you anywhere near Hell, I will build you a stairway to Heaven." The words that let his mouth were quiet, he wasn't sure if she heard him or not. He spoke louder, "You have committed no crime to end up in Hell." He looked at her over his shoulder, and found he could not look away this time.
She was just as he remembered her. The same mussed, brown tresses of hair; the same beautiful face; the same glow of life and defiance that he missed most. She was living; she was right in front of him. Every fiber of him wanted to reach out and touch that sweet, delicate skin. He wanted to protect her from the future, from his past.
He turned away quickly, feeling his chest begin to burn. This wasn't what he needed. Evil villains don't cry. "I am 140 years old. Death is the last thing I fear."
She was silent, and so were the explosions near the park. He picked up the phone again. "The third bomb has been set, Cole. The time is running." Explosions on the ground started again; flashing lights followed by the deep baritone that accompanied destruction. Kessler was no stranger to this noise. Nor was he a stranger to the panicked cries of the people or the noise of lighting hitting and bouncing off the street, the buildings, and people.
Kessler mustered his strength once again, and flashed to the rooftop of the adjacent building. He quickly checked that all the ropes that held the doctors in place were not going to randomly break, not unless prompted.
He then flashed back to where Trish sat in waiting. She had squirmed in his absence but not enough to ensure her escape, her life. Kessler looked at the device after securing Trish, to find that it was dark. The ground was still being rocked by the fight, telling the old man that Cole was still trying to dispatch one his pesky conduits.
He set the fourth and final bomb, telling his younger self his action. Then he moved to help Trish to her feet. He brought her the edge of the roof, pulling a bag over her head.
Then Cole was at the foot of the building. Kessler told of his decision, keeping his act up brilliantly considering how sick he was beginning to feel. He watched as Cole stared up at him, then at the doctors. He took a step toward Kessler and Trish, a truly pain expression on his face. Then he tore out for the doctors.
"He's going to kill you, you sick bastard!" She screamed and withered is his grasp. He caught her around her waist as she was about to fall, the only thing keeping her from falling to her death was his own weight.
"Death is too good for me." He then sneered, stuffing the agony away for a moment, so he could finish his part. "Cole can't save you. Just like I couldn't. He's sacrificing you for the greater good, Trish. Does that make you mad?"
"Never! Cole is doing the right thing; I will always love him for that!"
Kessler pulled in a sharp breath, but forced himself to finish. He softened his voice as he leaned in closer, taking in her sweet familiar scent. "Cole loves you, Trish. He will always love you. Never forget that."
He let his grasp on the woman he loved slip away and she stumbled. With nothing in front of her to catch her, she fell. She screamed, and so did Cole. Kessler gritted his teeth, finding he ached.
It was not the skin ache of exhaustion; it was an agony in his very soul. Nothing could sooth it, not this far in this sick game he'd been playing. He turned away slowly, feeling his chest burn again.
"I love you, Trish." His words were mere whispers on the wind, talking to no one but a ghost. "I hope that one day you can forgive a sick old man like me." He monetarily felt suffocated, like there simply wasn't enough air in the world to fill his lungs.
A soft, loving voice came to him from the floor of the broken city. The voice of Trish. It was as if she were talking right next to him, not down in the street. "I love you, and I'm so proud of you. Proud of what you've done… all the people you've saved. I love you so much…"
He didn't try to stop the moister from coming from his eyes this time. It didn't matter if evil masterminds were not supposed to cry, he was just an old man. Old men were allowed their sorrow.
He assembled his strength once again, Trish's final message echoing sweetly in his ears, and then the roof top was empty save for the wind.
A/N: Just an experiment that I wanted to try. Kessler isn't even in character, but who says he doesn't have a soft under belly! It was just a random little one shot that I wanted to throw into the community because there isn't enough inFamous fanfictions. I wanted to try and capture what Kessler was feeling when Trish fell, not a very good try. Maybe I'll try again another time. Leave me a note and tell me how it was.