Author's Chapter Notes:

Unbeta'd as usual. This chapter is not for kiddies. Rough sex, abuse, borderline non-con, and coarse language.

There were no words, she thought, nothing that she could say to comfort or soothe him, nothing that would hold the right weight, nothing to remove the sorrow, the hurt that she saw engrained in his eyes, burrowed down to the very heart of him. Her heart felt as though it had shattered in her chest, a million pieces of shrapnel stabbing at her with each shuddering breath. The tears would not stop, would not lessen or slow, and she clung to his shoulders, buried her face against him and sobbed.

The hurt he had endured, mental, physical, psychological, oh, God, the horror he had experienced. How could anyone survive that? That by itself proved his superiority, did it not? They had sought to break him, but they had not succeeded. They had left him to die, yet he had survived.

She felt his hands upon her hair and looked up to him slowly, blue eyes bright in a sea of red, veins snaking through the white, vision swimming with tears.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered, chest heaving with another sob. His hands cupped her cheeks, warm and rough, wiped her tears away with his thumbs. He lifted his hands to his mouth, licked first one digit, then another.

"Mmm… Why are you crying?" he asked in amusement.

"How could I not?" she answered, voice watery and weak.

"The past is the past, Harley. You're here now," he smiled softly. Another tear slid from her eye: he caught it this time with his tongue and she gasped, shuddering against him again. Her chest tightened, heart swelling within its confines. Yes, yes, she thought, I'm here now, I'm going to make it all better.

She sniffled delicately. "After all the work you did to hide your research, they found it anyway?"

"No," he said softly. "Brandon… he was a whiz with computers, you see. He set level after level of security. They broke through many of them, but not all. There were still two left… Only three of us knew the passwords… Brandon, myself… and him. There were two sets of passwords however… When he died… he gave the second set."

"The second set?" she asked, confused.

"Yes… The first set would open the system… the second… would completely erase it."

"They destroyed all of the research?"

"Yes," he nodded, lips twitching. "That was the joke, you see. I always told the worst jokes… They killed him for no reason. If they had kept him alive longer, perhaps he would have told the truth… but he died… and the truth died with him." He paused for a long moment.

She reached for him carefully, slowly brushed the hair back from his forehead.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, and he tilted his head curiously.

"For what?"

She stared at him strangely for a moment, but finally shook her head. "Nevermind… The pictures, Jack…"

"Ah yes," he said with a smile. "McCall… he was an intelligence operative before he angered the wrong man. I'm sure if I'd cracked his head open before they did, all sorts of codes would have come tumbling out like an overturned toy box. He asked me where I might hide something, somewhere that no one would ever think to look. Really, it was all I owned… and who would want to flip through pages and pages of old pictures? Eight years of meticulous work… he translated each experiment, each formula, gave it back to me to hide away. They never found it… they never thought to look."

"But why give it to me? Surely they do more good in your possession, you can translate them aga—"

"No, I cannot," he snapped harshly and she winced as though from a blow.

"What? W-why not?"

"Because I never knew the codes. It was safer that way," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child, and her eyes burned as they filled with tears again. "Perhaps it was a mistake giving them to you."

"No! No, it wasn't! I've been working on them, I'm going to figure them out."

He settled back into the chair, face relaxing out of its former derision.

"Perhaps I wasn't wrong about you after all, Harley. You seem like a smart girl," he said, a note of question in his tone.

"Yes, I am. You needn't worry about me, Jack..."

"Didn't I tell you to call me J!?" he roared, grabbing a handful of her hair. She squeaked, struggled against him, finally froze and stared at him helplessly.

"W-what?"

"Didn't… I tell you… to call me J?"

"Y-yes… Our… our very first session… b-but… I've been calling you Jack for wee—"

She was unable to maintain her balance when he slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped to the side and she fell in a crumpled pile upon the floor, the world swimming out of focus as her glasses skewed and then tumbled aside. The palm print grew bright upon her cheek, she could feel it burning beneath her own palm.

"Did I ask you for a fucking explanation?" he darted forward and hissed into her face. She let out another squeak, cowering from him.

"No, Mr. J," she said quickly, tensed and waiting for the next blow.

It never came. After several moments, she raised the courage to look up at him.

"Mr. J…. Oh, I like that… I like that a lot… Come here…" His hand was in her hair again, it was all she could do to keep herself from screaming as he wrenched her to her feet, dragged her close and kissed her hard. She froze in confusion, then, terrified of angering him again, thought better of it and kissed him back. His grip relaxed, hands sliding down her back and lifting her easily, flush against him. The bulge of his erection pulsed against her and she stiffened, wincing as he slammed her back against the wall.

"Mistah J," she said quickly, nails scrabbling against his chest, but he was not listening, hands already working between her legs. The silk of her panties he pulled tight until the seams tore: it hurt, it hurt, she thought, but knew better than to fight him. "J, please."

He kept one arm beneath her hips, pressed her back tight to the wall. Fingers digging into her chin, he pulled back and pressed forward: her skull cracked backward into the wall, spots swimming in her vision.

"Shut up," he whispered from between gritted teeth and she whimpered, stilling against him. Something like a purr rumbled from within his chest at her acquiescence, and his hand returned between her legs, capturing her flesh between thumb and forefinger. His sudden gentleness so strange, she went rigid but did not fight him. In a matter of minutes, it was all she could do to keep from moaning. God, how could he know her body so well already? She arched against him, gritting her teeth, breathing hard through her nose.

"Tell me what you want, little girl…"

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered, something deep within her knew what he wanted to hear and he grinned broadly at her answer.

"That is one demand I'm willing to fulfill."

He tugged the waist of his pants down just enough, and she was not ready, neither wet nor relaxed enough to take his length so quickly. It was a struggle, pressing forward with his hips and hands. She whimpered again, and he moaned with abandon, mouth pressed to her throat to muffle the sound. The friction was unbearable, muscles screaming as she was forced to take him in all at once. She bit at his collar and screamed as he pressed in to the hilt.

No, she thought, no, and then, yes, yes, this is what you wanted, wasn't it? Not like this, she thought, not like this, and her tears slid hot and fast down her face as he pulled out, and thrust in again. God, had she torn?

"Oh, Harley," he whispered against her ear, and she sobbed helplessly as his hips found a rhythm, too fast, too hard, lower back screaming as he pounded her into the wall. "Oh, baby, you're so tight," he crooned, giggled as she keened softly, teeth gritted against a scream.

"You like it, don't you?" Her lack of a response angered him: he grabbed at her clit and twisted, the surge of pain and pleasure almost indistinguishable.

She gasped, gulped, struggled against him, pressed closer and pulled away.

"Tell me you like it," he hissed into her ear, and she could not hold the tears back, no matter how hard she tried.

"I like it, I like it," she whispered and oh, god, she did, she did, didn't she? She was so wet now, his cock sliding easier and easier, so deep within her. Her body clenched around him, and he moaned again.

"Oh, that's it, baby, that's it, just like that."

This was sick, it was wrong, she thought, but fucked him back harder. She tossed her head, slamming it back against the wall again, clenched tighter around him.

"Oh, god," she whispered, unable to stop the tears as she twisted and undulated against him, moving as much as his weight would allow. He mouthed her breast through the fabric of the shirt, fumbling with the buttons: she undid them herself, tugging down the cups of her bra to free herself to his eyes. He bit into a nipple, sucking as much of her breast into his mouth as he could manage. She closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders as his hips bucked into her, again and again.

Ten minutes, then fifteen. God, she thought, how long could he last at that pace? Her lower back was bruising, she was sure of it, but he neither slowed nor lessened the force of his thrusts. His nails dug into the flesh of her hip, drawing blood and scratching away skin. She yelped and fought against him, only succeeded in pressing them closer together with each harsh, upward thrust. His fingers were working between her legs again, rubbing carefully at her clit and she stiffened, pussy tightening around his girth.

No, she thought, no, I can't come like this… not like this… this is wrong…

He kissed her roughly, uncaring of her reaction, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth, saliva smearing across her face and pumped harder, harder into her.

"Oh god, I'm gonna come," she muttered against his mouth and he wailed with laughter as she thrashed against him, world pulsing white as her muscles shuddered and tightened and coaxed him in deeper. He pressed his hands to her shoulders, leaning back briefly to watch his cock sliding in and out, her pussy twitching around him. His rhythm changed, chaotic and disordered, he threw his head back and groaned deeply, slammed her tight against the wall as warmth filled her, leaking onto her inner thighs as he pressed close, holding himself deep within her until she felt his cock softening, slipping from her finally. She whimpered as he left her, muscles still shuddering and she felt stretched open and so empty, so empty.

She nearly fell as he let go of her, hips screaming now from their rough treatment: he laughed as she stumbled and finally righted herself. He grabbed her by the jaw and forced her posture straight, the back of her head pressed to the wall again.

"You're mine," he whispered, "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she said quickly, wincing as his fingertips dug in further.

"No one will ever touch you again, do you hear me? You are mine, and mine alone." There was something cold pressed to her cheek, a flash of silver and oh, Jesus Christ he had a knife! Where in the fuck had he gotten a knife from!? She tossed her head in her terror and his grip tightened; it seemed her jaw would shatter beneath the force of it.

"Ah, ta, ta, I wouldn't move if I were you…" The blade slid between her lips, he giggled as he shook his wrist, the blade tapping against her teeth, nicking her gums. "I'm a little highly strung these days, little shaky, wouldn't want me to slip, would you? No… Now… where was I? Oh… that's right… I ever… ever catch anyone else touching you… I'll make you look just like me, do you understand? Do you understand!?" He screamed into her face and she whimpered.

"I understand," she mumbled around the blade, and her blood ran warm down her chin as the blade dug into the corner of her mouth.

"Good girl… and just to make sure that you understand that…" He pulled it from her mouth, catching her bottom lip, cutting there as well. Suddenly the blade was at her chest, carving in deep, and he clapped a hand over her mouth as she screamed and fought against him. Oh god, he was cutting down to the bone, she could feel the grind of the metal against her sternum as he cut again and again, each deeper than the first. She screamed again, helplessly muffled, the tears running anew, sliding down her throat and stinging in the incisions.

He'll kill me, she thought, he's going to kill me.

Just as it had began, it ended. The blood dripped down her stomach, pooling in the waistband of the skirt: her thighs felt wet with his cooling seed and he lowered his head, tongue lapping gently at her wounded breast.

"There… now all the world… will know you're mine," he leaned back, admiring his handiwork and she finally looked down. There between her breasts, his mark.

The severed, swollen tissue formed a perfect letter J.