Chapter Text
The cabin was dimly lit from within, every window, door and crack in the walls lovingly secured to banish the sunlight. There was no sound from outside, only the gentle whirring of the fan in the corner of the room.
Vaas sat on a chair in the middle of the floor, hands tied behind his back, feet tied to the chair’s legs. He was coming up from a deep fog of unconsciousness, a dull ache in the back of his head.
He opened his eyes, uncertain of his surroundings or anything beyond his own name.
He groaned.
There was movement if front of him.
_
She sat on the big leather couch, smoking and waiting. He was still out cold, but he groaned something incoherent a few times, so she expected him to wake any minute now.
She looked at Vaas in awe - beautiful, terrible man. He was so entirely broken, that she didn’t know what she wanted more - to tell him how much alike they were or to put him back together as best she could.
He shivered and moved his head. She didn’t bother sitting up for him - her legs were stretched out in front of her, one on top of the other, along the gaudy couch, her left arm draped along it’s back. She smoked.
“Uuugh,” He mumbled, “F-fuck…”
“Wakey wakey, ese,” She said softly.
He grunted again and lifted his head, trying to find the source of the voice.
_
At first he didn’t entirely understand what was happening. Where the fuck was he? Was he tied up? Is that a fucking woman smirking at him?
“What the fuck…” He tried to yell, but instead groaned and immediately scrunched his eyes shut, as a sharp pain filled his head, shooting behind his eyes.
“Careful, sweetheart, withdrawal’s a bitch. Plus I knocked you on the head pretty hard,” she took a long drag of her thin cigarette, “Sorry about that.”
His eyes still closed he took a few deep breaths and tried to speak softly.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Even in this state you can’t leave out the profanities, yes? Tisk, tisk.”
She stood up and moved to a coffee table between them, ground up her cigarette butt into the overflowing ashtray.
He followed her with his eyes as much as his blurry, painful vision would allow. She was lovely, but he didn’t know her. She was dressed in what seemed to be cotton pajamas, bare feet softly connecting with the wooden floor. He glimpsed a few tattoos all over her. She looked relaxed, not an ounce of stress or fear from such close proximity to him.
"Who are you?" He repeated, losing the swear this time, in hopes of getting answers quicker. Somehow, even through the dog of fearless insanity he knew not to antagonise her.
"I'm your new mistress," she said, leaning over the coffee table to look at him, smiling sweetly.
"The fuck do you…" he composed himself, " what do you mean? Untie me."
He struggled against his bonds, at the same time thinking of how he'd react to the exact same request from one of his prisoners.
"Maybe later," she said, straightening up, "if you're good."
She walked to the back of the room where the walls faded into darkness and he couldn’t make anything out. He didn’t know what she was doing, until a rectangle of light didn’t appear in front of him and he winced.
She disappeared into it and after a minute of absence and faint clinking came back with a tray in her hands. There was a pitcher of water and two tall glasses, and Vaas at once felt how patched he was. A small bowl contained a few apple and orange slices. She put the tray on the coffee table.
“Water,” He said.
She looked at him.
“And the magic word?”
“I will gut you like a fish, hermana,” He said, eyes intense on hers. To his surprise she laughed.
“So much work ahead of me…” She mumbled, filling the glasses with water. She took one and put it to his lips. He was looking at her with searing hatred and astonishment, still unable to understand how this girl got a hold of him. What happened?
He drank greedily, tipping his face, trying not to spill even a drop.
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of water,” she said, smiling at him, “Pace yourself.”
He gasped after draining the glass, a few drops sliding down his chin.
“More?” She asked.
He shook his head.
“Food.”
“In a minute, don’t want you to throw up. How are you feeling, any nausea?”
“What are you, a nun? What the fuck is happening, where am I?” He said rapidly, his ability to speak and think slowly returning after drinking.
“Don’t ask so many questions, you’re not in any position to call the shots, ese,” She said, settling back down on the couch, “And you should be thankful, for all intents and purposes you should be dead.”
Then he remembered. Jason, that chickenshit, shot him. He remembered the fight, the heat, the shot... The knife? And then - nothing. Darkness.
He looked at her, astonished.
“Starting to remember?”
He shook his head slowly, trying to ascertain at least something from her features. Citra's spy? But no, his sister wouldn’t leave him alive if she could have him dead.
He stared at her, trying to communicate as much of the hostility he felt through his gaze.
“Ok, you don’t remember. Should be expected. I knocked you out pretty good - again, sorry about that. I’ll get you some ice for the bump later.”
“So you gonna tell me what the fuck or what, chica?” He asked.
She only smiled, and her sweet expression infuriated him even more.
“Well, Jason Brody, our mutual friend, shot you pretty much point blank - and now everyone on the island thinks you’re dead. Quite touching really, they had a little ceremony for you and everything. “
“I don’t remember you on the list of merchandise,” he leered.
“Oh no, I wasn't in his initial party, if that’s what you mean. We met here on the island, while he was traipsing around thwarting your plans,” She chuckled, “You must hate it, not knowing who I am, yeah?”
“You have no fucking idea, chica. Enlighten me?” He said, trying to sound soft and persuasive.
“Maybe later,” She repeated, “Now, for why you’re here - simply because I want you. I like you, Vaas, you intrigue me - the terrible human being that you are. I know you weren’t always like that, crazy with bloodlust. It’s the drugs, the abuse. I know a thing or two about such… demons."
“What do you know about me, hermana? I never even saw you before.” He said, shifting in his bonds. His hands were starting to go numb.
“That’s what you think,” She smiled.
That threw him a bit and he tried to rake his mind - did he see her before? Who the fuck was this chica, damn it?
She gestured towards him.
“You stiff?”
“Guess.” He said.
“Oh,” She sighed, “Such a troubled mind.”
She got up, took a few sips of water from her glass and neared him. She looked down on him, her eyes soft and curious and he felt naked - something that never before made him uncomfortable. What was it about her that made him so weak? He screamed at his inner self, reminding himself of the ropes, tightly coiled around him - that was the source of his discomfort, not her.
He observed her every move carefully, trying to see something that would allow him escape. Something, that would put her in this chair and him over her, laughing and taunting.
“Don’t even think about it, cabron,” She said sweetly, and pulled the waistband of her pajama bottoms ever so slightly down.
He was about to scream and laugh at her, ask five questions, but then he saw what she reached for - in the waistband of her underwear a tiny, heavy pistol.
She took it out and put it to his temple.
“I like you, Vaas. I want you to be my friend. And I will be your friend, but only if you behave. You might think of escape, you might think I’m just a dumb chica way in over her head and you will outsmart and gut me in an hour - but think twice on that, cabron. This little guy here,” She cocked the gun and pressed the barrel closer to his skin, “Can blow your brains out so far it’ll look like I painted my walls. Don’t think that because I want you here I will hesitate to kill you if you disobey me.”
He stared, hatred bubbling inside him.
“Is that clear?” She asked, inclining her head. Her face was serene and kind, and he again noted, with even more anger, that she was lovely.
She nodded slightly, prompting him.
“Yes,” He gritted out.
“Good boy,” She said.
She kept the gun trained on him while undoing the ropes around his hands. Vaas tried to track her movements, but he still couldn’t fathom how she untied what felt to be one hell of a noose with one hand.
When his hands were free and he could finally stretch his wrists she moved to stand in front of him.
“Untie your legs." She commanded.
He did as he was told, hus hands barely obeying, all the time mumbling.
"You're in for a fucking treat, hermana, I tell you that. You think you can fucking just boss me around…"
"Spare me the commentary if you don't have anything intelligent to say, eh?" She said, unamused. He glared at her, trying to make her feel small.
He wasn’t tall, but he was well built and he knew his intimidation powers. She was only a little bit shorter than him, and smaller, and while he was able to frighten men twice his size into pissing themselves, she glared at him with unflinching superiority.
But the insanity and machismo wouldn’t let up easily. He looked at her, trying to seem as big as possible, and snarled:
“You don’t call the shots, hermana, no no. I will leave this fucking shack decorated with your fucking guts and go back to my business like nothing happened.”
He was going to say something else, but she laughed, that same easy sweetness on her face.
“You don’t call the shots anymore, cabron. You’re dead to the whole island. And if you think you can just show back up and they will all receive you with open arms - you’ve got another thing coming. The pirates are mostly dismantled, Jason is taking care of Hoyt - or so I hope. You have nowhere left to go.”
“You think I’ll be a fun houseguest, chica?” Vaas asked, stepping closer to her. She didn’t waver, nor did her gun.
“I think you need a shower,” She said, gesturing to a door behind them.
“Oh yes, yes, personal hygiene is very important to me,” He said, walking towards the bathroom. He stepped in and she clicked on the lights.
He turned to face her.
“You gonna join me?” He asked.
“Not today,” She said, “Get in.”
“So you’re just watching today?” He asked, pulling his tank top off.
“I’m supervising,” She laughed, “Don’t worry, your modesty is safe, the curtain is opaque.”
“You don’t trust me to walk three feet across a room, but trust me to wash behind a curtain?” He asked, getting into the shower and taking off the rest of his clothes hidden by the plastic. He threw the pants and underwear over the railing, realising that most of his head was still visible to her.
“What are you gonna do, drown me with a shower head?”
“That’s actually a better idea, I should try that,” He nodded and turned the water on.
“Not if you want another hole in your body, cabron.”
There was nothing in the shower he could use as a weapon against her - not a bottle of shampoo, not a lufa, not a toothbrush. An absolutely bare, functional room. He could of course yank the curtain down and shove it down the puta's throat, but she’d shoot him first. He was angry, but also tired, shaky and intrigued.
“So what’s your name, chica?” He asked, looking at her sideways from under the water. She didn't take her eyes off him, just in case, modestly not looking even at the curtain.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, if I’m to be your friend we should probably know such things about each other no?” He thrust his head under the shower and ruffled his spiky hair, “I can of course always just call you “bitch”. You like that?”
“Not particularly. I’ll think about it.”
He scoffed and kept washing, scrubbing the dirt, blood and sweat off his skin. He could barely stand upright, but he summoned all of his strength to do it.
“What are you on?” She asked after a few moments of silence.
“Eh?”
“Drugs, what are you on?”
He laughed, his voice shrill in the tiny space.
“Oi, hermana…”
“Vaas, I’m not fucking around, tell me what you’re on,” She said, “Or your withdrawal is going to be very unpleasant. Right now you’ve got a headache from the blow to the head, and maybe nausea and achy bones - but that’s just a guess, since I don’t know what crap it is you’re addicted to. If I’m gonna deal with it you need to tell me.”
“Awww, you gonna deal with it for me? You gonna fucking fix me up?” He cooed, leering at her over the shower rail.
“I really wanna shoot you right now, and it’d be so easy. I wouldn’t even need to clean up the blood that much.”
He laughed again, throwing his head back, then tuning the water off and shaking like a dog. She threw him a towel that waited on the door knob.
“Ah, gracias, cariña,” He said earnestly, “My savior.”
He toweled off and pulled his dirty clothes back on. She still had the gun trained on him, gesturing with it slightly.
“Get back out there.” She commanded, “To your right.”
There was another door in the darkness, to which she led him.
“Open it, please.”
“So polite,” He teased.
“I’m hoping it will rub off on you,” She said, following him into the bedroom.
It was a simple room, with a comfortable double bed, enticing with fresh sheets, two plump pillows and a fluffy eiderdown. There were no windows or any other furniture, and Vaas knew this would be his cell.
“Get in bed, left side,” She said.
“Are you going to join me now?” Vaas asked, turning to face her with a smug grin.
“On the bed,” She repeated, smiling easily.
He complied, rolling his eyes and swearing in spanish under his breath.
When he was comfortably tucked under the covers she neared him and waved the gun at the bedpost.
“Hands here,” she said.
“Pardon me, cariña?” He asked, eyebrow raised.
She just looked at him, and produced a pair of handcuffs from under the bed.
“Oh no, you are not cuffing me, chica! Have common sense - am I not being a nice houseguest?”
“Very much so, sweetheart - just a precaution. Come on.” She patted the mattress.
“You little bitch, chica, you know you are a terrible little bitch?”
She just hummed in response, clicking the handcuffs shut.
“Sleep. You’ll be feeling like shit come morning. Wanna tell me now what you’re on?”
“I’m on unicorn horn dust and leprechaun testy hair smokes!” He yelled, a mad smile on his face, suddenly unable to control his answer towards this woman anymore.
“Ok, I tried.” She got up off the bed, “Good night.”