Disclaimer: You know the drill . . .
Warnings: Angst, torture, potential graphic violence, darkness, death.
Author's Notes: This was inspired by reading the Bone Collector and then reading some of Shira's fics immediately after. There are definite elements from the Bone Collector in it but at the moment, since I'm not sure where it's going, I'm reluctant to call it a crossover or fusion. We'll see what happens, ne? I'm not sure how far I'll get in it, but we'll see . . .
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Rhina-hime for being the "sounding board" for any scene I'm nervous about.
Collecting Dust
A Weiß Kreuz fic
By: Yuuki Miyaka
Prologue
They were tired, weary from the flight and anxious to get home. It had been a long and ultimately unproductive business trip, and they were returning with little more to show for it than a suitcase full of dirty clothes apiece. But that wasn't the problem. Their problem lay in the fact that they were more than simply partners. Their business relationship had coalesced into a love affair, and this trip had put a serious strain on that. And so they were weary and more than ready to leave each other in favor of a nice, serene night of solitude.
When the taxi pulled up willing to transport them, they decided to endure another half-hour or so in each others' companies, rather than wait for another one. The cab smelled musty, the pine-tree hanging from its mirror doing little to combat the odor. And they each felt their eyelids drooping.
When they woke, the cab had stopped. They blinked wearily, trying to figure out if they had arrived at one of the two destinations. The tired confusion bled away into worry and paranoia as they began to realize that they had no idea where they were. They called out to the driver, who ignored them in favor of whatever he was doing. They couldn't see his face, but it didn't occur to them until he pulled out something black, slipping it over his head. It was a ski mask . . .
She sat up, body battered and bruised, a headache spiralling out from the base of her skull. She had little doubt that the blow could have potentially killed her. Instead, however, it had only served to knock her out and leave her with a headache so intense that when she finally managed to struggle into a seated position, all she could see were stars and all she could do was force down the reflex urge to retch. She couldn't tell if she'd moaned or not. The pain was too intense to allow hearing. But slowly her vision cleared and she began to percieve her surroundings. And it was just about then that her memory began to slowly return.
He'd held a knife to her throat as he led her away from the cab, making sure that her companion remained inside. She'd thought, for a moment, that he would be able to escape that way, but unfortunately, just before they were out of the door, she'd caught sight of the razors placed where the locks had once been. And there were no handles anymore. She'd noted that, too, with rapidly-increasing hopelessness. He'd led her to this tiny, disgusting room, beginning the beating almost before she was in the door. The beating had ended, no doubt, with her stretched out on the floor, unconscious.
The bindings were extremely uncomfortable, but she was familiar with them in theory, though not practice. They were bondage cuffs, wide leather that was designed to normally keep the person wearing them somewhat comfortable. But they'd been drawn far too tight, and she could do nothing about it. Along with that was the fact that her hands were bound behind her back using an arm sheath, the heavy leather encasing both arms at once and holding them tightly behind her back. The angle was painful, but she hadn't noticed her shoulder's cramps when faced with all the other pain in her body as well. Her legs were bound together as well, the thick cuffs separated by a chain just short enough to inhibit walking or running.
Her brown eyes were weary, miserable, and the hope had completely faded from them. All that was left was her will for survival, and that was beginning to fade as well.