Disclaimer: I do not own Forgotten Realms or any characters, lands, or items from the TSR world. They belong to their respective copyright holders..
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, violence, violent rape, damaged people behaving in dysfunctional ways. Mentions of child abuse.

The air was too still, here in the underdark. She had never been as aware of it as now, with the smell of blood too strong in the room, and the taste of her own vomit still on her lips. Catti-brie glanced back down the hall, watching for a response to their intrusion. The way was still quiet, and she glanced back into the room, to where her friend lay sprawled on the floor in the care of his greatest enemy.

Entreri returned the glance, his grey eyes smoldering with resentment. I should be there, she thought, I should be the one holdin' me friend. And yet, she couldn't seem to make her feet take her to Drizzt's side. She watched as Entreri sorted through the bottles until he found a potion he seemed to like. He tipped Drizzt's head back and, with a gesture that struck her as almost gentle, moved the drow's broken nose into place before pouring the potion between his dark lips.

Drizzt coughed and tried to turn his head, but the assassin held him still. Catti-brie shuddered. She had seen Drizzt wounded before, had seen him hurt, but nothing like this deliberate and horrible torture. She had never thought to find him naked and bloodied like this.

The assassin pulled a tiny piece of metal from his boot and bent over Drizzt's wrists for a moment. First one, then the other, of the harsh manacles fell to the floor, open.

"Where is his gear?" Entreri asked, half-lifting Drizzt to a sitting position. His body was looking better as the healing potion began to work, but his eyes--his eyes were still pained, and distant. Somehow it seemed to Catti-brie that it was more heartless to use the potions, to heal his body while his soul was still in tatters; but of course they had no time for such things.

"It's not here," she told him. She averted her eyes from her friend's nakedness. The assassin frowned but didn't curse, and then left Drizzt's side to begin stripping the armor, weapons and clothing off of the drow whose throat he had slit.

"Get dressed," he ordered, passing the clothes over first, "We need to move. Now." Drizzt took them, and after a short pause began to dress his blood streaked body in the damp black silk. Over that went a thin layer of padding, and then a shirt of light chain. The suit was finished with slim metal leg greaves, bracers, and a piece that covered his shoulders and most of his upper chest. With every layer of protection, every layer of armor, he seemed stronger, more determined.

While Drizzt dressed, Entreri set himself to stripping the other corpse, the body of Drizzt's attacker. His hands were quick, efficient, sliding the drow's bracers onto his own arms, quickly checking the dead elf's sword, then passing sword and sheath to Drizzt. Between the two dead ones, he had a pair of almost-matching weapons. They weren't scimitars, but they would do.

Entreri acquired the rest of the unrecognizable drow's possessions, bundling up his clothing, and stuffing some small things she didn't see into his pack.

Grey eyes met lavender, and Entreri nodded to the door. With deadly grace, the duo headed towards her, so alike, so dangerous.

As the two men moved into the hallway , Catti-brie looked at her friend, and saw him as a drow for the first time; cold, hard, empty. Sorrow stabbed at her heart. For all her effort, for all Entreri's help, they had been too late, and she knew it.