double edged blade [DISCONTINUED]

"Hey, baby, didya miss me?" He licks his lips and tastes blood, grins, "I missed you. Haven't stopped thinking about you since, y'know."

Then, she pulls the bag off his head.

Last thing he remembers is her grabbing him by the back of his head. Slamming it into the brick siding of a building. 

Over. 

And over. 

And over. 

Lost track around four and now he's tied to a chair. In her apartment, too. Which is a stupid move, and he'd tell her as much if she wasn't in the middle of prying his jaw open, shoving her fingers in his fucking mouth. Probably wants to make sure he won’t spit one of his broken teeth at her. Clever girl.

Doesn't have much of a gag reflex, but he's not too keen on it, either. Oughta at least buy him dinner first. So he bites down as hard as he can.

Elektra pulls back like she's been burnt. Makes him smile again, thick, bloody drool all over the lower half of his face.

Then she hauls off and smacks him.

Makes him see white for a second, makes him whine like a dog. 

Probably hasn't been too long since she tried to smash his face in, but he's past the point of pain, went right on to constant, staticy numbness. All part of this haze of white fucking noise, nerve endings screaming at him.

Maybe he oughta be scared. But he isn't.

He's already picturing the worst. 'Lektra cutting his fingers off one by one, gouging his eyes out with her perfect fucking nails, gutting him while he's still awake to feel it.

But it's peachy fucking keen.

She grabs his jaw. Forces him to look at her.

"You will not try something like that again."

But they both know he probably will.

"What are you gonna do to me?" There's a slur to his voice, kind of a drawl, worse than usual.

And she laughs, draws her hand back and wipes it on her skirt, "Such a fearful little thing."

"Nah," his head lolls, now that she isn't holding it up, "Just wonderin', 'cos you didn't put a tarp down."

Doesn't say anything, but she's scowling at him like he oughta keep his mouth shut. Can't quite stop himself, though. 

"See, see, there's no tarp. So you can't do too much. 'Cos if there's a lotta blood, it'll go through the floorboards. People below are gonna call the cops and I bet you wanna have some fun with me."

She purses her lips, arms crossed. Probably can't stand to admit he's right. But he is. Knows damn well he's right, 'cos otherwise he wouldn't be here.

"You wanna make it last. Nothing short and sweet. You wanna make some memories."

She pulls the sai from its place resting at her thigh, lets it glint in the soft light, "Be quiet."

"You want it to be slow. Want me to know what it feels like."

She catches his chin with the point of her sai, forces him to tip his head back and back and back, dancing on strings for her. Doesn't cut deep, but it cuts easy, warm blood running down his neck to join the rest of the half dried gore already caked on his skin.

Stings just enough to bring everything back into focus. 

Once he really gets back in his body, it's all gonna hurt like hell, he already knows that much. She did a number on him. Probably hasn't done anything since she brought him here, 'cos there's no fun in it if he's asleep, but when she first knocked him out? Well, there's no way of telling how far she went after he was out cold. Might not've been able to stop herself.

But right now, he's barely aware of anything. Riding on the high of getting under her skin.

Maybe she'll cut out his tongue, but he bets she wants to hear him scream. Can't push his luck too far, though.

She pulls her sai back, just a taste of what she's got planned.

Still isn't worried, though. Not even with the blood running down his neck.

Can't even wipe it away 'cos his hands are bound tight behind his back. Almost feels like--

"Bondage cuffs?" He laughs, sounds like he's goddamn hyperventilating, "You put me in fuckin' bondage cuffs? Didn't plan far enough ahead so you had to use whatever you had lying around the house?"

 "They are very sturdy," she spits, words catching on her teeth.

"How much did you pay for these?" He's still laughing, can't quite stop 'cos he's halfway frantic, "Real leather, I bet."

"I told you to be quiet."

He used to be good at just grinning and bearing it. Seems like he lost that skill awhile back. Now he just keeps talking, digging himself a deeper hole.

It'd be fitting, really, if she killed him. Everything came full fucking circle.

But she's not gonna kill him yet.She ghosts her sai over his cheek, gentle as a lover, light enough that it doesn't break the skin, just bristles uncomfortably. Makes him want to pull away, but he's caught up, can't move, can't tear his eyes away from her.

She's fucking pissed and it's beautiful. Never seen such fight in her eyes.

She rips the sai away from him, lightning quick, "No. You do not deserve to be gutted by my blade."

"Gonna do it with your own two hands, then?"

"Perhaps."

He figures she could make good on the threat. She's so much more than just a pretty face.

But at this point, he's pretty sure she doesn't have a plan. Makes him feel real special, knowing she just couldn't help herself when she saw him. Even then, it's sloppy. Unprofessional.

If anyone's gonna kill him, he'd want it to be her. Knows better than to hope for Matty 'cos if Matty couldn't kill him after he iced miss Handsome over here, there's not a thing in the damn world that'd make him cross that line. 

But he kinda expected a little more preparation, a little more consideration. Anything to say she's been thinking about him.

"So," he grins at her, "What's it gonna--"

Elektra slams the hilt of her sai hard against his knee. Damn near bites through his tongue at the white hot jolt of pain racing up his leg. 

Didn't break anything, 'cos of the metal splints, but she probably knows that.

She clicks her tongue, "Quiet."

Can't help but play along, panting hard, fresh blood and drool running down his lips. He's coming back to himself, bit by bit, hurts like hell. 

"You will not die with dignity," Elektra adds, sai tracing along his jawline.

Already knew that a long time ago. Figured he'd die choking on his own vomit, or maybe face down in a pool of his blood, crying like a fucking child. He's been living on borrowed time for most of his life.

It's only a matter of time before he gets to that point here. It'll be messy when his meds wear off, makes him shake something awful, barely even lucid, and at some point the seizures'll be back. And it's easy to hit him dead center, set off that broken little part of him that gets all small and scared. Might not even mean to do it, but he bets she'll get it soon.

Figures she might cut him, but she doesn't. Instead, she pulls her blade away and throws the fucking cloth bag over his head again.

Then, she leaves. He can hear her heels clicking against the hardwood floor and he almost wants to scream, wants to tell her to stop being a coward and do something worthwhile already! 

But he can't quite get his mouth to move right, already has a bit of a slur from all the different meds he's fucked up doses for, the tumor, how many times he's been hit upside the head, and it doesn't help that his tongue's bleeding.

She really doesn't seem to know what to do with him. Leaves him there for a while, can't be sure of how long 'cos he's slowly losing his grasp on lucidity. Not to mention the bag over his head.

Bites the bullet and whispers, "Elektra?"

It might be a bad idea, but he can't abide by not knowing for sure if she's there. Makes him sound real pathetic, calling out for her like a lost child.

Not that he's ever been one for dignity, so he calls out a bit louder, "Elektra??"

"Don't leave me here, now, baby," he adds, blood thick at the back of his throat.

And he really is worried. Probably could break the chair at least, but deep down, he's scared of what she might do if she's still here, just watching him squirm. It's fucking demeaning.

Maybe, if he can get outta this one, he'll kill her again.

But she might just come back again and he doesn't like the odds on killing her a third time. Might just be stuck with her forever, if she doesn't kill him first.

And then, she laughs, drags him right outta his thoughts.

"Look at you!" Elektra crows, "Calling for me as though you were a child."

He doesn't have any kinda retort, nothing to bite back at her with. Just hangs his head in shame.

"Do not interrupt me again. I have work to complete."

That makes him want to wring her fucking neck. Can't even devote all her goddamn attention to him, kidnapped him for WHAT? To keep him tied up while she does some fucking research on her next goddamn target?

He pulls hard against the stupid fucking bondage cuffs and shouts, "What's your fuckin' problem?"

And she doesn't say anything, but the air feels real, real tense and he's got a sixth sense for these kinda things. She heard him, alright, this is just the calm before the storm.

Used to get smacked upside the head, but he's pretty sure she'll do more than that.

"You think you're real mean," he growls, 'cos he's already digging his own grave, "But you're just another coward."

She's too damn quick, too damn quiet. Barely even realizes she's next to him until she fucking shoves the side of the chair. Bullseye shrieks when he feels the ground drop out from under him, and it's real goddamn pathetic but his heart's trying to beat out of his chest. 

Can't even catch himself once he realizes he's falling, 'cos it all happens too fast and he's tied up and then his head slams against the hardwood floor.

And he can't quite think straight anymore, just keeps breathing raggedly, thinking about falling and falling and the crack that comes when you land--

But there's no goddamn crack, 'cos he only fell a couple feet. 

Elektra just leaves him there on the floor, still trying to hyperventilate something awful, 'cos she wants to rub salt in the wound. Never been scared of heights, just the fucking fall.

"Look at you," she scoffs, digging the toe of her shoe into his leg, "As if anyone could ever be afraid of you."

Can't manage to catch his breath long enough to say anything, but he's willing to wager she's only doing this 'cos she is scared of him. Wants to be able to sleep at night again.

Fights every single one of his instincts telling him to just roll over, show his belly, so whatever comes next won't be as bad. Won't give her that kind of satisfaction. Doesn't need to know that it's been beaten into him like second nature, always knows who's boss.

He doesn't call out for her again. Learned his lesson already, and he doesn't want it to go to her head. Might make her even more insufferable than she is already.

It doesn't have anything to do the fact that it feels like there's an ice-pick digging into his brain through his eye and he's already behind at least one dose of his meds. Seems like the least of his worries right about now but he'd take torture over withdrawals any day.

And it feels pretty damn good to just lie on the floor, listening to his pulse in his ears. Doesn't have to worry about holding his head up like this. Sure, his hands are tied behind his back, shoulder trying to come outta its socket like it always does, and his feet are numb from the zip ties cutting into his ankles, but it's alright.

It's almost halfway funny that she went to the trouble to take his shoes off. Couldn't put down a fucking tarp but she could do that. Shows how well she thinks under pressure.

Really expected more from her. All that pent up rage, all that hate, burning inside her, eating away at her, all for him. Nobody else on her mind. It could almost give a guy butterflies in his stomach.

But that's just the missed meds talking, tying his stomach up in knots. It's a damn good thing he hasn't eaten since god knows when, 'cos if he puked on her floor, she'd probably rub his face in it.

He's suffered his fair share of humiliation, but the idea of her doing it to him makes his skin crawl. More than just the shivers racking through his body.

Must've been more than just a skipped dose. He can usually handle that much. 

So she had him unconscious for a while, at least long enough to set all this shit up. Got him out of his suit, too, since he's down to just his undershirt and briefs. Shouldn't change anything, but it sets his teeth on edge. Can't abide by feeling so vulnerable, thinking about her posing him, waiting for him to realize where he is.

He's still in control, though. Knows how to get under her skin, like fucking maggots eating away at her rotted carcass. 

At least, he tells himself that until she pulls him upright, yanks the bag off his head, makes the whole world spin out, blurred in front of his eyes.

Elektra sets the chair back on all four legs and he just squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop feeling like he's taken another swan dive off a skyscraper. She says something, but it's impossible to hear past the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

There's a twitch in his leg, too. Uncontrollable, centered in his thigh. His fingers dance every now and again, like a marionette on strings, but at least it's not so bad he's pulling against the restraints. And when he does start pulling against them, they shouldn't cut into his wrists as bad as handcuffs, either.

Remembers what it was like, cuffed to a hospital bed. Done that more than enough times in his sorry fucking life. Seems like he's anywhere but here, jumping between hazy shards of memories, eyes glazed the fuck over.

There's an itching feeling of pain, blurred around the edges, and he tries to pull away, creature of goddamn habit, doesn't even have to think about it. 

It's more white hot this time, icepick through his eye, vision blanking out. Smells like smoke and singed hair and-

And-

There's this scared little voice at the back of his head, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop, I'll be good, dad--"

In a split fucking second, everything comes back into focus. Elektra, grinning with her teeth bared, holding a letter opener over the flame of a lighter.

Her eyes are cold, "I am not your father."

Couldn't feel more exposed if his guts were in his lap, scooped out of him through a cut in his belly.

"What a pathetic little child you are," she snarls, grabs him by the jaw and forces the letter opener against his neck, "Still pleading for mercy."

It stings like a fucking bitch, pricks tears at his eyes, but that's not the reason he retches. Can't stop thinking about his skin crawling, about how she knows now. About her looking at him and seeing the wide eyed, terrified sorry sack of shit that couldn't figure out how to fight back for fourteen fucking years.

She pulls back like she's the one being burnt. Curls her lip and wipes her hand off with a towel even though it's mostly blood and drool and it's mostly on his undershirt anyway.

"Disgusting," she growls.

He grins, tastes like bile and days old blood and he hopes to fucking god above that she knocks his teeth in 'cos at least then he wouldn't be able to say any more shit like that.

Instead, she just presses the red-hot letter opener against his arm this time. Makes him cry out, high pitched and pathetic.

Almost wishes he was dead right about now. Especially since she's got him stripped down enough to see how he's covered in cuts and cigarette burns and a dozen other types of scars. Fuck knows she's already put all the pieces together. 

And now his secret's out. All 'cos he couldn't keep it straight in his head, forgot where he was, forgot who he was.

But he just needs to hold it together 'til one of them kills the other. Even if that's getting harder and harder. 

The twitch in his leg is getting worse by the minute and soon he's gonna start pulling against his restraints whether he wants to or not. Figures she'll think he's trying to escape, but truth is, he can't control it.

"How long," his voice sounds hoarse, real small, "R'you plannin' to keep me here?"

'Lektra just glares at him. If looks could kill… But at least she's letting him catch his breath. Realizes he's seeing double, too, which isn't good but he doesn't give much of a fuck right now.

And both the 'Lektras glare at him like they wanna beat his brains in, lips pursed as they fade in and out of each other. 

At least she isn't burning him anymore. That's the one thing that always gets him good. Brings him right back to the good ol' days when dear old dad would use him as a fucking ashtray, still has the puckered divets of scar tissue running up and down his arms. 

But he's nervous, never much liked silence, so he chatters on, "If it's more than a coupla days, you're gonna have to worry 'bout bedsores."

He's had his fair share of those, too. Turns out, nobody cares too much about moving you around when you're halfway comatose, paralyzed, and handcuffed to a hospital bed.

"This is a pitiful attempt at begging for your freedom," she spits at his feet.

And the truth is, he's not too sure that's what he was doing, anyway. It's not some Stockholm syndrome bullshit, nah, he just likes the attention. Needs it more than anything. Doesn't have to worry about keeping his head straight if he's under someone else's thumb. Same reason he kept going back to Fisk.

But this? Well. There's nothing more intimate than letting someone carve you up. She knows it, too. That's why she hates him so bad.

"Darlin', you wish you had it in you to kill me," he grins, broken and bloody.

Elektra takes a cool step forward, closing the gap between the two of 'em with nothing more than a click of her heels. She tips his head back, manicured nails digging into the soft skin below his chin.

His eyes are wide, pupils still blown out from the adrenaline and how damn dazed he is. Can't do much other than stare at her, stuck like a deer in headlights.

Then, she wraps her hands around his neck, lightning quick. Her nails ache, buried in his flesh, but it's just enough to keep him focused. He can feel his pulse in his ears as she presses her thumb hard against his jugular.

Finds himself breathing in little pants, desperate, animalistic. And his vision keeps getting hazy, filtered through a screen of static, splotchy and hard to make sense of. 

But he still doesn't fight back, doesn't struggle or nothin'. Feels right to let her do this, to see how far she'll go. Just gives into it, slips out of consciousness.

Well, he's not dead yet, otherwise he wouldn't hurt so damn much. 

His throat feels raw when he tries to swallow and every fucking part of him is stiff. Head hurts, too. He's sweating bullets, cold as ice, slicks what little hair he has to his forehead.

Bullseye pulls aimlessly against the restraints. Ignores the pins and needles running rampant through the length of his arms and legs. Tries to take stock of everything that's going on.

Elektra doesn't seem like the type to make it slow, the type to let him waste away until his heart gives out. Besides, he's used to hunger anyways. Doesn't scare him much. But, he doesn't know where she is, what's coming next.

He wonders if Matty's out there somewhere, playing the voyeur, listening to Elektra torturing him. Wonders if it's getting to him, makes him feel real good knowing all this is happening, that she's doing everything he could've dreamed of if it weren't for that pesky moral compass of his.

Can't seem to hold his thoughts in one place, though. They keep ricocheting off of each other, a mile a minute.

It's getting bad and yeah, this situation's been bad from the start, but his teeth are chattering together like he's out in a snowstorm. Heart won't stop racing, either. He needs his fucking meds, always carries a couple day's worth with him but that doesn't mean jack shit right about now.

"Elektraaaa," he whines, voice kinda thready and small, "Need m'fuckin' pillsssss."

Withdrawals always fucking suck and he's more than susceptible to psychotic episodes, but beyond all that, he really, really needs the ones for his other problems. Migraines, seizures, the whole nine yards.

He gets the gnawing feeling that she's watching him. Might just be the paranoia, though, 'cos he sure as shit is hallucinating. Muffled voices, whispering like his head's underwater. He can't make out any of the words.

Mild aphasia, he remembers. One of the endless parade of white-coats said it to him some time or another. Said he might have it, what with all the times he's been hit upside the head. Scrambled his brains.

But that's not what this is and he can't hold onto a train of thought for the life of him. Just keeps getting more and more wound up, pulling against his restraints. 

And then everything slips away, like he just got the wind knocked outta him. Only hears ringing in his ears and yeah, his eyes are still open but he can't see anything.

It's only a couple of seconds for him, can't tell how much he lost there. Just knows that he's sore as fuck and his vision is still hazy. But this is one of the mild ones, hasn't even gotten to the bad ones yet, the ones where he convulses all over, tries to swallow his fucking tongue.

Those ones'll be here soon enough, the longer he goes without his meds. Something got knocked loose one of the times he got hit upside the head. Never been the same since the Devil dropped him off that building, either. Now it's just another prescription bottle he's gotta have to get by.