WHO: Lilah Morgan and Peter Petrelli WHAT: Playing with her present WHEN: after this WHERE: Wolfram and Hart basement RATING: High STATUS: Thread: COMPLETE WARNINGS: Drugging, torture, NPC death, shoe damage.
Lilah had been in the middle of the most boring pile of paperwork when the call came. The one she'd been anticipating and even in a way dreading since the plan was conceived. This was what she had been working towards, facing her enemy, getting to know him and his weaknesses. Oh and his strengths. Obviously.
But there would be no going back after this. No pretending that she was anything other than the CEO of Evil Inc. And that hadn't ended quite as well for her last time, what with being decapitated and everything.
"Thank you."
She hung up the phone before any of her people could react to the almost politeness she had just shown. There was a long moment where she remained at her desk, lost in thoughts, before she stood up, straightening her suit as she strode to the lift, the heels of her Jimmy Choos clicking against the floor. She didn't look at anyone as she pressed the button for the elevator, taking the long ride down past the floors open to the public and down to the almost labyrinth of basement rooms and corridors.
She kept up the assertive stride as she slammed through one set of doors, entering the room where the wannabe Angel was being kept, hooked up to an IV to keep those pesky powers from returning. She barely spared a glance at the various mages and psychics lining the room, walking directly to the chair in front of her captive and sitting neatly on it.
The cloud in his mind was thick, heavy. The cocktail he'd gotten wasn't exactly the same as the one Darla had kept him on, but that didn't make it better. Someone with a bit more finesse had mixed this poison in his veins. Strong enough that he could hardly concentrate, but with enough of a counter that he was fairly coherent. Which meant he understood just what the bitch was saying to him.
"This how you normally look for a date?" he asked, a sneer in his voice. "I'd try harmony dot com. They have a listing just for you. It's called 'Megalomaniacal Bitches We Wouldn't Fuck if You Paid Us'."
There wasn't much room to maneuver. Peter's wrists and ankles were strapped down to the table. His body temperature hadn't done much to warm the metal under him, and the room was cold, crisp, and sterile. His own clothing was gone, taken only god knew where, and the thin scrub pants that were all he wore did little to shield that chill.
He still had the rings. His only relief. No one could take those away without severing his hands. And he prayed no one worked out that detail.
"Cute." Lilah smirked, her expression carefully devoid of anything resembaling warmth or compassion. "You really are the Angel-wannabe aren't you. He used to have the same level of what he thought of as wit. But I would question the wisdom of you even attempting to hurt my feelings right now."
She leaned forward and gave an almost playful tug on the chains holding the supposed Champion down.
"You're not exactly in the strongest position now, are you."
She sat back neatly, for all the world giving the impression of nonchalance, even if there was a part of her severely questioning her own sanity right now.
"Now, how about we have a friendly little chat?"
"If I remember correctly," Peter said, all hints of respect or humility carefully removed from his voice, "Angel is the dead one. Now, this may come as a shock to you, but I am not dead. So thus, I am not like Angel. It might be a difficult concept to you, I understand. Higher level brain function is often difficult for lesser mammals. It's nothing to be ashamed of, for a sheep."
The look he returned to her, laying back on the table, shifted into one of boredom. "If you want a chat, we can chat, but it's going to get annoying having to dumb down enough for you to understand. Should I stick to words with two syllables or less?"
At this point, the question of whether or not to hurt her feelings was moot. It was instead a matter of seeing how long it took for him to make her angry.
"Angel was always dead, or did you miss that little class of Vampires 101?" Lilah retorted with a roll of her eyes.
She stood, her heels still rapping out the sharp staccato on the concrete floor as she moved deliberately outside Petrelli's eyeline.
"I think I can handle three syllables, or hell, be daring and try four even." Unseen by anyone she ran her hand over the various instruments on the table, not looking at her captive.
"Why don't we start with you telling me about that little band of misfits you have in that hotel of yours? You can skip the obvious ones, the mixed breed Seer, the murdering Slayer and the Texan twig. I'm much more interested in those foreigners you have stored away in there."
Peter let out a sigh, and this time spoke slowly, as though explaining something complicated to a young child with a learning disorder. "That's why I said Angel was the dead one. Because vampires are dead."
He rolled his eyes at her question, but paused when one thing was said. Peter ran through his mental list of residents at the Hyperion, perhaps taking a bit longer than normal with the inhibitors on his brain. Then he furrowed his brow and looked up at Lilah.
"We have a Texan?" Then, curiosity. "Do you have nicknames for everyone? I don't think that's very PC of you."
"Oh, and there was I thinking you meant because he's dust in the wind now," Lilah replied in the same condescending tone. "You do realize that the Champions in this town have a very short shelf life don't you?"
She was actually amused by his answer and moved from the table of instruments and back to where he was restrained.
"I do for those three. I like to think of it as a little bonding thing we do." She leaned over, gently running her hand down the side of his face. "I mean I know the three of them pretty well by now. Probably better than you do." She paused as though something had just occurred to her. "You do know what you have in your own base don't you?"
"Nah. Just the ones that are already dead. Not much you can do when you're a few inches from being a pile of dust." A smirk crossed his lips. "I'm not ready to fall apart yet."
She asked again about the hotel, and Peter shrugged, looking bored. "You think I have time to keep track of who comes and who goes? I'm ready to install a damn revolving door." He tried not to react when she touched him, but the feeling made his skin crawl. Muscles tensed, trying to avoid the feel of her fingers on his face.
"You say that now, lets see how you're holding up in say, an hour." Lilah shrugged, bored of that topic of conversation and ready to focus on the task at hand.
"Oh sweetie, I was just talking about the cast regulars. You know, the very few that actually stick around for a while and don't die horribly." She paused before deciding to clarify that. "The very very few. But hey, if you don't take the time to know what's living under your own roof, who am I to judge? How about we discuss the people you really should know. Like your brother maybe, or your wife?"
She smiled inwardly as she noted his reactions to her touch and she kept up the gesture, trailing cold finger tips over his skin, digging her perfectly manicured nails in at odd intervals.
"An hour?" Peter let out a snort. "You've got no fucking clue, do you? Look, Mega-bitch, how about you let me go now, and we can try this little session over coffee? Maybe a couple of beers."
Her touch still repulsed him. She'd realized it. He was watching her hand movements, waiting for the right moment to try and bite her. But the idea fell out of his mind when Lilah continued speaking. Brother. Wife.
The room had already been a bit chilly. But the temperature dropped several more degrees rather suddenly. Whisps of cold frost were barely visible coming off of Peter. His teeth were gritted with the pain in his mind from generating this kind of response through the inhibitors, and his eyes were slightly glazed. "New offer," he said. "Let me go, right now, and I'll forget that you exist."
"If it were up to me, I'd let you go," just for once Lilah didn't have to feign her reluctance. "If it were up to me you'd still be in your world, wherever that was and I'd be..." She stopped abruptly before she revealed anything else.
Even as she felt the cold she didn't show it, moving abruptly back to the table and picking up a syringe filled with a pale blue liquid.
"I was hoping you'd be reasonable and talk to me before it came to this, but since you seem to be the stubborn type, it seems I have no choice."
She moved until the syringe was just in front of his eye. "My science team tell me that this will cause you considerable pain. The term 'fire in your veins' was used. And they have no reason to lie to me, they know that if they let me down I'll have their entrails removed. Still, we've never had anyone quite like you down here before, so there is always a margin for error."
She roughly twisted his arm, finding the vein and injecting him. "So why don't you tell me how this feels. And be honest, it's for science."
She shifted her position again to almost whisper in his ear. "I want you to know that this is nothing personal Mr Petrelli. And any time you want this to stop, you just need to tell me about all the people in your hotel, including your brother, including your wife and including yourself."
The cold intensified as she lowered the syringe, condensation collecting on all metal surfaces and the table Peter was laying on was coated in frost. The muscles in his arm tensed, fighting against her, but the chains didn't give him any chance to get away. The plunger of the syringe was depressed, and Peter felt molten lava flowing through his arm.
He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and pulled away from her, as far as his binds would permit. But the fire in his arm was quick to spread, and the heat sweeping through him melted the ice that had formed.
He wouldn't scream. Wouldn't. It was almost a relief when the fire filled his chest, pain gripping so tightly he couldn't have shouted if he wanted to.
She wanted him to scream. It would have been easier if he'd screamed. It would have made the whole thing feel less real somehow if he'd screamed like some cheesy tv show. If she wasn't so well trained in hiding her emotions she would have laughed. Decapitating her former boss, well that had been easy. But for some reason the idea of torturing someone turned her stomach.
But it wouldn't do for anyone else in this room to know that. If any one of them guessed it could get back to the Senior Partners and that just be bad.
"You could make this so much easier on yourself you know," she kept her tone almost conversational as she looked at him, wondering how long it would take his constitution to work through the drug.
Moisture was glistening on his skin. Whether it was sweat or the melting ice was impossible to tell. Peter's entire body was rigid, muscles tensed in pain to the point that he was trembling from head to toe. At one point, Peter arched, back bending like a bow in a wave of agony, throat muscles locked tight to prevent him from crying out. The metal holding his wrists to the table began to groan in protest.
And then it was over. The release was nearly as painful, twice as jarring to move so quickly between pain and calm. He dropped limply on the table. Either the drug had a short halflife, which seemed likely considering the potency, or his own healing ability had kicked it out of his system. At the moment, Peter didn't care which was true.
"Easier... it'll be easier for me? Letting you do this to the people I love?" His head shook lightly. "Fuck you."
"Interesting," Lilah murmured, watching the drug wear off, more quickly than she would have expected.
"Who said I'd be doing this?" She kept her voice low as she considered what to use next. "This is especially for you Mr Petrelli. Anything with any other persons of interest would be tailor made for them."
She stepped forward, keeping her hand out of sight as she leaned over him.
"I already have the rooms prepared for many of them. Strong enough to hold in Slayers, powers to block the Seer from the Powers That Be," she spat the title out as if the very concept disgusted her. "And all sorts of fun things are in store for my former partner, just as soon as I get the go ahead."
She drew out her hand to reveal a simple damp facecloth, one she used to clean his head.
"But that can all wait. Right now, this is between me and you. And even if you don't tell me what fun things your little home hides, I can still use this opportunity to find out exactly what that unique body of yours is capable of."
Peter's snickering was barely audible, but it was still laced with contempt. One thing was eluding her, but Peter wasn't sure how long he would have before she figured it out. By making his body fight against itself, it was working hard. Burning through all its stores of energy. Burning through anything carried in his bloodstream.
The metal had been grinding under his wrist. How much concentration would he need? How much force?
"When did you do it, Lilah?" he asked her, eyes shut. He didn't want her to notice if his vision seemed more clear. "When did you sell your soul? What did it cost?"
"And what would you know about my soul?" Lilah all but spat at him, finally losing some of her cool. "We all make choices Wannabe-Angel, and we all have to live with them. I just plan on living with mine a hell of a lot longer this time."
Angrily she turned, gesturing at one of the mystics.
"Curse him. And make him scream this time."
The mystic nodded, silent as ever, before it's dark eyes turned on the Champion. A demon from one of the lower circles of hell, it specialized in psychological pain. Lilah scowled as she folded her arms, leaning back against the wall. He thought he could judge her for selling her soul? By the time the demon was done showing him his worst nightmares in glorious technicolor and surround sound he'd be begging Lilah to take his. The curse itself would last only moments, but it would show the annoying brat exactly what the Firm was capable of doing to his precious loved ones.
An hour later, Peter still hadn't screamed. Illusions. Mind control. Tricks, lies. Images from his worst nightmares. Memories long supressed. Ghosts, bodies, victims, killers. They were calling up every shred of terror that had ever flickered across Peter's mind.
He'd been through this before, at the hands of the Company. Homeland Security, as the organization had later been folded into that Department. Telepaths ripping open his mind. Illusionists making him experience the worst parts over and over again. In the first few months after the bomb, it was one of their best attacks. Parkman had gotten far too adept at finding Peter, and cutting away his mental shields. A few days before his 28th birthday, Peter had met Jack, and for the six months following, Jack had taught Peter how to strengthen his mind, how to guard the most vulnerable parts of himself, how his mind could be a refuge, and a weapon.
He fought back.
They showed him Nathan, bleeding from the bullet wounds in his chest, dying in Peter's arms. He showed them Nathan and Heidi, dancing at his graduation party. They showed him Sarah, caught in a passionate embrace by the Goblin King. He showed them his wife, singing to him at their wedding. They showed him the wasteland that had been New York City, after the bomb. He showed them Los Angeles on that strange day when the Apocalypse had been defeated and Elaine had returned.
They weren't completely unsuccessful. There was no way to evade that they were burrowing at his mind, stripping away his defenses little by little. A long, slow, torturous ravaging that would never leave a single physical mark.
Eventually Lilah held up her hand.
"Enough."
The mystic paused in his mental assault and Lilah found herself briefly wondering what Petrelli had seen. She knew well how good this breed of demon was, it had been one of the Senior Partner's favorites to use on her during her time in hell.
"How are you feeling?" Her tone was detached, almost bored as she looked at him. "You know I'm sorry to have to do this, really I am. And you know how to make it all stop don't you?"
How was he feeling. How was he feeling? Rape might have been kinder. Darla hadn't been able to get into his head. Retreating into his mind had been one of the ways he'd gotten away from her. Until she'd caught on to the trick and killed him, only to start fresh when he revived. But dying was physical. This kind of invasion... he would rather be dying.
Not that he was about to admit that.
"That the best you can do?"
"Yep, definitely an Angel-wannabe, you're both far too stubborn for your own good."
Lilah sighed, actually annoyed that she had been driven to this.
"Ok, how about we take a break from the mental for a while, concentrate on the physical. After all, I want to know about everything your body is capable of. It's really quite fascinating and please don't take that as a come on."
With that she clicked her fingers and gestured to the various overly muscled guards around the edges, each bearing different weapons. Knives, guns, flame throwers, all sorts of fun little toys. The fact that they were all at least mildly psychopathic was another bonus.
"Have fun boys."
The scientists stepped forward as well, eager to make notes of the different effects different weapons had.
"Still comparing me to the dead guy," Peter said, snickering. "You've got a lot to learn, Lilah. And not much time to learn it in." He glanced over at the lackeys and forced out another snicker. "Oh, look. They even brought their own toys."
This was what he'd been waiting for. The bloodletting. It would hurt, and it would hurt like hell, but the more they bled out of him, the weaker their drugs would become.
"You're one to talk right now Petrelli," Lilah sounded for all the world as though she was bored as she watched the dumb muscle have their fun. The first one smirked as he drew back his fist, protected by brass knuckles, and punched Petrelli in the face.
"Ooh, that's got to smart," Lilah muttered under her breath as the muscle stepped back, letting the scientists forward to check out the damage, poking him this way and that before scribbling on their note pads.
"Whatever, can we just get to the cutting parts already?" She snapped, getting impatient before her smirk grew, one particularly eager sadist moving forward and brandishing a knife.
"Shallow cuts," one doctor remarked as the first slice went through Petrelli's skin, tracing a line down his left arm. "We want to note his reactions to each level of injury after all."
The suckerpunch to the face was expected. The glint of metal on the man's hand as it flew told Peter what to expect. He forced himself to relax, not to brace for the hit, and moved with the blow. He felt his cheekbone snap, but the only noise he produced was a faint grunt. A moment later, he opened and shut his jaw, hearing the click as the bone reset itself. One of the scientists poked his cheek, and Peter turned his head, snapping at the finger and actually catching the tip in a vicious bite before the man could pull away.
The knife traced a line of fire down his arm, but Peter assumed a bored expression. "Anyone mind if I take a nap?"
Lilah watched the wounds heal up with interest.
"No, no, go right ahead," she smiled with a saccharine sweetness. "You go right ahead and nap while my team here figure out where that lovely little trick of yours comes from."
"We should take some samples of his blood for testing," a scientist called out, already preparing the needle.
"Excuse me, but did I say yet that you should take the blood?" Lilah snapped before the scientist's hand froze.
"No Ma'am."
"I didn't think so." She left a deliberately long pause before nodding. "Now you can take the blood. Just a quick sample."
She turned away, gesturing for one of the others to come closer.
"Make sure he stays drugged. I don't want the blood loss to help him in any way."
"Sears. You should ask about the extended warranty." He wasn't extremely worried about them taking a blood sample. Homeland Security had tried it as well. Several times. The most they had been able to do with it was heal a few of their own before the supply ran out. Whatever riddle there was about his abilities, Peter knew it wasn't in his blood. It was somewhere that people like this would never find, and never understand.
Then, goddamnit, the bitch realized what he was waiting for. Someone started walking closer, a syringe in hand. Another supply of sedatives? Damnit! He was going to have to try now. He wasn't ready yet - the mental fog was still too thick - but he could just barely feel a few things that he could use.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. Pain speared into his mind as he strained, the shout Lilah had been waiting for voicing itself as it happened. Lightning shot out from his body, cocooning him in bright blue fire, leaping away in bursts towards those closest to him. Peter pushed everything he had into releasing this power. He would have used radiation and blown the fucking building apart, if that power had been more accessible. This would have to do.
The lightning storm was over in half a minute. Blood was flowing from Peter's nostrils when his strength finally gave out. The air held mixing aromas of charred flesh, scorched metal, and a faint tang of electricity.
Lilah was taken by surprise by the blast. Lilah Morgan was actually taken by surprise and that fact alone was enough to annoy her. Add the fact that the electricity had singed the suede of her Jimmy Choos and she was pissed. Oh sure, there was some burning over her skin, but that healed. There was no getting rid of scorch marks on designer shoes like these.
"Oh for the love of..." She scowled as she picked herself up from the floor and eyed the corpses of the dumb muscle.
"Well at least I won't have to pay them," she muttered before spotting one of the dead scientists. "Oh damn it, did you have to melt that one? He was actually good at his job."
One of the survivors moved forward, nervously glancing between Petrelli and his boss as he seemed to inwardly calculate which he was more scared of. Finally the glare from Lilah seemed to help him make up his mind as he shifted closer and administered the LSD to keep Petrelli under for longer.
Peter had been expecting an injection into the IV tube already in his vein. Which was why he'd made one of the arcs of lightning strike the needle in his arm, blasting it away and cauterizing the needle mark until the skin healed over. They'd have to replace the tubing at least, possibly the whole setup.
So he was a bit surprised when the man instead jammed the syringe into Peter's jaw, into the soft area under his chin. Peter flinched in surprise, but the injection had been given and the syringe withdrawn before he could try and fight.
A few seconds later, the reason for the shot and its location were clear. Though by that point, Peter wasn't thinking clearly at all. Hallucinogen. The fog in his mind was suddenly burting with colors. The empath started blinking, sensory input suddenly overwhelming his sight. Hallucinogen. One that went directly to the brain, not the bloodstream.
"Fuck."
"That should keep him quiet for a while," Lilah snapped, still annoyed at the state of her shoes. She'd barely had the chance to break them in. She stepped closed and picked up the ruined remains of the IV tubing with a slight tsk of irritation.
She glanced down and saw the surviving guards looking forlornly at their dead comrades.
"Break a few bones while he's under, that'll make you feel better."
She really was going to have to see about getting less sentimental help around here. Just for a moment she looked at Peter Petrelli, the supposed Champion, or in her mind the wannabe-Angel, and it was only the years of practice that stopped her flinching.
Whatever it takes to survive. It was her mantra, ever since that day when she had unknowingly sold her soul to the Senior Partners. Without realizing it her hand went to the scarf around her neck, hiding the scars from her death years before. Ok, mantra amended. Whatever it takes to not go back to hell.
While Peter was out of it, he most assuredly was not out. He was limp against the table, eyes glazed over and half-lidded, but it was quite clear, once the bravest of Lilah's pet scientists had regained enough of his facilities to drive a pair of clamps through Peter's hand, that he was still conscious.
His teeth clamped shut, a groan coming from his throat. It was bad enough. But then the clamp was opened, and this time the shout of pain nearly drowned out the sound of bones cracking as they were shoved apart, crating an inch-wide hole straight through Peter's hand. "I wonder if he can heal with that thing still in there," the man said with a snicker.
The words floated past Peter in misshapen pink bubbles. He flinched, and promptly started giggling. And couldn't stop.
He was giggling? He was actually giggling?
"Did we break him?" Lilah asked with casual interest, even as she turned her attention to her manicure. A chip in one nail made her scowl. But it helped drown out the sound of bones cracking. Why was it she could get promotion through decapitation in the boardroom but this made her wince? Wesley. It had to be Wesley's fault. She shook her head in frustration before getting out her cell phone.
"I don't have time for this," she declared as she strode towards the door. "You boys have fun now, I have a couple of calls to make." The first to Bela Talbot.