Mhmm Adler inspired Graves and his living weapon
cw: power imbalance, bordering stockholm syndrome, dependant relationships, needles, medical procedures, drug abuse, captivity, referenced trafficking, brainwashing
The first ever memory you have, is of Phillip Graves. In you head, there is a big void and then, like a saviour, an angel sent to you from heaven, there‘s him.
You remember his voice, before all. He had always been calm but confident, collected in a way that told of self control. Then, his features. They stand out in your brain, like a mark no one could ever reach. Divine beauty, you vaguely remember thinking, even if your mind had been wiped clean, with nothing to offer but a blank slate just for him.
He had been haloed by the sterile lights, icy gaze boring into yours. Still, he had never made you feel cold. Whenever you touched your own skin, you could still remember his calloused hands softly mapping your skin, on that very first day. Je always had been warm in a way no one else could offer, burning, claiming you.
The words he said had barely stuck at all, hell, you were too doped up to remember much. It was all faint, as if someone had stuffed wool into you head. But the ring of his voice, that southern twang, had stayed with you.
In that moment, a violent delight had taken ahold of you. Shivers had wracked you again and again, a giddy smile, so wide that it made your cheeks hurt, had claimed your face.
It hadn’t mattered that there were thick leather bindings keeping you pinned to the hospital bed, barely allowing any movement. It hadn’t mattered that there were numerous infusions and tubes attached to your body. Even the itchy gauze and stiff gown hadn’t bothered you.
Because Phillip Graves had not just been there to see you into this world with soft words and gentle touches. No, when you had smiled at him, all programming that he worked so hard for, he had cooed and smiled back.
He had even given you a name, in that white room, under the blinding lights.
You replay that memory again and agin. Each day, each free minute, is filled with thoughts of him. Even now, in his bed, as you skin carries a sheen of sweat and your heart beats away anxiously, you try your best to think of him. You tray to keep your cool, he likes that, you know he does. Fear shouldn’t affect you, not anymore.
„I just don’t get it.“ You admit quietly after a while, when your heart finally calms to match your breathing again. The nightmare is still fresh on your mind. It comes again and again, haunting you until he pulls you close and brushes your hair from your eyes.
You don’t recall ever experiencing it, yet it feels so real. Graves is there, standing over you. But, so unlike yourself, you don’t feel good about being knelt at his feet, don’t like his hand in your hair. In your dream you snarl at him, and then he strikes. Once, twice, sometimes thrice.
Through your pain, words are exchanged over your head, degrading and mean. You can hear men laugh, loud and wrong. Then, you‘re tugged along. Dark figures swarm you, you feel trapped, bound. The pain is all you remember. Sharp needles and blinding lights. Loud voices and repetitive motions, again and again and again until the sentences are burned into you brain, until all you eyes remember are him and the dark figures.
His voice takes you out of the memory. „Ya don’t need to get it. I told ya, it ain‘t real. There‘s no more to it.“ He sounds kind, but the underlying insistence tells you not to ask again. For a moment, his hands tighten in you hair and you follow his pull, until your eyes meet.
„I saved you, don’t forget that.“ Even in the dark his eyes are bright. The blue is ingrained in your mind, and despite your will, you relax. Distantly, you feel yourself nod. „We‘ve got a job to do. Can’t do it if you‘re all in your head.“
His expression softens when your hand tries to follow the movement of him, staying on his chest as best as possible, when he adjusts himself on the bed. You scoot closer, feeling the warmth of his skin on your own like a warm chimney. It makes you feel at home.
He makes you feel at home.
His fingers trace over your wrists softly, the dark leather encasing them firm and reassuring. He hooks one into the metal ring and pulls. You follow easily, your mind tingles. It‘s pleasantly silent in your head now.
„You saved me.“ You agree easily, remembering him on that day, an angel sent to you. Again and again. You don’t have need anything but him.
„I did.“ He agrees easily. You don’t pay attention when he sits up, one hand still of your cuff. The clinking doesn’t scare you anymore, you trust him.
When they needle pierces the junction of your arm, you almost sigh. Graves rubs your skin once more, soft and caring. „Let‘s take ya out of your head. I need ya in top shape tomorrow.“
And with the way you start floating while he holds you safe any close, you can’t find it in yourself to disagree with him. Not now, not ever. He saved you. You have a job to do.
