Twelve Days of Whumpmas: Three French Hens (Nicholas)
does the next day still count? eh, posting it anyways.
note: again, i feel like no one knows the characters i'm writing for these pieces, so brief summary of Nic. basically; abusive parents, had a younger sister, he went to join the marines, sister went missing and died, he came back and became a detective, Harper's partner and kind of boyfriend but is now starting to get feelings for Beth, and has a best friend named Scott who also became a cop when he left the army. last pieces he was in was this one, this one, and that one. okay byeeee
CW: captivity whump, voluntarily bashing a person's own shoulder against a door (there is a def a better tag to use than this), referenced arson, defiant whumpee, implied future torture and brainwashing, referenced kidnapping, brainwasing, beating
For @amonthofwhump's Twelve Days of Whumpmas, using the prompts "Betrayal" and "Candlelight."
--
Nicholas Malcolm slowly got up from the floor again, chest heaving with exhausted breaths. His shoulder strained in pain, but he ignored it. He planted his feet on the ground and set his eyes on the sturdy locked door, and ran forward.
He let out a large “oof” as he fell to the ground, shoulder protesting loudly now. With how many times he had repeated this action, it was surely to be bruised by now. Nic gasped in pain and scrunched his eyes, holding his arm to somehow drown out the pulsating agony.
“Gotta- fuck, gotta get up, Malcolm,” he grunted to himself, trying to channel his old drill sergeant from boot camp. He barely managed to get on his feet before he fell back down on, unfortunately his shoulder. The veteran cried out, now clutching his arm so hard that it was causing pain.
“That had to hurt,” he heard an amused voice say, looking up to see his cell door open, and a man standing in front of it.
“You,” Nic growled, venom in his eyes. It was that same fucking man who broke into his apartment and set it on fire. The same man that was supposedly there to “pick up” Elizabeth. Nic wanted answers, now. “Where’s Beth, you son of a bitch?”
The man dug his hands into his pockets, leaning against the door frame. “Beats me. I just delivered the package and got my payment. That blondie is long gone by now.”
Nicholas yelled as he lunged forward, but was swiftly brought down by a hard kick to his face. He groaned and fell to the floor once more, blood running down his chin. He heard a click of a tongue and footsteps coming towards him, then he felt a hand on his face.
“You need to learn how to settle down, pretty boy. Now, enough fighting. If you ever want a chance at getting out of here alive, you need to listen to me. Got that?”
Nic said nothing.
“I expect a ‘Yes, sir,’ from now on, Malcolm.”
“Kiss my ass.”
He heard the man sigh. “Creative, but we’ll train that language out of you soon enough. But since I’m one for introductions, I’ll still grace you with my voice despite your disobedience. First off, consider yourself very lucky. You were supposed to burn with your apartment, but an anonymous person decided to spare you. Once I heard, I decided to take you in.”
Nic groaned as he leaned back on his rear, sitting almost casually on the ground with his captor. He just needed to gain his strength back, then he’s going to knock this guy down like the Macho Man himself. “Why?” He asked, deciding to add something instead of letting this man talk forever.
“With your military background and stellar detective experience, you’ll be a great candidate for my militia.”
“Militia? You fuckers have an army?”
The man chuckled. “In a way. They basically hire a bunch of teams to work for them, and I, Braxton Marsh, run one of the most strongest and reliable militias the Jaguars employ.”
Braxton Marsh? Sounds like the name of a kid that skateboards and does acid.
“Good for you, why the fuck do you think I’ll want to work for you?”
His captor, Braxton, just smiled as he stood up. “Oh, I know you’re not going to willingly join me now. But a few months of our lovely training sessions-well, you would probably describe them as torture-will straighten you right up.”
No. Fucking no. Nic was not going to allow himself to be a pawn in these people’s games. He’s just gotta get out, find Beth and Harper, and expose these bastards.
Wait. Harper.
“Hey, what did you do with my partner? She was investigating you guys as well,” He spoke up, almost leaning forward to Braxton as the man walked to the other side of his cell.
“Your partner? What partner?” The man asked, not really caring as he unveiled a hidden panel in the wall and began pushing buttons.
“Harper Winston. She investigated you guys with Beth and went missing two months ago. You guys obviously took her.”
Braxton looked at him dumbfounded. “Winston? As in Bruce’s daughter? We shouldn’t have her since her brother’s still alive. I knew Mrs. Carrien had a roommate or something, never knew it was her.” He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out his phone. “Huh, small world.”
Nicholas didn’t understand the first half of what that man said, but he was fucking pissed. How could they not have her? Her and Beth looked into the Jaguars for years, and Harper got all hot headed when the police got information on that Dark guy. If she’s not here, where the fuck could she be?
“That doesn’t answer my question. I need to find-” He was cut off by a door opening, and his own surprise. Standing in the door was the last person he expected to see.
“Langdon. Good to see you,” Braxton said with a smile as he shook the young man’s hand. It was Scott, fucking Scott. His best friend from the army.
“S-Scott?” He asked, mouth hung open in surprise. But Scott Langdon didn’t respond as he kept his eyes focused on Braxton. Why wasn’t Scott the least bit concerned that his friend was held in captivity?
“Langdon, I wanted you to teach our new recruit a lesson,” His captor said with a stupid grin, slinging his arm around Scott’s shoulder.
“What lesson, sir?”
Braxton pulled out his baton and handed it to his soldier. “That becoming one of my men means you get no fucking allies.” He leaned forward towards Nic, and whispered into his ear. “In case you haven’t noticed, Malcolm, your buddy here doesn’t care about you. Hasn’t ever since he trained with me. Now, pay close attention, because this will be you one day.”
Nic stared at his captor for a moment, then darted his eyes to his fellow veteran who was now gripping the baton in his hand. “Scott, come on man. We’re friends, we’re fucking brothers. You saved my life back in Afghanistan.”
Scott didn’t look the least bit remorseful as he stepped closer, finally raising the thick and black baton over his friend’s head; Nic panicked. “Scott! What the fuck are you-”
Blow after blow rained down on him, hitting with such force that his bones felt as if they were about to crack. Nic didn’t have time to feel shame as he screamed from the assault, a few tears dripping down his face. There was no break, almost as if Scott was a machine. God, he can’t believe the person causing his own torture was his best friend.
“Please!” He cried out, reaching out an arm that was quickly hit down. “Scott-”
“Hit his shoulder,” Braxton ordered, and Scott followed. Nic saw white as his already bruised shoulder was pounded with the baton mercilessly. He could barely even manage a plea as he wailed, so torn between betrayal and pain that he couldn’t think straight.
Luckily, he didn’t even need to try to think any longer before he passed out.
.
.
.
“Three turtle doves,”
“Dude, that’s so clichè.”
Nic sighed as he stared up at his phone, putting down the lighter. “It’s called being romantic, Scott. Ever heard of it?”
“Yeah, in like every fuc-fucking romcom ever. Can’t come up with something original?” Scott asked, voice glitching out for a brief second thanks to Nicholas’s shitty wifi.
“Oh, fuck you.”
“Love to, but I think Harper’s got that one tonight,” Scott said with a grin, raising his eyebrows.
Nic gave him an annoyed glare and rolled his eyes, going to the mirror to straighten up his tie. “I’m doing whatever Harper wants to do. This is our first date, or hang-out, or whatever she wants it to be, so I’m going to make it as nice as possible.”
He heard Scott hum in disagreement through the phone. “We both know Harper. She’s not one for romantic dinners.”
Nic stared at himself in the mirror with a sorrowful face, then turned to the table filled with a fancy dinner he cooked himself set on an elaborate table in perfect dim lighting. He hung his head down in defeat. “You’re right, what the fuck am I doing?”
“Not being you, that’s what. The Nicholas Malcom I know doesn’t dress in fancy suits or cook a seared chicken with collard greens. He wears T-shirts in a size too big and eats either Chinese or pizza, no inbetween. That’s what Harper likes about you,” Scott finished, a small smile on his face. Nic noticed this and laughed.
“Alright, alright. Don’t get all mushy on me now, Langdon. Hopefully I’ll have enough time to change before-”
Scott noticed the doorbell ring on the other end of the call. “Oh fuck,” he heard Nic say before his friend rushed to the door and opened it. Scott picked up faint conversations and laughter, and lit up when he saw Harper come into frame. She was wearing a beautiful short black dress and a leather jacket, somehow combining the two personalities of Nic.
“Hey, Scott,” she waved.
“Hey, Harper,” he waved back, throwing his hands up when the camera was put on his best friend instead.
“Alright, fuck off now, Scott,” Nic grumbled.
“Oh come on, can’t I be the third wheel?” He said with a mock pout.
“No, get a girlfriend or something.”
Harper moved back into frame. “Then we can double date!”
Scott laughed alone in his apartment, enjoying Harper’s constant energetic personality and his friend’s impatient attitude. “Alright, better listen to this soldier and get to fucking off. And Nic?” He quickly paused before adding, “Wear a condom!”
