Romancing the Pain - Part 25
Title: Romancing the Pain
Rating: NC-17 (for those of you thinking there’s smut, there isn’t. Instead, you get a boatload of very graphically written gore so uh, if you think you’re gonna toss your cookies, skim read ok?)
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Summary: Post episode 104 as well as my last fic, Come Back to Me. It’s basically its sequel; the events that occur after Silvia was released from the hospital.
A/N: For mmm_kekse; the lil’ stud muffin who is insanely impatient at waiting for updates and loves QT. Dude, this is for you. I know there is one scene in here that you’ll just LOVE. *grins* Also, this is the second last chapter. Yeah, you heard right. Second last. Thank gods too; I am so majorly busy that sleeping is getting to be too hard to do! I wanna thank of you who read and comment; I can’t say enough just how much I appreciate y’all telling me what you think. So thank you again.
ROMANCING THE PAIN - Part 25
Silvia took a tentative step into the tunnel, the darkness immediately shrouding her lithe frame, save for the feeble yellow light that danced eerie, distorted shadows over the redhead’s face. Silvia took another step, willing her knees not to buckle. The grip she had on her gun had taken on a painful degree; her sprained shoulder throbbed; muscles and abused tendons screaming out their discomfort at being forced to work. Silvia paid her pain no attention; too focused she was on training the gun on El Gordo’s head. El Gordo. Who was currently holding Pepa in a disturbingly intimate embrace; his front was plastered too closely to Pepa’s back. Who was holding a hunting knife to the vulnerably soft skin of Pepa’s throat.
A primal rage surged through Silvia’s entire being, inflaming her soul. For Silvia, the hatred she had for this man standing in front of her had begun to simmer long before her wedding day. She had managed to block most of it out, erase its residual fingers from her consciousness but it was still within her; growing like a parasite that leeched her of her sensibility and rationalization. Standing in front of El Gordo, finally seeing him face to face, with him smirking at her in that gods be damned cocky manner, set off an emotion in Silvia that she did not think herself capable of feeling. It went beyond hatred. Beyond rage. The redhead did not just want to kill him. She needed to kill him. Slowly.
A growl so unbecoming of the forensics inspector erupted from her throat and Silvia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She boldly took a step forward, faltering only when the Italian pressed the blade warningly into Pepa’s throat. His action elicited a thin line of red to appear on the brunette’s all too pale skin. Consequently, his action also only served to increase Silvia’s fury; the redhead’s body went taut with tension and her vision blurred so red that she was half-afraid of going blind from its intensity.
“Let her go.” Silvia voice was low and threatening as she had ever heard it. She kept the gun trained on El Gordo, intent on shooting him dead.
El Gordo only smiled at Silvia, a twisted smile that would have made grown men cringe at what it implied. Silvia however, remained impassive and unfazed, so immersed she was in her overwhelming anger. “I don’t think so,” the Italian began in an amiable tone. “Take another step and I’ll slash her throat open.” To emphasize his warning he pressed the blade further into Pepa’s throat; a thicker streak of ruby red speckled across pale skin and clung to the edge of the blade. Pepa for her part flinched at the sudden onslaught of pain but kept silent.
“You son of a bitch,” Silvia spat out. She remained rooted to the spot, knowing that El Gordo was serious in his threat.
El Gordo only smiled in response. “Drop the gun, Inspector Castro,” he instructed in a bored tone. His smile widened when Silvia complied with no hesitation. “That’s a good girl,” he cooed sickly.
Silvia grounded her teeth together as she mentally assessed the situation. Much as she detested the truth, she had to admit El Gordo had the upper hand. Nevertheless, the redhead was not about to be easily defeated. She leveled a glare at the Italian; if looks could have killed, the man would have been six feet under. Instead, the oppressive sound of silence hovered over them like a silent referee as both parties contemplated their standoff.
Silvia involuntarily flinched when El Gordo spoke. Immediately she regretted her outward display of emotion when he smirked in triumph. Silvia curled her lips into a snarl in response, getting increasingly infuriated when El Gordo’s smirk widened.
“You know, Inspector Castro, you getting shot in the stomach on your wedding day was not a coincidental shot.” He grinned. “My Intel stated that you got shot in the same area before. So I thought it’d be,” he paused, searching for a word. “Poetic,” he finished, licking his lips as if the word were a rare savory wine.
“FUCK YOU!” Pepa screamed out; her sudden outburst after being seemingly docile and somewhat unconscious startled even El Gordo. He unconsciously loosened his grip and that was all it took. Both women reacted to that millisecond window of opportunity: Pepa grabbed the wrist holding the knife and promptly twisted; bone cracked under the pressure as the knife dropped harmlessly to the ground. Silvia whipped out the pocketknife, swung it open and threw it; it flew through the air and embedded itself into El Gordo’s right eye.
The Italian screamed; a high-pitched noise that bordered on unnatural and would have made dogs cower in their kennels. Whether he screamed from the excruciating pain radiating like white-hot heat from his damaged eye or from his obviously broken wrist, whose skin was already beginning to color and bruise over the broken bones, neither women knew nor cared.
Pepa stumbled away from El Gordo and threw herself into Silvia’s arms. She began to sob as her wife’s scent engulfed her, centering her tortured soul and soothing nerves shot to hell from her self-induced estrangement from the redhead and the abduction.
Silvia felt her own eyes sting with tears as she held Pepa. She drew the taller woman into her, fingers both caressing and checking Pepa for seemingly endless injuries. As the pads of her fingers drifted down Pepa’s back, the brunette flinched and shied away. “Que?” Silvia inquired worriedly. “Pepa?”
Pepa did not have time to answer as a shot rang out; both women separated and ducked in opposite directions. El Gordo, knife still sticking out of his eye socket, was holding Silvia’s discarded gun in front of him. Luckily, for both women, his damaged vision rendered his aim askew. Silvia reacted and spun around red hair swinging around like a fiery red halo, especially when its copper tones caught the beams of the yellow light. She promptly kicked the gun out of the man’s hand; it skittered off into the darkness.
The primal rage building within Silvia exploded with a force akin to pouring gasoline onto an already roaring fire. She threw a punch to his face, splitting open his lip. Before the Italian could even process the punch, Silvia reached up to grab the handle of the knife still planted in his eye socket and twisted it before sinking the blade deeper. She twisted it back before viciously wrenching it out; pieces of the damaged organ decorated the tip of the blade whilst ligaments and muscles flopped out only to dangle out of the eye socket.
El Gordo screamed in unbearable pain as he cupped his damaged eye. Blood dribbled out of the empty socket, staining a path down his cheek.
“How does that feel, you sick fuck?” Silvia snarled. The redhead was incensed; her blood boiled so hot in her veins it almost hurt. She jammed the knife into El Gordo’s shoulder, ironically mimicking the man’s action when he had tortured Pepa during one of their “sessions”. Silvia again twisted the knife, making sure to shred muscles before yanking the blade back out. She flipped the knife around and slammed the handle of it into El Gordo’s face. She watched in feral pleasure as the cartilage and bone of his nose gave way under the blunt force and blood sputtered out from both nostrils.
“Did you enjoy torturing my wife?” Silvia taunted as she backhanded him; her hand tingling from the force. More blood erupted from broken skin on El Gordo’s already split lips. “Did you enjoy making her bleed?” Another punch. “Putting her in agonizing pain?” A knee to the stomach. “Sending those fuckin’ pictures to torment me?!” Silvia’s knee snapped upward under El Gordo’s chin, causing his head to jerk up before bouncing back down painfully. “TELL ME!” Silvia yelled, delivering a roundhouse kick to his ribs, feeling a few bones cave under her boot.
El Gordo dropped to his knees, the pain searing through his veins and coating his nerves rendering him unable to stand. Weakly he tried to throw a punch, only to have Silvia easily grab his wrist and slam the knife up to its hilt into his palm. The action, aided by the force of gravity, pinned the man’s hand to the wall behind him with a sickening crunch as bones were shattered. His roar of pain echoed off the tunnel walls.
Silvia was beyond caring about protocol, about rules. All she wanted was to make this man hurt. She slammed the heel of her boot to the side of his head so hard that the impact reverberated up her leg. Blood began trickling out of El Gordo’s ear and he moaned weakly. She grabbed his hair and yanked back his head, sending a forceful strike to his now exposed throat using the side of her palm. He choked and spluttered like a dying car, the strike momentarily closing up his air passage.
“Stop,” El Gordo wheezed. He tried to shift away from Silvia, failing miserably when Silvia’s fist connected with his jaw. “Por favor,” he begged, his voice a mere hoarse whisper.
Silvia barked out a laugh that sent a shiver down the Italian’s spine. “Stop?” she repeated incredulously. She kicked El Gordo into the stomach, forcing him to double over as much as he could with his hand nailed to the wall by the knife. “Did you stop when Pepa told you to?” Another kick to the stomach. “Did you stop when she said please?” She threw a vicious uppercut under his jaw, sending his head smacking backwards into the wall. “Did you?!” Another punch.
A shot echoed clearly throughout the tunnel. Silvia’s brows creased in confusion as El Gordo went rigid before he slumped forward. Silvia caught a slow stream of blood oozing from the side of his left temple and turned his head to see a small bullet entry wound. She glanced up, into Pepa’s troubled eyes. Pepa who was holding a still smoking gun in her shaking fingers.
The reality of her actions suddenly hit Silvia like a ton of bricks. She backed away from El Gordo’s slumped and damaged body, stumbling in her haste to put distance between her and the now dead Italian. She stopped only when her back painfully hit the opposite wall of the tunnel.
“Oh my gods,” Silvia muttered. A terrifying chill began to encompass the redhead, cocooning her body in its unforgiving embrace and freezing the blood in her veins. She spared a glance at El Gordo, taking in what she had done to him with a single sweep of her eyes. “Oh my gods,” Silvia repeated. She felt sick; her stomach began to hurt. It hurt so bad, the pain banging on her stomach walls that Silvia drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
Pepa, teetering dangerously into shock and unconsciousness, fought to stay awake. She had been rendered frozen, paralyzed to the spot, unable to believe what her eyes were showing her. Silvia. Her wife. Torturing El Gordo with as much cruelty as she had been tortured. Pepa found herself unable to move, unable to comprehend the visions her eyes were sending her brain. It was only when El Gordo spoke that Pepa had been able to break free of her paralysis. She had frantically begun to look for the discarded gun, fighting off bouts of unconsciousness and nausea every time her brain managed to process what Silvia was doing. The brunette had never been more grateful to feel the cool metal handle of a gun when her fingers finally came into contact with the weapon. She had willed herself a last droplet of strength and concentration as she aimed the gun at the Italian’s head. Praying her shot to be true, Pepa had pulled the trigger; its backlash causing the normally steady agent to fall backwards due to her condition.
Now watching Silvia finally being smacked in the face with what she had done to El Gordo, broke Pepa’s heart. She felt tears cloud her eyes as she watched her wife hunch against the tunnel wall, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking backwards and forwards. Her throat constricted when Silvia locked eyes with her, eyes that were colored over with such overwhelming remorse and self-disgust that Pepa felt the vice around her heart tighten immeasurably. She stumbled over to Silvia and dropped to her knees in front of the redhead.
“Princesa,” Pepa murmured, reaching up a shaking hand to touch Silvia’s cheek. Her heart lodged itself in her throat when Silvia flinched. Pepa retracted her touch, hating herself for giving up so easily but she was too tired. Pepa sat back on her haunches, opposite Silvia but maintaining a small distance. For the first time, Pepa was able to take stock of Silvia’s injuries; her eyebrows crunched in worry when she spotted the red-stained piece of shirt tied around Silvia’s shoulder. However before she could reach out to inspect it, movement from the right caused Pepa to spin around, gun poised in front of her.
“Pepa!” Paco’s voice echoed as he ran towards her, face creased with worry and dotted with sweat. He was limping, a bandanna speckled red, tied around his thigh. “Leader 1 to base! Leader 1 to base! I found them. Repeat, the targets have been found.” Paco barked into the mouthpiece as he slowed to a jog. “I need a medic and an ambulance prepped stat! Send in the backup team for evacuation.” Paco came to a screeching halt in front of both women. He could not speak as he stared at the state they were both in. Paco thrust out his gun in front of him as figures appeared from the other end of the tunnel.
“Silvia!” Thundering boots from Pepa’s left came in the guise of Curtis and Rita. Both were sporting bruises and cuts but otherwise unharmed. Paco lowered his gun, nodding to them in greeting. Both agents stopped in front of the women, flanking them, also unable to speak as they assessed their bruised and battered bodies.
Pepa took this as cue to give in to her body’s demands. She managed a watery smile at Paco, conveyed her undying love to Silvia through an intense look into the redhead’s eyes and promptly released her grip on consciousness, tumbling forward and into Silvia’s arms.
A/N 2: Yes, it’s the second last chapter; that was no joke. I know, with this ending it seems like there should be a few more chapters but...ah you’ll see with the last chapter. *smiles*