A/N: After watching 7x02 I was inspired to write this. It is set in the near future where Roni is trying to stop Victoria from pushing people out of the neighbourhood but she's not very successful.
She is greeted by pain in her arms that seem to be restrained above her head with handcuffs. She's hanging in the air. She's confused at first but then she remembers somebody pressing a handkerchief against her mouth and nose. The drugs must have worn out, allowing her to regain consciousness. Her attacker doesn't need to know that yet.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
So much for that thought. She's not the only one who has given herself away though. She recognizes the voice. She'd recognize it everywhere. She opens her eyes and instinctively finds him in the darkness of the room.
"You finally decided to wake up and grace me with your death glare." Weaver is standing a few steps away from her. He's wearing a suit. He must have just come back from some detective business.
"Well, I'm sorry for not waking up sooner after you drugged me." She doesn't move a muscle, creating the illusion of being calm and collected, but internally she's screaming. Because the title he gave her… it feels right, oh, so right. And it awakens something in her, some flame that'll burn her alive. It fills her with power and she feels like she can do anything. But she can do nothing. She's simply a bartender who can't help her friends, can't save them from Victoria Belfrey.
"Where do you keep all that sass in that tiny body of yours?" He comes closer and his eyes slide down her form and really – Roni thinks – he can try a bit harder. What is that? Amateur hour? He won't succeed with such poor attempt to intimidate her.
"Perhaps in the same place as you," she quips back at him. He's barely a few inches taller than she is. That is when she's not wearing heels.
His eyes return to hers and when her stare doesn't waver, he smiles. And that smile, it's so familiar. It feels private, intimate. As if they share some secret. As if they've known each other for a lifetime.
"You must be uncomfortable hanging there." He looks up at the hook – Roni supposes – from which she's suspended.
"I could stay like this forever," she lies even though he knows. He's observant and he certainly can't have missed the strain in her muscles. "I won't need workout," she tries to shrug but is painfully reminded of her current predicament.
"No, you'll need physiotherapist to put your dislocated shoulders back in their places."
He's right. As much as she doesn't want to admit it. And the metal of the handcuffs digging in her skin doesn't add much to her comfort.
"I could take you down." His eyes are on her, carefully studying every inch of her body for signs of defeat, but she's not ready to give up yet.
"Nah. I feel like I'll slip out of the handcuffs any minute now so…"
"Not tight enough for you?" Weaver looks amused and she wants to punch him in the face so badly.
"No," she shakes her head slightly. "In fact, I'm wondering if you're trying to pose a threat or suggest some BDSM-related activities." She tries to keep her face blank but it's not easy. The pain in her arms is growing by the second.
Weaver smiles again and only he can make it look mocking and impressed at the same time. He closes the distance between them, one hand snakes around her waist to steady her. He reaches up with the other and tightens the handcuffs. He takes a step back but his hand doesn't leave her waist. Instead, the other one settles on her hip.
"Better?" he asks, his face is so close to hers, she can taste his breath. It smells like apple cider and she thinks it's ironic but she doesn't know why. She focuses on the conversation instead.
"Better." And it is, in a sense. His touch causes something in her to stir. Some hidden power she didn't know she had. It makes her strong and causes her blood to boil in the most pleasant way. It feels magnificent, almost… magical. She feels like she's found a part of herself that she didn't even know was missing. A little sigh escapes her lips.
"Such a shame that this is strictly business." His gaze darts to her mouth for a moment before returning to her eyes. "You seem like the kinky type."
Before she can react, he lowers his head to her neck, his nose almost brushing her skin, and inhales. For a moment something golden flashes before her eyes but it's gone as soon as it appears.
"Why do you always smell like apples?" He retracts as if the smell is pushing him away.
"You don't like apples?" She asks with a fake pout.
"I prefer the smell of books."
He's looking at her again and she knows the comment is supposed to offend her but she's not sure why. It manages to do it though. It puts her down and kills the surge of power that she felt. Her arms start hurting even more and she groans involuntarily.
"Ready to make a deal?" His voice is melodic and sweet like honey, trying to lure her into a deathtrap.
"What do you want?" She tries to sound confident but her resolve is weakening as the pain in her muscles is growing.
He leans in again, his breath is caressing her ear. "I want you to let me in on a secret."
He doesn't give her time to respond. He lifts her up to free the handcuffs from the hook that's holding them and lets her step on the ground. Her arms hurt and she's sure they'll be sore for a few days but that's the least of her concerns.
"What secret?" She watches him carefully as he takes a key out of his pocket and catches her hands.
He puts the key in the lock of the handcuffs and looks at her. "Life is less of a burden when you don't know what the future holds." With a click the handcuffs open.
She barely manages to suppress the roll of her eyes. "I don't like it."
"Oh, I can hang you back up." He locks eyes with her.
She doesn't say anything. He's won this time and they both know it. And one of those days he'll come into her bar and she'll have to provide the information he wants whether she likes it or not. Even if it means helping Victoria Belfrey indirectly.
There's nothing else for her to do so she heads for the door she spotted earlier.
"You can't have everything, Roni." His voice stops her in her tracks.
She turns around to face him. She looks calm but there's fire in her eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You want to defeat Victoria Belfrey and save everyone but I can assure you that can't happen. Great power requires great sacrifice." He starts untying his tie.
"I don't want power." The words feel familiar and bitter on her tongue.
"Maybe. But you need it."
And he's right. Of course he's right. And how she hates him for it because he can't be right. He shouldn't be right. She shouldn't listen to him. She shouldn't. But she wants to. Because she's seen him win against Victoria Belfrey. And no one ever wins against her. But with him everything comes at a price and she's not willing to pay it.
"I don't need your power," she lies. "I'll find another way." A right way.
He doesn't respond. She takes a step back when he moves towards her intently with his tie in his hand but he's already at her side.
"What are you doing?" She tries to fight him off when he covers her eyes with the fabric but he's stronger than she is.
"I can't let you see where my hideout is." Weaver says evenly, unperturbed by her attempts to break free from his grip. "But if you prefer, I can get you out of here the way I got you in."
"No, thank you." Her resistance ceases, allowing him to tie the piece of clothing around her head as a blindfold.
"By the way," his arm wraps tightly around her, "black is your color."
The sentence brings tears to her eyes and she wants to say something but then he's pressing some fabric to her nose and mouth. His handkerchief. He tricked her. As the world slips away, she feels him pick her up and she feels safe in his hands. She curses both herself and him.