Resilience
by Timesprite
Here we go with another one. Dedicated to all those who encouraged (and threatened) me, Thren, who betaed and listened to me complain, and Paul who gave me the title. Love all of ya!
Disclaimer: Domino isn’t mine, obviously. I’m just lucky enough to get to write her (oh, that was a horrible pun). No profit is being made from this fic, please don’t sue. The usual violence and language warnings apply. This is a sequel to Menagerie, and a prequel to Gothic Delusions. Both can be found on my site at: http://www.execpc.com/~ssmieja/greymalkin/fanfic.html
Reality check.
No one’s coming for me. Round one goes to him. But this fight is far from over, and I’m not beaten yet. Not by a long shot. After all, I’m not exactly a dependent person.
It just makes this a little harder. I may have cracked under pressure (painful as that is to admit) but I haven’t shattered completely, and I’m not going to. Not if I can help it. He’d take too much pleasure in it if I did. He thinks he can make malleable gold from brittle steel, a house cat from a tiger. He’s in for a nasty surprise. Besides, I reason, there’s probably a logical explanation for why Cable hasn’t shown up yet. There had better be, or his ass is mine if I ever get out of here. Scratch that. *When* I get out of here. Time to stop being indifferent and start being dangerous.
----
“How’s my tiger this morning?” He asks, standing in the doorway of the cell. I say nothing, just sit back on my heels and glare at him. I hate that condescending manner of his, his inane pet names, the smug way he leans there in the doorway, so sure of his eventual victory. And I savor that hate.
He sighs. “So, we’re going to play this little game again? You really *are* the stubborn one. You’re only making this more difficult for yourself.” His demeanor is calm, self-assured, but I can see the frustration and fury bubble and roil beneath the placid set of his face.
That always gives me a sense of satisfaction. Every time I goad him into anger, into striking out against me, is one small victory. His temper, once sparked, is positively ferocious.
He prides himself on his self-control. Every blow he gives me is a blow to his own ego. Another flaw in the prize jewel in his twisted collection. He steps into the cell, standing over me.
“You’re not a prisoner here, you know.”
“Could have fooled me,” I retort, glaring at him as I climb to my feet.
“It’s the truth,” he replies. It takes a fair amount of restraint to keep from trying to wipe that smug look off of his face. Instead, I clench my fists, and let my shackled arms hang at my sides.
He laughs at my contempt. “Well, it is. Your current... accommodations,” he makes a sweeping gesture, “are of your own making. All I ask of you is a little cooperation, but you insist on fighting me tooth and nail.”
“I’m not a possession!”
He shakes his head and sighs, as if deeply disappointed. “And the life you’ve chosen for yourself is better?” He asks. “You’re wasting yourself for nothing! No, better you’re here, where you’re wanted and appreciated. Where someone cares what happens to you.”
I feel a pang of pain at that, originating in the part of my mind he’s tricked into believing I’ve been abandoned here. Unwanted. I hide it best I can beneath a mask of disgust. “You’re not the first person who’s offered to save me from myself. I don’t want saving.”
“You don’t have much choice, do you?”
He has a point. I don’t, at least not yet. But if I play along for awhile, I might be able to get him to loosen his grip slightly. I put my best conciliatory face. “You’re right,” I sigh, trying to make my voice sound believable. A part of me is whispering that it’s so much easier just to give in. That it hurts less if I don’t fight back. I staunchly quell the voice. I am *not* going to give up.
He pauses, momentarily wary of my sudden change in mood, but his zeal wins out over his better judgment. It’s exactly this weakness I’m hoping to exploit- the only weakness he has, that I’ve been able to discover.
“Wonderful.” He’s practically rubbing his hands together in glee.
----
I’ve traded one prison for another, albeit a more comfortable one. Square room, white walls. Plain bed, dresser, both immovable.
Utilitarian bathroom.
No windows.
No inside locks.
No way out.
He’s well organized, I’ll give him that. But by moving me here, he's shown a margin of trust, and that’s the first step in his undoing.
By now, I’ve gotten a good grasp on the layout of this part of the complex. There’s undoubtedly much more I haven’t seen if Ophelia’s comments about the rest of the ‘Menagerie’ having been housed here are true. But I don’t need to know the entire layout to plot an escape.
My major stumbling block has been that all the doors are always kept locked. I could probably find a way to get through, either by force or by jimmying the locks, but that would take time and speed is going to be my number one priority.
It’s painfully obvious that I can’t go toe to toe with my captor, as much as I might like to. My fighting skills are superior, but he has stamina on his side. I’m going to have to make do with some sort of distraction in order to get away from him.
That brings me back to the problem of the doors. I know my best bet is going to be taking the keys off of Ophelia. I’d rather not hurt her if it’s not strictly necessary- she’s a victim here as well. Tricked into serving this sick asshole.
----
My legs begin to ache as I keep myself pressed between the two walls above the bathroom door. I hear the outer door to the room open, then footsteps in the bedroom. A moment later, the bathroom door opens.
I drop down, landing behind Ophelia and catch her from behind, pining her against the walls. She stares at me with wide, terrified eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. “I just need the keys. And I need you to stay quiet.” She nods and I let her go. She hands me the keys, probably because she’s afraid that I *will* hurt her, despite my reassurance. When you’ve become used to abuse, you start to expect it. I sigh inwardly.
The hallway is empty, as usual as I slip out of the room, locking it behind me. I don’t know how large of a staff this place has, but I don’t want to risk Ophelia alerting anyone.
I move briskly through the halls, pausing only to search through the ring of keys for the one that will open the numerous doors. Damnit. This would be a hell of a lot easier without this collar inhibiting my powers.
I let myself into the room where I know he’ll be waiting for me. I need to get the keys to the collar, or I’ll never get out of here. His back is too me as I walk in, his attention focused on the fireplace. A moment passes before he turns to me.
“Well, hello my dear. I was wondering what was keeping you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Traffic,” I retort.
He smirks. “You always have something to say, don’t you?” He walks over and takes my chin in his hand roughly. “A charm that has long since worn off.”
“Go to hell.”
He sighs. “You keep saying that. You realize you only make things harder for yourself.”
“I don’t make a habit of bending to the will of monsters.”
“Bending, my dear,” he hisses, “Is no longer an option left open to you. I’m going to break that beautiful spirit of yours, and I am going to enjoy it. I can see the cracks already....it shows in your eyes...” His voice has an almost dreamy quality to it. I jerk away, using his distraction and proximity to wrench the fire poker he’s still holding from his hand and sweep his legs out from under him. He starts to push himself up on his elbows, but stops as the poker presses against his neck.
“Think again. I’m outta here. Now, just hand over the keys to this damned collar and I won’t ram this through your neck. I’m guessing that a large chunk of iron lodged in your throat is enough to inconvenience even you.”
He keeps his eyes fixed on me as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small remote control device. There’s a click, and I feel the collar unlock. I reach up and pull it off with my free hand, throwing it into a corner. I glare back down at him and am sorely tempted to end this here and now. I raise the poker and see a flicker of fear in his eyes before I ram it down into his shoulder. He screams, and I have to admit, I haven’t heard such a pleasing sound in a long time. Then I turn and run.
I fly through the doors now, picking a key at random, shoving it in the lock, trusting my luck to get me through within a try or two. I finally hit the last set of steel doors which I know lead to the outside. To freedom. I shove a key into the lock and throw the doors open, dashing outside. After ten paces, I drop to my knees. Even my luck isn’t going to help me as I stare out at the high sand dunes, whipped by hot, desert winds. There’s nothing to be seen but the rusty colored sand stretching all the way to the faded horizon.
I hear chuckling behind me, and then the sound of footsteps in the sand. I half turn to see him staggering up behind me, clutching his bloodied shoulder. “That was awfully stupid of you,” he hisses through teeth clenched in pain. He reaches out and grabs my hair with his good arm before I can scramble away from him. “I thought we had an understanding. Pity. Well,” he says almost casually, “I suppose we’re back to square one.” He pulls me to my feet, and back inside, where the doors slam shut with a dull finality.