bakerstreet | In these volatile times, we stick close.

In these volatile times, we stick close.

the mutual captivity dependency (romance) meme

No matter how hard you fought, how subtly or overtly you rebelled, or how many times you tried to escape, you ended up at this point all the same: you're a prisoner. Perhaps you're just a regular, run of the mill captive, perhaps a hostage, a science experience, a weapon to be used, yet, no matter what, you're not free.

But you're also not alone.

There's someone else confined along with you, who you met through your mutual imprisonment. The only thing you two may have in common is that you're both trapped here - and that's enough. The two of you grow close (it seems you're closer to them than you've ever been to anyone, but that could just be the situation); soon, something begins to start between you, tiny and delicate. You can't speak to what that something is, not in a place like this, but you know you want it to last. They are another reason to keep going.

Captivity, of course, has a way of stripping everything from you, including reasons to live. Surely, it is only a matter of time before this small - and still somehow world encompassing - comfort is taken from you...

...no. Not this time. They've taken all you have, right down to your freedom, and it stops now. You won't let the person who's become most precious to you in this hell be stolen away.

No matter what.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character and preferences. Are you open to AUs and assumed CR? What are your limits? Given the subject of the meme, there's likely to be triggering material here. Do you prefer very dark fare or a light at the end of the tunnel scenario?
There's one prompt that could be smut, but feel free to play it in others if you're open to it. However, I'm going to be posting this as a smut meme on TLH later this week.
Reply to others. RNG.

PROMPTS

Prisoner of War: Who's side were you on? Or were you just an innocent civilian caught in the mire?

Hostage: Take heart. You're worth more alive than dead.

Scientific Experiment: What an interesting specimen you are. You will have to be tested.

False Charges: One or both of you are here because of lies told against you; eventually, though, you may begin to believe that your worth is truly that low.

Do the Dirty Work: Your powers are useful, maybe even enough to use you as an unwilling assassin.

For Different Reasons: You're imprisoned for different reasons, and you still draw close. After all, does it matter when you're both stuck?

Most Unforgivable Sin: One of you is a prisoner in the most basic of senses: hostage, slave, what have you. The other? Well, it's much more complicated. The other is a person forced against their will to be a lover, spouse, or sex slave of those in charge. What if that other does find someone they actually love? It could cost you both your heads.

Equalized: Maybe you were in different social strata before, but now, you're both common dirt.

Should Be in Charge: One of you has a higher ranking in the system. Will you use your power to manipulate them or to skew things in their favor.

Beneficial: You both have something the other wants. It's a mutually beneficial set-up, and that's all it needs to be. At least, that's how it starts.

Love at First Sight: You never thought you'd see someone like them here, and maybe it's because you've been cut off for some long, but you're feeling so smitten, even if that's usually not you.

Needy: You're not cut out for this. Almost immediately, you reach out for anyone who can offer to take you under their wing.

Won't Fall: To you, it's all to keep yourself sane. You won't actually fall in love, not in a million years.

Traumatized: It's hard to care for someone so broken, someone who's seen such terrible things, but you do it anyway.

Brainwashed: Before you met them, you never doubted your masters. But now...

Flower of Hell: Such a beautiful ray of light should not belong here in this darkness. Cruelty will snuff if out. You don't want that to happen.

Kindness: They showed you an unprecedented act of charity and selflessness. You feel drawn to them.

Tend to Wounds: It's easy to get hurt while captive. At least you don't have to wait for your wardens to fix you up. You have someone kind or dedicated enough to tend to you and you alone.

Anything to Protect You: They can't protect themselves, so you'll do it for them in any way you can.

Using Them: Really, you don't care for them. You just want their protection and their help. At least, that's what you keep thinking.

Burned Before: You had another prisoner before that you loved, and they were sent away or killed. You want let down your guard again.

Human Contact: You've been deprived for so long, you crave any attention.

Can't Touch: You're in cells, kept apart. You can never touch.

Barely See You: There kept away from you and everyone else for most of the day, but you still have feelings for them.

Separate: They're to be taken away, perhaps even to another outpost. What will you do?

Frustration: How long has it been since you've been with someone? You may take any opportunity to get some privacy.

Have Hope: You don't want your partner to lose faith, so despite your own beliefs, you'll stay positive.

Promises: You keep telling them things, swearing that you'll follow through and you'll both be okay. Inside, a part of you may fear it's all hollow words.

Escape: You're going to leave, but not without them.

Punishment: For your crimes, both of you will be punished. How much will your affections mean then?

Forced to Torture: Not only does your closest person have to be tortured, but you're the one who has to do it.

All a Sham: The truth is out. They were only playing you. In fact, they may

Turncoats: Your captors have pitted you against each other.

Fight: You may argue or even come to blows, yet soon enough, you'll be wanting to forgive and forget because there's no one else to look out for you.

Jealousy: They're all you have here, so you're not inclined to share.

Taken by Another: Someone else captured here with you all saw what you had and decided they would steal away your significant other.

Know How to Break You: Your tormenters know they can't hurt you with torture, but if they hurt the one you care for? That's another story.

Death: There's no need for prisoners who won't keep on the straight and narrow. You've pushed the envelope too many times, and now, execution is the easiest option for your captors.

Finally Free: The two of you have finally made it out alive. Suddenly, in the light of day, things seem different. Was all of this, all of these feelings...were they true or out of some desperate need?

WILDCARD

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She's lost track of the time. For Maria that's disturbing in a way the blank walls and small room will never be. But she finally has to admit it, she's lost track of how long she's been here. They run the lights at odd times, sporadic intervules for disjointed periods of time and she knows they do it just to mess with her sense of time. It doesn't mean that waking up in the dark, cheek against the concrete floor, and realizing she doesn't know whether its day or night in her natural time zone doesn't alarm and then piss her off. She doesn't have control of very much at all in this place, losing her control of time has her locking her jaw down in frustration.

She's been here long enough for her arm to mostly heal and the burns and gouges she got when the base was stormed, when things went to hell, they're gone. She wasn't exactly surprised when the attack came. What was left of what had once been SHIELD had been striped down to bare bones and no one had seen an Avenger for over a year. What had surprised her was waking up alive after it - and the fact she'd been kept alive since then. The interrogation was too route to be the real reason and for the past - two? weeks they hadn't even bothered with that. She'd guess she was a hostage, except she didn't have enough value for that, or bait, but there was no one left to come to the rescue and again, she didn't have enough value for that. So they were waiting for something and she was annoyed that she couldn't figure out what it was. It was easier to stay annoyed then to give in to the other emotions that muted in the back of her head and chest.

And then she heard the scrape of metal and went very very still where she was laying in the corner of the room. The trap door. Her room was metal walls. She'd gone over every inch of it. Metals walls, the door her food passed through the slot of and they sometimes took her out by - and the trap door. Inset in the wall. She'd tested it, broken the skin on her fingers on it in fact and surmised that it didn't open from her side at least and that it didn't lead to a room beyond if the tapping she'd done had been sound. It was the ending of some kind of small passage, something she would have had to crawl to get through and that - that had frightened her before she'd gotten angry at herself for being scared of monsters in closets. Because anything that had to crawl to get in was automatically the stuff of nightmares and her mind was happy, in the dark, to provide all kinds of ridiculous, and truly terrifying, imagines of what might one day crawl through that door if it ever opened. Except it hadn't and Maria had convinced herself that it wouldn't.

But here, in the cold dark, it finally had. She swallowed against a dry throat and locked her teeth together tight. Her eyes were useless in the utter pitch of the room but there was nothing wrong with her ears and this close to the floor, the echoes from the metal floor would bounce less. There was no way she'd get over to the door fast enough or quietly enough to catch whatever was coming through off guard. Her arm wasn't very strong yet but the other worked just fine and she told herself that would be enough. She hadn't broken yet. She wasn't going to let whatever they let through that door win. Very still, breathing shallow in the dark, she stayed, tense and waiting.

What came through the trapdoor and into Maria's cell, into the dark and cold wasn't human and didn't have to crawl, though it did have to keep its head lowered.

In the bad light it was probably easier to hear the click of claws on the floor than to see the tawny - and not at all wolf colored - fur, but what little light there was, was caught and reflected back by a pair of animal eyes. The rest of him - and his condition - was obscured by the darkness.

He padded into the room with a low growl caught in his throat, half-mad, half-starved and stalking - and followed the sound of her breathing and heart, even her scent, directly toward her.

She hadn't seen an Avenger in a year, but she was about to find out where one of them had gone.

Edited 2016-05-16 13:26 (UTC)

The click of the nails on metal was warning enough but the growl sealed it and for just a second, as her heart froze up in her chest, Maria wasn't sure if she was relieved or not. Animal. They'd set some kind of animal on her. Which was stupid to be relieved over but - her mind could come up with some pretty horrific things and an animal was tame by comparison. Which didn't mean it couldn't still kill her.

Not a bear. That would have been too big to fit through at full size. So a large cat or feral dog. Wolf maybe or coyote. She wasn't an expert but she thought it sounded canine, the click of the claws, the lack of scream in the growl and she rolled quickly to her feet, mind scrambling through facts to find the right ones, keeping the wall at her back. Playing dead was a bad idea with feral dogs. Don't look like prey. Look like too much of a fight to be worth it. Except, logically, she couldn't imagine her captors sending in an animal that would just roll over. The irritation, at the drama of having a prisoner torn apart, at the excess waste of keeping her alive this whole time if this was the point, flared through her and she grabbed it. Better the anger than the fear the growl had rolled into her gut. Eyes narrow, watching what little movement she could see, she brought her hands in front of her, flexed them to get feeling back into the fingers of the right one. She wasn't super powered but she was no slouch in training either. Not being able to see was going to hinder her. So was the fact whatever it was had teeth five times the size of hers. Rolling up onto the balls of her feet she shifting into a fighting position.

"No." Her voice felt like sandpaper after all this time but it still held the authority she'd always had. Survival guides said to be loud and intimidating but Maria only knew that in the military sense and so she went with what she knew, hoping the tone conveyed more than the words. Telling herself it was better to sound ridiculous ordering a dog around than to be dead. "We are not doing this. Stand down, soldier. Now. That's an order."

She didn't know who Steve was, but he recognized her voice.

Even after the past year.

He also had a pretty goddamned good idea what the plan was, and had known a lot more clearly before his mind had been further compromised by the transformation.

Him recognizing her voice was likely not part of the plan.

Him slowing his stalking approaching, then stopping and giving a soft, soft whine definitely wasn't. After that singular pause and soft whine, though, he was walking toward her again. This time much, much more slowly and with his head lower.

She heard the click of the nails slow and then stop. She heard the whine. And she heard the click of nails again, slower this time. Dog then. And... that didn't make sense. Those weren't hunting or hungry sounds. In the dark her eyes narrowed but her hands didn't lower from their defense either.

They'd put a dog in with her. Dogs could be cunning but faking non-aggressive sounds? She wasn't aware of that. Why would they put her in with a dog that wasn't aggressive? The clicks toward her were slow, too slow to charging, too measured to be stalking. Why would they put a dog -

No.

"Steve?" It's a literal guess in the dark. Because - no. No, he'd disappeared but intel had said - no, it couldn't be. She was going to get her throat ripped out. But - careful she sank down to her heels, annoyed all over again by how bad her eyesight was in the dark. Hunting wolves wouldn't whine surely? Hesitant she offered her hand, the bad one she could afford to lose. "Steve, is that you?"

He stops just out of reach for her, sniffs the hand and then slides down to the ground and crawls the rest of the way to her, because he knows how to be non-threatening, dammit. He's still not exactly 'Steve', not fully in his right mind, but he is aware enough to not make himself an enormous threat.

He stops with his head all but in her lap, thumps his tail against the floor s some kind of greeting and then just - lays there. He's starving. He doesn't have limitless options, and now he has fewer.

Especially since they'll have a hell of a time getting him out again, or even getting food in to her, really.

For now though, it's just him, on the ground, with his eyes closed against her.

Her fingers tingle and its very hard not to snatch her hand back when she feels the wuff of his exhales against them. She can almost feel the pain of the bite that will take her hand off. But she holds her hand still, because she's still Maria Hill, God damn it, and she doesn't flinch when the hard things come.

Except something in her almost does, something in her chest that aches suddenly and hurts when he sinks down and literally crawls to her. Her knees hit the floor and she's leaning down into him and wrapping her arms around him in the next heartbeat and maybe if he'd been in human form she wouldn't have been so, for her, effusive but:

"Steve," its exhaled into his fur and her fingers wind into that thickness as she wraps her body down and over him. She more glad to 'see' him than is probably healthy and its entirely selfish to take comfort but her chest is so tight its probably the closest she's been to tears in over a decade. "Oh God, Steve."

He wriggled and pressed in closer so he could lick her chin, wagged his tail a couple of more times but when he settled curled around and under her, he did it with a heavy, very tired sounding sigh.

He smelled vaguely musty, his fur was shedding in handfuls and she was going to be covered in the stuff, and his bones were overly prominent through the fur, but he was so, so glad to see her -

and yet so, so sorry.

He whined again, nudged at her but mostly just works to get her comfortable and make sure she's warm. Best he can do until the night's over, unfortunately. That and not taking a piece out of her.

She feels like laughing. And crying. And she does neither because that's not who she is. But his licks draw a sound out of her throat that's a muffled hint of both and she rubs her face in his fur even if she has to wipe her lips and nose afterward. She's been strong, the entire time she's been here. And before. But the sudden intrusion of something familiar and welcome is a hard blow to refuse and her arms don't unwind from around him. Already she's aware that she's not willing to part with him, that she's not going to let them take him away from her and she suspects that's something they might have intended. If they didn't intend for him to eat her instead. But she'll - they'll - deal with that later.

Now however her hands on him are starting to pick out the way his bones stand prominent under his fur coat and the way the fur doesn't feel as soft and thick as she remembers it. Even as she folds her legs under them both and settles down, grateful for the warmth he's sharing with her, her lips are tightening as her brows come together, fingers carefully searching. They've been starving him? While they haven't exactly been generous with her food they have at least been consistent but that hasn't been his treatment apparently and she wonders if they really did mean for him to eat her. It's a thought that takes on a more twisted bent when you realize a grown wolf couldn't have eaten her entirely in one sitting and its possible enough of her would have been left to identify the next morning when he -

It makes her angry. More angry than she's managed to be on her own this entire time so far but being angry isn't going to help him. Not yet. She keeps one arm around him but reaches with her good one. They always serve her once. She always halves the food and saves it. Because they're as inconsistent with the food service as they are with the light. It's not much but:

"I've got a little water. Some bread and - bean paste mash thing. It's not much but if you eat it slow it might help a little."

Steve would have a lot more feelings about this in the morning, include profound relief that he didn't wake up to the sight of her mangled corpse and the realization that the meal he had was someone who had been his friend.

He'd also be feeling a whole lot more concern about her being here and frustration at trying to find a way to get her out. HIm here, he could take. Her? Not so much. Not because she was anything but terrifyingly competent but because he cared about her - and maybe because she was terrifyingly competent, actually.

He didn't seem - and wasn't - interested in moving away from her to eat. He was starving, yes, but in a literal rather than metaphorical sense. Which was to say he was pretty well used to it and he was a lot more interested in the comfort of contact with a safe and familiar person than leaving her to eat.

He almost pointedly snuggled down and into her, closed his eyes and honestly? Ignored the hell out of her in favor of making sure she stayed warm and dozing where he could feel and smell her - and hear her heart.

She'd forgotten what a ridiculously heavy fur rug he could make of himself when he wanted to and the sideways look she shoots him in the dark is dry. Even half starved he's still a big wolf and her legs - most of her in fact - isn't going anywhere with him lying that way.

She can't even find it annoying. Not when its possibly the most reassuring thing she's ever felt in her life. She's - not used to people hanging on to her. It has her throat going tight again and she tells herself its just because she's been here too long and she's worn out and worn thin.

"Fine," she gives in without the fight she probably should give him and shifts back, curling so she can lay forward over the top of him with her torso, arms curling, resting her cheek against him and shutting her eyes. "I wasn't sure how I was going to get you to drink the bottled water anyway." Despite the loose fur and the closed in scent of him, she buries her face in him again and her arms tighten, just a little. His warmth is wonderful in the metal room they usually keep just chilly enough to be uncomfortable but his weight pinning her down feels even better and she thinks maybe, just for a little while, she can really sleep. "First thing tomorrow though. No arguments."

He thumped his tail against her leg, huffed a breath in her ear, all of which were designed to indicate agreement. Yeah, sure, he wouldn't argue about at least drinking and eating a little tomorrow. For tonight, though, all he wanted was companionship. She was providing that, and it was far more important to him than anything as silly as food, water, or sleep.

He did sleep, though, once she was settled and seemingly comfortable. He was tired enough to need it and her breath in his fur lulled him quite a lot. It lulls him even more when she's asleep and it's deeper and more even.

He stays asleep until morning, at which point just before the sun appears over the horizon he moves away from her. It isn't a desperate scramble, though his movements are heavy and somewhat less than graceful. Once he's in the far corner of the room his body convulses, breaks, and reforms into one without fur.

Also without clothes, because they didn't send him in with those.

Sorry, Maria.

If Maria had thought herself capable of it, she would have thought she fell in love with all those little doggish gestures of his. As it was, they simply sank deep into the hollow of her chest like quiet weights dropped in a deep pond and for the first time in much longer than she'd been a prisoner, she actually slept soundly. Warm and safe and - cared for and it was hard to tell which of the three was stranger.

When he moves away, she wakes up but it's loggy and her head feels thick. While she lets him go, her fingers trail on him when he leaves. Sleeping deep is unusual enough and it takes her mind a long moment to catch and start firing again. And when it does though, she sits up sharply enough to make her eyesight go black for a moment, remembering where she is, where they are and why his not being in arm's range is bad. Her eyes clear just in time to see the first shiver of fur and changing skin go over him and realize what's happening.

She's curious, she's not so far gone that she's lost that, but it also seems intrusive and so she turns and shifts over to get the bottle of water instead of watching. She remembers screaming the first time he changed, his, not hers and she's not sure if the fact he's silent is something positive. But the time she's worked feeling back into her fingers and gotten to her feet, he's done. If anyone told her how often she'd get to see a naked Steve Rogers when she'd first met him, she'd question their sanity. And their interest in the fact. She settles down in a crouch next to him, just a little at his back as if she's guarding it somehow, and rests a hand very lightly on his back. Her voice is still a little scratchy but its gentle too.

"I guess you really don't have anything that sparkles." She offers the half bottle of water with her other hand. "Only drink half."

Steve managed to get himself onto his side and sitting - and sitting in a position that at least left a little to the imagination, though not very much, and reached out to take the bottle.

Then, thirsty and distressed by her presence as he was he frowned. "Sparkle?" He was hoarse, he was cold, he was still in some pain, but he was also Steve.

Hoarse or not, it startles her how good it is to hear his voice and her hand stays on his back, helping when he needs a little nudge of balance, simply something solid for him when he doesn't. Her body shifts too, minutely. Again, support should he need it, one long leg coming up to bracket him, just a little on one side. Maria isn't a touchy person. Her childhood was devoid of it and she never had any reason to change that in her adult life either. But the desire to put an arm around him, lean into him or give him something to lean into is surprisingly strong and she blames it on her lack of any kind of friendly contact for so long. That and - it's Steve. Even in furred form there aren't many people she would have curled around to sleep with.

Any people. But Steve. Because - he's Steve and she's not going to try to explain that one any deeper. Her eyes pretend to stay fixed on his face and drift over him instead, taking in prominent ribs and checking for damage.

"Well, a Stark did help with your serum. And they do like to make things flashy."

Steve didn't need help with his balance for long, even in his state. He didn't shrug off or evade the touch though. He wasn't the touchiest of people by socialization, either, but my god had the wolf and the past few months broken that down. He appreciated the, excuse the qualifier, human touch.

He stays where he is, basically and then gives a low, soft, laugh. "Yeah, I guess I should be lucky I didn't end up with chrome somewhere." He's basically mentioning a reference or two in there but doesn't feel like digging it out.

As for damage - not really. General 'neglect' but he's in one piece and he does still heal. He just needs more calories than he's been getting. He's also checking her for damage in both appearance and how she moves. Finally gives it up and just asks: "You in one piece?"

Her eyes come back when he gives that quiet laugh, focusing on his face with a hint of surprie - before all the tight angles and lean lines of her face seem to soften, just a little, and the tension around her eyes and in her shoulders relaxes that same small amount. Even the edges of her lips soften enough to curve at their very edges and she silently exhales something that seems to carry weight.

She wasn't sure he still had that in him. She wasn't sure she did either.

Her hand shifts, slow, and her fingertips touch the beard against his jaw, one edge of her mouth curling, just a little more, enough to curve her eyes a little. She's never seen him with even the hint of stubble, much less a beard, but the way her fingers brush it before she pulls her hand back says its not a bad thing. Not that he probably had a choice in it...

"Right hand's still a little damaged. The arm's still weak." She gives the report because it might effect any escape or defense attempts they use later. The rest are almost gone bruises and cuts because its been a while since anyone's bothered interrogate her and now she thinks she knows why. "Otherwise, I'm in one piece." Her brows come down a little. "Do you think you can eat a little?"

He's surprised by the touch to his face, but it makes him smile just a little. It also makes him say, "I could really use a razor. Seems like they don't want to let me have one. No idea why." Which is just as sarcastic as it comes, but since it's Steve, even in that there's no real bite to the words.

He listens to the rest, and gives a slight nod to show he understand what she's saying about her arm, files it away and makes a mental note. If they're going to try something, he'll compensate for that, as best he can and he knows damned well she will be working to compensate, too. Or ignoring it and damaging herself more and needing more medical attention on the other side.

Because that's Maria.

"I probably can, but I'd rather wait a little longer. I'm still working off what the meal was supposed to be." Which was to say her, and was further to say he'd like to keep whatever he put in his stomach. Otherwise, it was just an incredible waste.

because that's Maria pretty much sums her up entirely and if she knew that he knew her so well she'd be surprised - and surprised to find that a reassuring thing. Instead the quirk in her lips comes back again at his sarcasm and she makes a sound in her throat that would be a hum except for the little jump in it that makes it almost sound like a laugh.

It's a little alarming, how very glad she is that he's here. She's not used to relying on anyone but herself for anything, even comfort, companionship or reassurance. Which she'd all trade away in an instant if it meant he didn't have to be here. Except she knows that's pointless thinking.

The skin around her eyes tightens at the next part though and her lips thin for a second. Its not a reaction at the thought of being a meal, because that would have been over quickly for her but rather at what they'd tried to do to him. Tried to make him do. Physical wounds are one thing and Maria can forgive those. Wounds created specifically to be mental or emotional though... that's not war. That's cruelty. Maria has a very strong knee jerk reaction to cruelty. She's got questions she wants to ask him, how long he's been here, what they've done but - instead she settles a bit more against him, hip coming to rest against his, body angling just a little more, a subtle closeness that doesn't crowd, that's just there. She offers her hand, for a touch, a hold, whatever he wants it for or nothing at all. Because if he knows her, maybe she knows him at least a little too and what he could have done - what that would have done to him - the thought of it even though it didn't happen still lodged in his gut -

"I'm here." It's low but firm. Unwavering. "Nothing happened. You made sure nothing happened." A pause and then, because its them and they have an odd understanding on what's serious. "All you did was shed all over me."

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In these volatile times, we stick close.

'mush all the numbers together and make it up as we go' choice

ALL THE NUMBERS

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