ANGEL: Scrimshawed (Justine & Wesley)
Title: Scrimshawed
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Angel
Character: Justine & Wesley
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Just be advised that you have been advised.
Notes: Set between S3 and S4
When Justine wakes up, it's dark. Her breath feels stifled, and her ankles and wrists are tied.
Shackled, actually. She stretches her limbs and feels links of metal. Smells paint and hard plastic. She blinks, and there's a line of light near the ground. A door?
She kicks out, hits solid wood. Kicks again, and yells. Her throat feels sore, her tongue a little fuzzy. She's been drugged recently.
Outside, footsteps. A shadow flicking through the light.
Justine crouches back, and the door opens. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the light, and that's when she recognizes the intruder.
"You're fucking kidding me," she says.
He smiles, a tight curve of his mouth. Then he raises a syringe, taps it.
Justine wants to fight him off, but her reflexes are still slow from the first round.
As she slumps against the wall, she doesn't even manage a scream.
*
This is the way things happen for a week. Maybe two. She loses count, between the dark and the drugs.
Sometimes when she wakes up, the bare light bulb on the ceiling is lit, and there's a paper plate by the door. A sandwich, or sometimes a slice of pizza. If she's lucky, it'll still be warm.
A bottle of water, which she drains, slow gulp after gulp. Again, if she's lucky, her waste bucket will be emptied.
She thinks Wesley is drugging the food, because she usually falls asleep after she's done with her meal. Or maybe she's just tired.
There isn't much to do, not in here.
*
One day, or maybe night, Justine wakes with a clear head. She blinks, wipes her eyes with her jacket, as best she can while shackled.
The light is on, and the air is cleaner. The air is--
The door is open, and Wesley is standing just outside of it.
Justine lunges forward, knowing it's stupid even as she falls. Her shoulder slams into the floor, and she ends up sprawled, still halfway in the closet.
Wesley doesn't even twitch.
"Fuck," she groans. She rolls onto her belly, and manages to rise, kneel. She stares up at him, and he's smiling again. "What do you want?"
Wesley crouches, swift enough to startle her. He doesn't touch her, but there's a knife in his hand. He grips it, his demeanor casual.
Justine stays frozen and waits. She knows what he wants. Who he wants.
When he finally asks the question, she spits in his face.
Going back to her cage is almost worth it.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Jan Bottiglieri's One Could Have a Cape Made Entirely of Buttons. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Angel
Character: Justine & Wesley
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Just be advised that you have been advised.
Notes: Set between S3 and S4
When Justine wakes up, it's dark. Her breath feels stifled, and her ankles and wrists are tied.
Shackled, actually. She stretches her limbs and feels links of metal. Smells paint and hard plastic. She blinks, and there's a line of light near the ground. A door?
She kicks out, hits solid wood. Kicks again, and yells. Her throat feels sore, her tongue a little fuzzy. She's been drugged recently.
Outside, footsteps. A shadow flicking through the light.
Justine crouches back, and the door opens. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the light, and that's when she recognizes the intruder.
"You're fucking kidding me," she says.
He smiles, a tight curve of his mouth. Then he raises a syringe, taps it.
Justine wants to fight him off, but her reflexes are still slow from the first round.
As she slumps against the wall, she doesn't even manage a scream.
*
This is the way things happen for a week. Maybe two. She loses count, between the dark and the drugs.
Sometimes when she wakes up, the bare light bulb on the ceiling is lit, and there's a paper plate by the door. A sandwich, or sometimes a slice of pizza. If she's lucky, it'll still be warm.
A bottle of water, which she drains, slow gulp after gulp. Again, if she's lucky, her waste bucket will be emptied.
She thinks Wesley is drugging the food, because she usually falls asleep after she's done with her meal. Or maybe she's just tired.
There isn't much to do, not in here.
*
One day, or maybe night, Justine wakes with a clear head. She blinks, wipes her eyes with her jacket, as best she can while shackled.
The light is on, and the air is cleaner. The air is--
The door is open, and Wesley is standing just outside of it.
Justine lunges forward, knowing it's stupid even as she falls. Her shoulder slams into the floor, and she ends up sprawled, still halfway in the closet.
Wesley doesn't even twitch.
"Fuck," she groans. She rolls onto her belly, and manages to rise, kneel. She stares up at him, and he's smiling again. "What do you want?"
Wesley crouches, swift enough to startle her. He doesn't touch her, but there's a knife in his hand. He grips it, his demeanor casual.
Justine stays frozen and waits. She knows what he wants. Who he wants.
When he finally asks the question, she spits in his face.
Going back to her cage is almost worth it.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Jan Bottiglieri's One Could Have a Cape Made Entirely of Buttons. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.