Chapter Text
Valeria plants her feet firmly against the ground as she's dragged forward by the…Guard? Thug? Complete asshole who was manhandling her. She hisses between her teeth and stomps down on his foot, growling low in her throat. Her unpleasant mood is not improved when she's dragged into a huge hall and shoved roughly forward. She braces, regains balance, and stands, headbutting the guard as she's pushed down onto her knees.
The supervillain in front of her is tall, wearing a dark gray kevlar-and-leather suit with intricate silver designs and a black domino mask. His hair is an unnatural silver, and eyes a shade of stormy gray. So this is the feared Silvercrow, infamous for his metal-bending abilities and ruthless cunning.
Valeria curls her lip in a sneer, eyes cold and simmering with anger.
All this over a wrong turn while exploring the forest. What a wonderful day.
She studies the man before her for a moment, still scowling. He's lounging in a way that suggests he thinks he's the greatest thing ever, but Valeria isn't fazed. She's met dozens with the same attitude, and they certainly weren't anything special.
Quill, aka Silvercrow, stares emotionlessly down at his newest prisoner. Her hair is long and dark chestnut in tone, a stark contrast to her ice green eyes. She's narrowly built, and looks incredibly unimpressed. The girl—woman, really, she isn't that much younger than him—is saying something, but he tunes it out. It’s the usual defiant nonsense he’ll be sure to get rid of when he breaks her.
“You know, the last person who handcuffed me and dragged me around like this at least had the decency to buy me dinner first,” the girl huffs as he crouches to grab her arm. “And for the record, I was a lot less put out than I am right now,” she hisses.
Quill’s demeanor flips on a dime, a charming and sadistic smile spreading across his face. He loves it when his pets have a little flair to them. It’s a light in their eyes he gets to watch slowly drain away.
He grips her arm a little harder, hard enough to form a bruise, and sneers at her with an award-winning grin. “Ah, so this is a common occurrence for you? That will certainly make things easier when I return to teach you how to behave.” He pulls her along and she stumbles at his pace, taking the stairs down the prisoner's sector with long strides. Up ahead is his little pet's cell. Quill considers leaving the spitfire of a girl in her own cell, but why would he do that when this will be so much more fun?
He slides open the cell door and tosses her in, watching for a moment before leaving the prisoners to get acquainted. He’ll question her later.
“Oh, yeah, lots of people have tried to fix how I behave. It's never worked before, so I hope you have a plan. I get bored pretty easily,” Valeria shoots back. She knows where this is going. How original. She rolls her eyes, barking a laugh as she’s tossed into a cell. Never been thrown like a sack of potatoes before, she thinks to herself.
Calix hears the familiar shudder of the prison's door and footsteps heading down the stairs. Two pairs of footsteps, he realizes in horror. Sir only brings a doctor to stand by when he’s going to be tortured, not just punished (Calix personally thinks that his punishments are torturous enough, but Sir said they were lessons. They make him better. It's what he deserves for his villain past.)
His master’s obnoxious, snide voice answers a more feminine one, and Calix trembles in anticipation. Then he catches sight of Sir’s companion when they come into view of the cell. She’s . . . wearing cuffs. Not a companion, then?
But Sir is going towards his cell. He opens the door and throws the girl inside, letting it slam shut behind her. Calix waits for a command or a gesture, but Sir just ignores him and smirks, turning on his heel and strolling away. He shifts his aching body to watch the girl warily, curling up defensively in his corner—she looks over and meets his gaze with pale green eyes. He lets out a soft whimper. Will she hurt him too?
Valeria manages to get her knees under herself, flipping the bird towards the man who’d brought her here.
Both, in fact. The only bonus of having her hands cuffed together.
“Dickhead,” she mutters before looking over at her cellmate.
Calix blinks in surprise as the girl curses. She’s already sitting herself back up, and Calix can see that she’s older than him, blessed with sharp, intimidating features. The anger in her voice scares him. He curls up smaller, pressing himself into the corner, hoping she won't punish him for her frustration.
“Fuck’s sake, is he just collecting random people like Pokémon cards?” Valeria asks, eyeing the boy across the cell. Scared posture, young, probably not a threat, she notes, and a painful familiarity surrounds him, the way he positions himself, the almost resigned fear.
Like looking at a ghost, in a way, because he isn't far off in age either.
Her younger brother had been just like this whenever he was afraid.
Calix swallows, peeking over his knees. “I– um.” It takes a moment for her words to process. Answer her already, moron. Don't keep her waiting. “S-sir likes v-valuables, Miss.” It was true. If he’s keeping her alive, there’s probably something he wanted to use her for, or else he’s keeping her for information. In that case, she’ll be dead as soon as he hears what he wants.
“Oh, he’s that kind of asshole.” The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes again. “Who are you?”
He tries not to flinch at the insult towards his Master, but fails. “I'm Calix, Miss. Or Pet. Whichever you p-prefer,” he answers quietly, trying not to stare too long. He's not supposed to make eye contact with his superiors.
“Valeria,” she replies. “And who is the dickhead? He didn't have the courtesy to tell me on the way here.” She knows exactly how much trouble her mouthing off could get her in. She doesn't care.
“He– he is Sir, or Master,” Calix says carefully. He isn't sure how to answer this question, and the girl—Valeria—will only take a correct answer. He has to get this right. Logically, he knows this woman isn’t Sir, but he can’t help but compare them. He doesn’t know her. Plenty of other ‘temporary’ captives who’d been shoved into the same cell with him had been of the violent sort, unafraid to take out their rage on him. Sure, Sir had punished them gruesomely, but he’d still been amused. It hadn’t made the bruises hurt any less.
“His name?” Valeria presses. “I'm not calling him either of those things without putting up a fight first,” she mutters, “and hopefully I'll die long before we get to that point. I'd hate to give him the satisfaction.”
She knew pain, and she knew fear, and she'd long since learned to hide both.
Calix's breath hitches when he realizes his response is the wrong one. Don't cry, you pathetic doll. There is no sympathy for you. Take your punishment.
“Sir's n-name is– is Quill, Miss. I– I'm sorry. I didn't mean– I'm s-sorry.” He ignores his instincts rebelling against using the name, but still glances frantically towards the bars at the front of his cell in paranoia. He knows what would happen if Sir caught him using it.
“Huh. I'm guessing from your expression we keep that between ourselves? I won’t tell him you told me, kid.” It was the term of endearment she used for most of the younger recruits back when she still worked on a team.
It feels like a dozen weights have been taken off his shoulder. He relaxes just a fraction, trying for a weak smile to show his gratitude. “Th-thank you, Miss.” Calix tries to uncurl himself a little, just to free his tense limbs and improve blood flow, but hisses as the whip marks on his back stretch. He whimpers at the pain, collapsing back against the floor.
“You don't have to call me miss. I get called a lot of things, that isn’t one of them,” she offers, inching closer. “Hell, you can call me an old bitch for all I care.” It's a gentle attempt at a joke, an effort to be less intimidating. He reminds her so much, too much, of Thom, and the bitter memories that always accompany any thought of how she had failed him.
Calix's eyes widen and he looks up at her from his place on the floor. “Oh, I would never! I would never, Miss– or, um…Val-Valeria?” he tries timidly, hoping he said it right, or at least didn't offend her. She’d told him not to call her Miss, so was he supposed to use her name? That wasn't a test, was it? What if it was a test? Is he—is he overthinking this?
She chuckles softly. “You don't have to be scared of me. I'm not angry at you.”
Calix sits back up, taking comfort in his little corner again. He isn't…he isn't sure of her words. He doesn't know what to think. She’s scary, and she should be angry at him. He doesn’t understand why she hasn't beaten him yet for all his disrespect. Calling her by the wrong name, calling Sir by the wrong name, talking back, flinching, stuttering. He’s messed it all up.
Is– is she moving towards him? Is she going to punish him now, the way she should've? She looks focused, is she going to try to look at his back? She’ll see his punishment, she’ll see how bad he is, she’ll– she’ll—
Don't cry. Don't cry. Quill hates it (loves it) when you cry. Don't— It's too late. A tear escapes, and Calix knows he deserves whatever she's going to do to him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Valeria says softly. “I won't come closer if you don't want me to…” She sat back, keeping her anger concealed. Not that it's the boy she's angry at. Not at all.
“No, I—” Calix sniffles. He winces through the pain as he shifts to rest on his knees, the way he's been taught. Submissive and small. “You m-may do whatever you like to m-me.”
Valeria grimaces. “I don't want to hurt you. I'm not going to. That's…not something you have to worry about from me. We're in the same boat now, aren’t we?” She withdrew as she said it, back into the opposite corner.
Same…boat? Calix hadn't thought of it like that. Valeria hasn't moved. Calix isn't sure what to do now. He doesn't know what he wants. He's so tired, and he hasn’t seen his old cellmate Fallon in ages, he just wants one of her hugs...one of her…
Calix looks over at Valeria, hope rekindling in his chest. She wouldn't—would she? Calix swallows, thinking it through. If she's lying to him, he'd rather know now. If she's not, then he might get to have a—
Valeria sat down, leaning against the walls. “Does he come often? The prick with the silver hair?” she asks finally, unsure of what else to do in the awkward silence.
Calix startles at the sudden change of subject. “Um, sometimes? He– he likes to leave me for a week or two s-sometimes, because he knows I– I don't, um, like to be alone. But– but if you’re here, then, then yes. Sir will come tonight.” Calix stares at his lap. Sir always comes when there’s a new prisoner. His master has to remind Calix who his favorite is.
“I see,” Valeria mutters, a thousand possible words coming into her head about what she thinks of Quill. “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t tell him what you told me.” He looks at her just like her brother Thom did whenever their mother was in a foul mood and looking for someone to punish for whatever reason she could come up with.
It brought her back to when she was seven and Thom was five. She had heard their mother approaching the house; it was her biggest benefit as a child, the enhanced hearing, and she'd heard the cursing. She'd grabbed Thom like a sack of flour and run downstairs, hiding in the crawlspace under the kitchen.
Running never did any good. Vera would simply set the goddamn fighting dogs on them, wait until they had them trapped up a tree or some other area out of their reach, and then she'd punish them twice as much.
She’d always promised herself to be better than her mother, just as Thom and their other brother Wade had, but Wade had broken that promise after what happened to Thom. Only Valeria had ended up keeping her word, doing a brief stint with a hero team, before ultimately deciding it was best to work alone.
Or rather, her team leader had decided she was too much of a loose cannon and too difficult to control. He'd suggested Valeria work alone, and on that much, they agreed. She'd never have gotten over the paperwork anyway.
Valeria’s reassuring words soothe something in Calix that hasn’t relaxed since months ago, when he last saw Fallon (he hears Sir’s voice in his head reminding him that bad pets don’t get playmates). He licks his lips, gearing up to ask the question. “I– um, Va-Valeria?”
“Yeah?” She turns to look at him again, her expression softer now.
“I w-was just– I was wondering– well, I wanted to know—” You don't have wants, idiot. Calix hurriedly corrects himself. “I was– is it– um, is it okay if—” SPIT IT OUT. What is wrong with you? Sir would’ve slapped you by now. “—if I could, maybe, possibly…have a…hug?” Calix chokes out, waiting for the inevitable snap. This is it. This is where the undeserving kindness ends.
Valeria blinked. “Sure, of course,” she told him, standing up again. The cuffs make it difficult, but she manages to maneuver her arms. “You cold, kid? You're shivering.”
A small, shocked, broken noise escapes his lips as Valeria's arms settle around him. He sits stiffly, feeling human warmth he hasn't felt in months, trembling violently. He's reminded again of his touch starvation as he hesitantly leans into the older woman’s embrace, unable to contain his pathetic whimpering. He isn't sure a “thank you” would be enough for drawing away the cold void inside of him.
Valeria winces inwardly. “It’s okay, kid. I know, I'm here.” She rests her chin on his shoulder.
Calix knows his tears are soaking the shoulder of her shirt. He would regret it if he weren’t so blissed out at the moment. Then he flinches as Valeria's hand brushes his bare back. His own shirt is in tatters, and the back is almost completely shredded from beatings and whippings. Valeria will be able to see his past punishments now. He’d be scared of her reaction if he weren’t soaking in the physical affection right then.
That brute, she thinks furiously, protectively, like an older sister—but just pats the boy's shoulder as best she can, murmuring soft words of comfort as she holds him. She knows how badly whips hurt. She knows from experience. She was probably younger than him, the first time it happened to her.
Calix closes his eyes, feeling somewhat safe for the first time in a long time. He barely notices when he starts to fall asleep, drifting as gentle words float over him.