Work Text:
Two Can Keep A Secret If One Of You Is Dead
The door to the cell clanged and hinges squealed, sending ice picks through Eliot’s head. He kept his breathing even. Eyes closed. Assessed the situation before his captors knew he was awake.
The sound of designer shoes stopped within striking distance if he weren’t immobilized.
“Don’t try that old trick, Eliot. I know you’re awake. You have a tell.” Fingertips touched the skin between his eyebrows. “A little twitch right here,” Damien whispered.
Eliot opened his eyes and met Damien’s dark ones. Eyes of dreams and nightmares alike.
Damien chuckled. “Don’t look at me like I don’t know you. We both know I know you better than anyone. Maybe even better than you know yourself.” He winked at Eliot. “I made you after all.”
Eliot pulled against the restraints that held his wrists to the chair arms.
“Struggle all you like. It won’t work. I took the necessary precautions. Chair secured to the floor. Ankles as well.” Damien tapped his temple. “You know I’m always thinking.”
Damien smiled in that deceptively friendly way he had.
“Well, ain’t you just the smartest guy in the room?” He hated Damien’s smugness. Hated that it was deserved.
Damien leaned his head back and laughed. “Aren’t I always? My brains, your abilities…that is what made us such a good team.”
The outer door opened again and a man wheeled in a set of drawers. Damien motioned at them. “Tools of the trade. Mostly the tools of your trade, Eliot.”
Eliot tore his gaze from Damien’s. “This gonna be a trip down memory lane or something? Cause I ain’t interested.”
“Oh, Eliot, all business with you. I had hoped that your new team would loosen you up some. Maybe you can give me another try.” The bastard winked at him. He still believes he has the same hold on me.
“Listen, do whatever you’re gonna do alright? I’m getting bored.”
Damien smiled and ran a hand over Eliot’s hair. “I do hate it when you get bored. You get grumpy. And while you can be an adorable grumpy little man, I do not have time for this today.”
In a flash, Damien backhanded Eliot across the face. “I need you to tell me where I can find your team. They must pay for what they did to me.”
“I ain’t telling you anything, Moreau. I’m not betraying my team. Forget it.”
Damien rubbed the blood from Eliot’s lip with his thumb. “I remember when we used to be family, Eliot. What happened to us?” he whispered. Just as quickly, his features twisted into an angry scowl and his fist slammed into Eliot’s ribs, driving the air from his lungs.
“Th…there is no us. I…I’m my own man, Damien.”
“So you say. We both know that isn’t true. You left me and you became bereft.” He ran a hand through Eliot’s hair. “You needed someone to give you direction. But you ran from me.”
Eliot shook his head. “Don’t. Just don’t. You don’t own me.”
Damien laughed and released Eliot’s hair. “God no. I merely give you direction. A purpose. Ford has been wasting your talents.”
He turned to the set of drawers, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a syringe. “You remember this one I’m sure. It’s one of your favorites. Brought it back from Ethiopia if memory serves.” He held the syringe up, inspecting the liquid inside.
Eliot instinctively pulled against his restraints. “Not…Damien.”
Damien smiled. “So you do remember. I particularly like one of the names for it. Hell’s bells. Quite the accurate name. Students in Ethiopia used it to open the mind, was it? Allow for more creativity. Isn’t that right, Eliot?”
Eliot swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Yeah. Th…they did.”
Damien sat in a chair opposite him. Crossed one leg over the other, adopted a casual pose as if two friends were catching up. That image was ruined by the syringe still in his hand.
“There is one use I came across some time after you left. You may have come across it in your travels.” He laughed. “Or maybe even used it at some point in your illustrious career.”
“What the fuck is this? One of your messed up lessons, huh? Just get on with what-the fuck-ever this is!”
Damien patted Eliot’s knee. “I love that about you. Just get to the point. Cut the crap as you Americans say.” He stood, pulling the cap off the syringe. “This is a mixture of hell’s bells and cannabis. A lovely concoction I came across in India.” He slid the needle into Eliot’s arm with surprising precision.
“What? What does that do?” Eliot hated that he was afraid of what Damien had planned. He pulled at the restraints again, knowing it wouldn’t matter.
Damien rubbed at the spot of blood on Eliot’s arm. “It promotes dysphoric experiences. The beautiful thing is that dysphoria can manifest in many different ways. And with you, it’s going to be fun to see what it brings out. This will get you ready for phase two.”
Damien smiled and left the room, locking the door behind him.