Eternal Flame

[Trillian]

With William busy dealing with his delivery order, Mick made himself a couple of sandwiches. He was starving but ended up making a third not for himself but for the Fire Fairy. After all the trouble they'd gone to for her, it didn't make sense for her to starve to death. After eating his two sandwiches and gulping down some water, he filled a tall glass with water and inserted a bendy straw into it. William had obviously catered to some of his prisoners in the past, considering the odd things he had stored in the kitchen cupboards and drawers. Sparse, but useful.

He switched on the light for the stairs to the basement and hurried down before William could be finished with his meal. He didn't really want to think about it, how he'd left his acquaintance in the slightly darkened sitting room for William to pounce on him. As he moved down the heated basement corridor, he passed cells to the right and the left and then another cell opposite the lab where they'd put their Fire Fairy. Ahead of him was the room with the furnace, where waves of heat continued to wash down the hallway from the last person who'd been burnt down to nothing in there. There would be two more corpses to shove in there soon. The guy from the van and the one feeding William now.

Mick hoped to hell that William would do it. Mick didn't want to drag that tub of lard all the way from the garage to here. William was stronger and could do it in strides and an armful.

Before Mick moved into the lab he saw the puddle of clothes in the corridor and remembered that he'd undressed her to her underwear. Oh yeah. When he rounded the corner holding her sandwich and drink, he found her awake.

"Don't start any shit," he said gruffly, though he looked more often at the floor than he did at her as he approached. "I have food and drink," he said, then angled the straw to her mouth, forced to look at her to see what he was doing. He was stunned by the streaks of black running down her face, like an extra in a horror movie that had a lot of ghosts in it.

[Ehcorn]

Felicia cringed from Mick, whimpering. He’d hurt her. He’d hurt her a lot, and memory of it rattled in her bones, making her whole body tremble. He’d been the one to lure her out of the club. He’d thrown her into the van. He’d stopped her from burning the vampire. He’d chased her down and kept her from getting outside. He’d kept her from finding help. He’d held her down, strangled her, hit her, and God, he’d probably been the one that’d stripped and tied her to the chair.

He was the single worst choice she’d made in her entire life and he—

Had a drink for her?

She darted a look at him, the cup, and the straw, her cracked and dried mouth opening in disbelief. He must’ve interpreted it as acceptance of his offering because the straw was between her lips and oh, it hurt to pucker them and it hurt to swallow, but she’d never been so thirsty. Part of her wondered if he’d put something in it, but the other part was just happy to have water and hey, if he wanted to drug her, then maybe she’d fall asleep for a while and not feel every spot he’d pulled, pushed, or punched her.

When she couldn’t drink any more, she drew her head back as far as the chair allowed and looked at Mick and the sandwich in his other hand.

Her stomach gurgled.

He’d brought her food and he’d brought her drink.

Maybe he could be convinced to return something to her, too.

"My clothes," she rasped. "What’d you— Did you…" She couldn’t complete the thought, much less the sentence. She licked her lips and tasted blood. "Can I please just have them back?"

[Trillian]

His expression was stony as he looked at her. He hardened his guilt until it was heavy enough to sink deep down inside of him. It remained a lump in his gut until he set it ablaze with irritation. He had to stand here and make her eat and drink because she was an unhelpful bitch.

"No. Shut up. Just eat your food." He mashed the sandwich against her mouth.

[Ehcorn]

She slammed her eyes shut, squeezing tears from the corners, and rolled her lips into her mouth. Her stomach was empty, she needed to eat, but he hadn’t let her take a bite — he was going to shove the whole damned thing down her throat and she’d choke to death.

"Mmph," she said, turning her face away so the bread was mashed into her cheek instead.

[Trillian]

His temper flared hot and he threw the sandwich down extravagantly onto her lap.

"Feed yourself then!" he yelled, thrusting the cup of water against the hand of her unbroken arm. Whether she took it or not and it smashed on the concrete floor or not didn't matter. He let go and stormed out of the holding room. Try and do something for somebody and look at the shit you get.

Even so, he knew he'd have to come back and look after her. After she'd barbecued William so thoroughly, it would be stupid to let her die now. He could wait until she was a bit more desperate and grateful though.

*

Hours later, after William had gone to wherever it was he went during the daytime and Mick was almost ready to crawl into bed himself, he poured another glass of water and inserted a bendy straw into it. This time he didn't make a sandwich. If the fire fairy was ready to eat, she could have the one she'd been smelling for the past four or five hours, however long he'd left her.

His eyes were gritty and he wasn't a fan of the bright overhead lights when he entered the lab where she was strapped down. He stared at her before approaching the chair, wondering if she would talk to him first.

[Ehcorn]

Despite the painfully bright lights overhead and the fact she was strapped to a chair in her someone-might-see-these underthings, Felicia had managed to drift off on a few occasions. One second she was stuffing a torta ahogada into her mouth — her favorite Mexican sandwich, filled with pulled pork and chili peppers and drowned in hot salsa — and the next, she was staring blearily at her lap and the sad, cold sandwich made out of white bread that would've stuck to the roof of her mouth and her throat if Mick had been able to force her to eat it.

As time dragged on, her growing hunger made the sad sandwich look more and more appealing, but she could no more reach it than she could lift the cup of water Mick had left behind. Jesus, he'd done it on purpose. He was even more of a dick than she'd thought.

She was still stewing on the fact when he returned, though behind the anger that flashed in her eyes was resignation. He was a dick, yeah, but he was the dick in control of whether she got more water or not. She watched him in return, her lips moving only because she was chewing at the inside of her cheek instead of saying anything.

He hadn't liked it when she'd tried to talk last time.

[Trillian]

Mick stared back at her, assessing her expression. She didn't look furious or vengeful. Wary, a little frightened, perhaps.

He didn't talk to her either. He didn't know what to say.

He lifted the second cup of water in his hand because she'd dropped her one. He didn't know when she'd dropped it - maybe it had slipped, maybe she'd slept - but he didn't care. There was a plastic cup on the ground and a small puddle was still there that hadn't dried off. Glancing down at that puddle should've made him mad but he was apathetic.

Approaching her, Mick kept the cup close to his chest so she would focus on that instead of his face. He looked at the bruise on her cheek and the black eye he'd given her but that didn't make him angry either. Guess his fury had burnt out. He wondered if she could get it to spark again. It would be better for her if she didn't.

He stood beside her, his feet not quite on the puddle, and moved the drink near her face. She could turn her head and capture the straw if she had a mind to do so. He wondered how weak she was and if he should unstrap her unbroken arm.

[Ehcorn]

Unlike the first time Mick offered her a drink, Felicia accepted it immediately. As immediately as she could, anyway. Her aching jaw creaked open as slowly as a door with ungreased hinges, and she had to pause to blink back the tears that came along with puckering her lips, but she eventually sealed her mouth around the straw and drank until she was slurping at air.

It didn’t take her long to regret having done so.

She squirmed in her seat as much as her bindings would allow, grimacing and whimpering when she’d twist to the same side as her swollen and purplish-black arm.

"I really need to pee," she said, hating that she couldn't stop herself from whining.

[Trillian]

Mick's eyes enlargened at the realisation he would have to help her with bathrooming. This was not what he'd signed up for. Kidnapping? Sure. Murder was not something he wanted to do again, but if he had to, okay. Hiding bodies? Sure. Picking bits of fabric out of burnt skin? Okay. But sticking bedpans under restrained prisoners and throwing away their poop and pee? Fuck no!

It was a crossed line that not everybody would understand but it was his line and he was sticking to it. He picked up the sandwich from her lap and set it and the empty cup down on a nearby shelf before returning to her, his hand on the strap that held her arm down as he leant on it towards her, putting her face very close to hers.

"I'll take you to the bathroom. You will not scream or kick or try to scratch me. You will not pee on me, either. Understand?"

He didn't need her to reply. It was his warning and she would either heed it or not, the latter at great personal expense to herself.

Mick inspected the chair carefully, seeing a few levers with safety stickers near them saying how to use them and what they did. Mick undid the straps with a care that his words had not expressed; torso first, then arms. He was on the side opposite her broken arm and he reached across to unstrap that side gently so as not to bump her arm unnecessarily. Her feet were next and he gave her a warning look before unbuckling her ankles. Once untethered he returned to her side and pulled the lever that allowed the arm of the chair to lift up on the side where he stood.

"Put your arm around my shoulders. You can put your broken one on your lap," he instructed, and moved to gather her up in his arms as if she were his new bride.

[Ehcorn]

Without the support of the straps, Felicia was dismayed to find that she couldn’t hold herself up. She slumped in the chair and stared at Mick, unsure if she’d be able to walk if he told her to. God, would he drag her by her broken arm like the vampire had if she couldn’t? When he implied that wouldn’t be the case, she breathed out a short sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said, giving voice to the surge of gratitude she’d felt towards Mick. Was this what happened to the people in Stockholm? Had they been abused enough that when they were granted some small mercy — like not being forced to piss on themselves — they took it as kindness? She frowned. If he hadn’t kidnapped, beaten, and tied her to a chair, then she wouldn’t have needed his help in the first place. It was his fault she was like this.

Dick.

Felicia couldn’t bring herself to insult him to his face, though. Not when he’d stormed off like he had when she’d refused the sandwich. She dragged her arm up and around shoulders she’d admired at the club for their broadness, then gingerly rested her broken arm in her lap. He lifted her and she did as she was told: no screaming, no scratching, no biting, and she clamped down on her bladder as hard as she could as he walked her out of a room she’d thought she’d never leave.

She felt every step in her arm, her ribs, her head. Each jolt turned what had been a dull throb into a sharp stab of pain and it spurred her to speak before she ran it through her don’t-piss-off-the-kidnapper filter.

"Is there a doctor in the bathroom, too?"

[Trillian]

Instead of taking her to the holding cells, Mick carried his wounded detainee along the corridor and puffed soft, surprised laughter at her jest.

"Not unless he's hiding in the bowl," Mick replied, assuming masculinity for the doctor. He moved upstairs, taking them lightly so not to jostle her. The walls of the staircase were narrow enough that her toes rubbed against them now and then.

At the landing Mick headed for the bathroom that had an isolated toilet. He didn't want to put her into a washroom with a toilet, sink and medical cabinet full of sharp pointy things to stab him with. In spite of the promise he'd extracted from her, there was no sense baiting her with opportunities.

Arriving in the small room he set her down in front of the white porcelain toilet and took a step away, careful to offer her himself as something to hold if she was wobbly. Once settled, he closed the door most of the way.

"Don't push this shut or try and lock it," he instructed. His words were less gruff but not less commanding. The last thing he wanted to do was have to break a door down.

[Ehcorn]

She scoffed, not wanting to believe he’d make her suffer through the indignity of using the toilet without closing and locking the door. It wasn’t like she could crawl out a window or otherwise escape, not when the only thing in the room was a toilet. What bathroom didn’t have a sink? A mirror? Her heart sank and her lips twisted into a miserable line. Hope was a difficult thing to hang onto in the face of her reality. Mick had stripped her down to her underwear and tied her down to a chair in the first room she’d been in. They weren't planning on letting her see a doctor. Her arm was broken and it’d stay broken until she—

Felicia squeaked and clamped her legs together. Her bladder didn’t give a single fuck about her dignity, her predicament, or anything else other than relieving the pressure that would build and build until it exploded if she didn’t do something about it.

After she finished and sent the contents of the toilet spiraling down the drain, she found herself wishing she'd been born a water nymph. Mick would’ve been so fucked. But no. She had to depend on a lighter for her main source of fire, and Mick had taken that from her in the van. She shot a surreptitious look at the door and used her good hand to try and lift the tank cover, but she was too weak; it didn’t budge, preventing her from even thinking about using it to smash Mick’s stupid model-worthy face in.

Bad people shouldn’t be allowed to look like he did.

She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, swaying and cradling her broken arm against her bare abdomen as she tugged everything back into place as best as she could.

"If I can’t see a doctor, who’s gonna fix my arm?" she asked Mick when she saw him again.

[Trillian]

"I can splint it for you," Mick said, looking down at her underwear once the door was open. He turned the knob of the door perpendicular of the toilet door and revealed a washroom with a sink, bathtub and shower. "But you'd probably take out the bits of wood and try to stake me or my boss with them, so maybe I'll just make you a sling or something."

He had ideas for light wood. Not balsam, but certainly something light enough that it would keep her arm straight while also preventing her from making a worthy shiv from it. Mind, even a sharpened pencil could be a relatively useful weapon, so maybe making a sling for her was good enough.

In the coolness of the tiled room, turning on the taps for her and getting a warm gush of water from the faucet, he eyed her underdressed state once more.

"Are you cold? I could give you a blanket." A pause, then, "if you're good."

[Ehcorn]

Felicia stared at Mick like he’d grown a second, third, and fourth head. She was nearly naked and doing her best to keep her feet planted on a cold tile floor that absorbed heat as soon as she created it. She was fucking freezing.

“I am,” she said carefully, the raspy quality of her voice making the words sound foreign to her own ears. “I’d like that. A blanket, I mean. And a sling.” She licked her lips; they tasted like blood. “And another sandwich? I’ll eat it this time. I’ll—” God, she didn’t want to finish her sentence, but she needed to say it because it seemed like Mick needed to hear it. “I’ll be good.”

Her promise made, she regarded the sink and Mick in turn, realizing that one, he’d left the water running, and two, that he intended to let her use it to wash her hands. He kept offering her things to make her more comfortable and clean, but more than that, he offered her hope. Why would he try to take care of someone he planned to kill? Maybe there was a chance she’d get out of here alive after all.

Felicia wobbled her way over like a newborn fawn fresh to the concept of legs and how to use them, casting wary looks at Mick, hoping to catch any sudden movements before he made them. Not that she’d be able to do much if he did make them, given how long it’d taken her and how out of breath it'd left her to make it six feet from the door to the sink. She leaned tiredly against the counter and dipped her one still-functioning hand into the warm stream of water, a feeling of normalcy washing over her despite her fucked up circumstances.

“So… Do you uh… Go to clubs like that a lot? For your… your boss?” With every pause, she glanced at Mick, trying to get a read on his expression while she reached for the soap.

[Trillian]

He didn't react to her words until she made her vow and sounded like she meant it. With it came a firm nod. His stare followed her from the door to the sink, her motions cautious. She didn't want to bump her arm and was ensuring it. He remembered how he'd used it against her to keep her contained. When she was healed, what could he use instead? And he would have to be careful as fuck around her, otherwise he'd end up looking like his boss.

Her voice startled him enough for him to jump. He focussed on her with a frown and decided the truth was probably best to keep her scared and obedient.

"I haven't been with him long. I think his last assistant fucked up. You did a number on him, too. He's going to want to make his pain worth it."

He didn't talk about going to clubs because that didn't matter in the grand scheme of what he'd said. On the tip of his tongue he wanted to ask her what her name was again, but he decided not to because it would be better if he didn't know.

"Do you want to walk or have me carry you back?" he asked emotionlessly.