This is a work of fiction; all the resemblances are completely accidental. I am the one who owns all the ideas and characters in the story. Contains violence and descriptive sexual scenes between two males. If you are not supposed to read it, don't do so.
- II -
"If you work hard enough, Desmond, you might become one of the Guardians." His Grandmother looked at him intently, her white hair framing her slim face. She was in her early sixties but remained beautiful nonetheless. Back when she was a young girl, her hair was the same color as Desmond's -- raven-black. She started to get grey hair by the time she hit thirty, and by now, she was completely white. Sometimes Desmond wondered if the same thing would happen to him eventually.
"Now," she continued without looking away from him. "You want to become someone important, like a Guardian, correct?"
"Not really," Desmond thought but he knew better than to say it out loud. He was only eight, but he was young and not stupid. He knew that if he says something like that, he'd end up getting another scar added to his impressive by now collection.
"Yes, Grandmother," he said instead, nodding his head.
"You'd better," she said and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I'd hate for you to become someone useless. Now go to your room and read. Make sure you put the book on the shelf when you are done with it," she added.
"Yes, Grandmother," Desmond said again and went to his room which was strikingly immaculate and clean for an eight-year-old boy.
Desmond used to make a hell of a mess when he was three years old. By now, he knew better. "At least she doesn't make me alphabetize them," he shrugged to himself after pulling a book off the shelf. He didn't mind reading; in fact, he enjoyed it. The problem was that he has read all of these books at least five times by now and reading them again was insanely boring. He opened the book and mindlessly flipped through the pages, glancing at words and phrases. In case if his Grandmother asks him what was on the page he just read, he'd be prepared.
He stared at the page without seeing it, his mind wondering. Become a Guardian? He snorted very softly. Hell, no! He couldn't understand what was so appealing about the whole thing. Every kid he knew was obsessing about the Guardians. There was one kid -- Daniel -- who could do things with the Earth, like make it shake whenever he felt like it, or rise suddenly under your feet. He did that to Desmond once, just for the hell of it, it seemed, and Desmond ended up losing his balance and landing on one of the sharper rocks with his butt. It hurt like hell and he thought that he broke something. He didn't, but his hip was bruised for almost two weeks after that. Daniel laughed like it was the most hilarious thing in the world. He was a couple of years older than Desmond and he was convinced that he was a Guardian in the making. Desmond heard him talking to his best friend once. "I bet, Claudia herself will come and get us!" he said excitedly and Desmond just started laughing uncontrollably. "What's funny?" Daniel's friend asked sharply, his eyes narrowing down to slits.
"Claudia herself will come and get you?" Desmond repeated, shaking with laughter. "Yeah, right! If she will, it'll be only to get on your asses for trying to steal her panties!"
Daniel's friend -- Nicholas - didn't say anything to that; he just got very pale and the wind shoved Desmond in the back with astonishing viciousness. Nicholas could do things with the Air. Daniel pulled his friend away then, muttering something about control and bratty little bastards. Soon after that, the incident with the rock happened. Desmond's Grandmother was furious when she noticed that his clothes were ripped -- his pants got caught on the rock -- and Desmond's day got even worse. Not only his hip was aching mercilessly, but now his back hurt like hell also.
He hissed softly at the memory and flipped the page of the book. He would never become one of the Guardians. Not just because he couldn't control any of the elements (it still puzzled him that his Grandmother thought that one of those days, he'll be miraculously able to control Water or Fire), but also because he hated the very definition of a Guardian. "To serve the greater good." Desmond hated the word serve.' That word automatically aligned with the word slave' in his head, and Desmond would never become anyone's slave, not Good's nor Evil's. "If I will serve someone," he thought. "It would only be myself."
He heard careful steps just outside his door and he knew that his Grandmother planned on bursting into his room, to make sure that he is indeed reading and not doing something useless. Desmond sighed and stared at the page of the book, his forehead wrinkling with fake concentration. He knew that she was going to say something about him being a slow reader, which wasn't true but Desmond could care less. He looked up with perfectly arranged surprise, as if he had no clue he heard her coming.
"Are you awake?" she said and Desmond blinked with genuine puzzlement now. "Hey, Specter, are you awake?"
He frowned and then everything around him shifted slightly and blinked out of the existence. He slowly opened his eyes and closed them again immediately. His head pulsated with nauseating pain. Then he remembered what happened earlier and gritted his teeth. His arms hurt as well and he tried to figure out why. He said something that sounded like, "Nngh..." and moved his shoulder. That was when he realized that both of his arms were pulled up and it felt like he was tied to something. He carefully moved his thumb along his fingers, trying to get to his ring. It wasn't there. Well, damn, he thought.
"Looking for your ring?" someone asked and Desmond carefully opened one eye and looked up. A man stood in front of him, his expression solemn, dark eyes almost apologetic. Desmond had no idea who he was.
"I removed it," the man nodded when he caught Desmond's glare. "Didn't want you to hurt yourself... Sorry about your head," he added after a second. "I wanted this to be as quiet as possible and unfortunately with you being awake, that would be quite difficult."
Desmond pulled on the ties that bind his wrists together. They didn't seem to be too tight; there was a chance of him being able to get out of them...
"You are handcuffed," the man said as if reading his mind. "You won't be able to loosen the grip. Sorry about that."
Polite bastard, Desmond thought darkly. All right, this is just a setback. Happened before. He studied the man's face more closely now. He seemed to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties; his hair was short and brown, matching his eyes.
"Would you like some water?" the man asked as politely as before.
Desmond coughed and winced when it sent another jolt of pain through his skull.
"Are you suicidal?" he asked finally and smirked when he saw a shadow of puzzlement on the man's face.
"I beg your pardon?" he said in a low voice.
"Are you suicidal?" Desmond repeated patiently.
"No, I am not," his capturer said slowly. "Why would you ask that?"
"Well," Desmond tried to sit up a bit and to ease the pressure on his shoulders. "You sure are aware of the fact that when I get out of these..." he made an emphasis on the word `when.' "...I am going to kill you, right?" he finished.
The man hemmed.
"Yes," he nodded seriously. "The thought had crossed my mind."
"This is why I am wondering if you are suicidal," Desmond said evenly.
He didn't feel like wasting time on useless questions like "Who are you?" or "What do you want?" He didn't care, to be honest. There could be a number of reasons this man wanted him. At least it was clear that killing him wasn't on the agenda. Well, not yet.
"I am not suicidal," the man said softly. "As for you getting out of these..." he glanced at the handcuffs and shrugged. "I will make sure I prevent that from happening. Would you like some water?" he asked again.
Desmond swallowed hard and realized that in fact yes, he wouldn't mind selling one of his kidneys to get some water right now. He didn't say anything, however. The man just nodded, as if he didn't expect anything different from him, and walked away. He returned a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. He kneeled next to Desmond, whose head kept pulsating with jolts of pain, and brought the glass to his mouth.
Desmond pressed his lips tight and looked at the man steadily. The man sighed.
"I don't want you to suffer more than necessary," he said patiently. "As I said, I am sorry about your head... And your knee as well," he added. "But it was something I had to do. I do not intend to torture you, so just drink some... Please," he said in the same patient tone of voice.
"You first," Desmond said through his clenched teeth and the man let out an amused laughter.
"You think that I am going to poison you?" he asked. "Specter, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now."
Specter, Desmond thought. That's the second time he used that name. It was one of his aliases; the one he usually used for big-shot-deals, not like the one he finished tonight. That last case he worked under the alias Phantom. He didn't say anything; he just looked at him. The man sighed again and rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said and took two gulps out of the glass. "Satisfied?" and he moved the glass closer to Desmond's mouth once again.
"Turn the glass," Desmond said. "This side has your drool on it."
"I am not contagious," the man muttered but turned the glass.
The water was deliciously cold. Desmond drank hungrily and ended up choking on it.
"Easy," the man muttered and slapped him on the back rather hard when he started coughing violently.
Finally, the cough stopped and Desmond nodded his head at the glass again. His capturer pressed it against his mouth, and this time Desmond drank slower, emptying the entire glass. After he finished all the water, the man sat the glass on the floor next to him. Desmond immediately thought that if he knocks the bastard out with a swift precise kick to the head, he'd be able to break the glass and somehow to get hold of the sharp pieces. He knew that if he slithers his wrists with blood, he'd be able to get his hands out of the cuffs. He almost started going through with that plan -- one of his legs twitched and was about to fly up towards the guy's temple -- when the man said softly:
"Don't make me tie your legs as well."
Desmond blinked. Was he that easy to read? The guy shrugged almost indifferently.
"I did a hell of the research on you," he said and moved the glass out of Desmond's reach. "I know what you are capable of, and I know how good you are at what you do."
Desmond gritted his teeth.
"As I said," the man continued. "I am not going to torture or kill you. I have to make sure that you stay put until the end of the month, and then I'll let you go."
"End of the month?" Desmond asked incredulously and the man nodded. "You are going to keep me chained up until the end of the month?!"
The man shrugged.
"I will figure something out to make it more comfortable for you," he said. "I'm not gonna make you sleep in this position, I promise."
"I am going to kill this bastard," Desmond thought furiously. "And I am going to do it slowly, and God help me, I am going to enjoy every second of it..."
"I am Gabriel, by the way," the bastard said meanwhile. He sighed and got up, grabbing the glass from the floor. "I am going to make dinner. It will be ready in half an hour or so," and he went away without waiting for Desmond's response.
The minute he was out of sight, Desmond looked up at his hands, ignoring the immediate jolt of pain that shot through his head. The cuffs weren't too tight, he thought with relief. If he could only get something to slither his wrists with... He glanced around wildly. There was absolutely nothing within his reach. "You could always use your own spit," the voice in his head said calmly. "You used it as lube before, for different purposes though..."
Right, he thought darkly. Spit alone won't be enough. "Well," the voice said reasonably. "You could always rip your skin open with your teeth, that'll make you bleed..." Desmond winced. Yeah, he could do that. He'll save it for later though, for the time when he is truly out of ideas. He pulled on the cuffs hard, making sure he doesn't produce any noise. The bastard was still in the kitchen and judging by the sounds and smells that reached Desmond, he was indeed cooking something. Desmond yanked on the cuffs once again and hissed though his clenched teeth when the damn things bit into his wrists thus causing a short explosion of new pain.
"Son of a bitch..." he whispered and tried to get up. That was a surprisingly difficult task, since both of his arms were stretched above his head and somewhat twisted behind his back, and he almost pulled his left shoulder out of its socket while trying to get on his feet. Finally, he succeeded and he felt like he just had a hell of a workout. He stared at the cuffs thoughtfully. Now what? The chain of the handcuffs went around a pipe that looked like it could survive through Armageddon. Desmond knew that there was no way in hell he could break that pipe.
He pulled on the chain several times, just to make sure. Things are not always what they seem, right? Right. Except, there were also exceptions to this rule. This was one of them. The damn pipe was as strong as it looked. Desmond got so preoccupied with the bloody pipe that he didn't even hear the bastard to come out of the kitchen.
"Please," the bastard said softly and Desmond froze. "Really, I would hate to do something that would make you even more uncomfortable... Stop trying to escape; there is nothing you can do, just deal with it... Treat this like..." he shrugged. "A temporary setback," he said and Desmond almost howled with wild laughter.
Setback, he thought. He was thinking that same thing a bit ago. He turned his head slowly and looked at the man who kept him chained to the damn pipe.
"The food is ready," the bastard said calmly. "I am going to get you to the couch, okay? Please, don't try anything funny... I am polite," he said calmly. "And I am trying to be nice to the others, but..." he shrugged. "Most people mistake this for weakness..." he frowned slightly. "I'd hate it if you were one of them," he finished.
"I am not like most people," Desmond responded calmly. The bastard nodded.
"I figured that much," he said. "I just thought I'd make it clear..."
"Have you killed anyone before?" Desmond asked suddenly and the bastard's shoulders immediately tensed.
"Yes," he answered softly. "I did not enjoy it," he muttered.
"Was it an accident?" Desmond asked almost leisurely, his hands trying to find the weakness of the pipe.
"One was," the bastard replied carefully, his gaze locked on Desmond's hands.
"How many were there?" Desmond asked casually without letting his despair to flow through.
The bastard shook his head.
"It doesn't matter," he said calmly. "Specter, I am going to move you to the couch now... Please, don't try anything funny... Because if you try something..." he shrugged again. "I'm not gonna have any choice. I don't want to hurt you, but I will do it if I have to," he finished as calmly as before.
"Deal," Desmond answered shortly.
"Okay," the bastard nodded solemnly.
Later, when he was thinking about it, Desmond couldn't figure out what exactly happened. One minute, he was chained to the pipe, his wrists sore, shoulders aching; the next minute, one of his wrists was free, and he was finally able to lower his arms. He didn't see anything in the bastard's hands -- no key, no nothing. It was like all the guy had to do, was to touch the metal cuffs in order to unlock them. Desmond was led to the shabby-looking couch, and before he could put his now free hands to use (breaking this bastard's neck would definitely feel exquisite), the cuffs were around his wrists again, and this time both his arms were twisted behind his back. Desmond gritted his teeth but kept his expression indifferent. He glanced at the table in front of the couch. A plate filled with something that looked like potatoes and beef was sitting there.
"You expect me to eat like this?" he asked, moving his shoulders slightly. "Like a dog out of the bowl?"
"No," the bastard said as calmly as before. "Sit."
Desmond sat down slowly, watching the guy warily. When he picked up a forkful of food and brought it to Desmond's mouth, the assassin let out disbelieving laughter.
"You kidding me!" he snorted. "You gonna feed me?!"
The bastard shrugged and nodded silently. Hell, no, Desmond thought. Pain he could handle; he didn't enjoy it but he could handle it. This, however, was humiliating. He shook his head, his mouth twitching in a nasty smile.
"Free up one of my hands," he said. "I don't care which one."
"I am afraid, I can't do that," the bastard replied in the same polite manner as before. That politeness was starting to infuriate Desmond. "You are dangerous even now. With one of your hands free, you'd be even more dangerous."
Desmond looked into his dark eyes.
"Then you can shove that fork," he said coolly and felt some weak satisfaction when the guy's eyes narrowed just a little. Not that composed after all, he thought.
"I don't want you to starve," the guy said evenly and Desmond smiled when he recognized the shadow of anger in his voice.
"Then you'll have to force-feed me," he said. "And believe me when I say it..." he smiled again. "It's not going to be easy. I'll bite your fucking hand off."
The guy's eyes darkened and he put the fork down onto the plate. Then he got up and yanked Desmond up on his feet. Without saying anything, he pushed him back towards the corner of the room, and before Desmond could do or say something, he was hugging the same damn pipe again. The bastard went back to the table, picked up the plate, and went away without saying anything. Desmond leaned on the wall and closed his eyes.
- III -
It was several hours later and Desmond felt like shit. He couldn't find comfortable or at least, semi-comfortable position at all. If he sat down, his arms would be strained above his head and they would start aching after several minutes. If he stood up, it would make his shoulders feel better, but it also made his knee hurt. Desmond remembered the kick that the bastard landed on his kneecap and gritted his teeth for probably a thousandth time within the last couple of hours. He'll kill him, he thought. He didn't know when or how, but he'll kill this son of a bitch. The knee was hurting again, so he slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the wall.
Until the end of the month... Desmond frowned thoughtfully. Why until the end of the month? It had something to do with one of Desmond's assignments, he knew that much. He thought about the cases he had lined up. There was a banker, whose rival contacted Desmond a couple of weeks ago; a woman who was blackmailing a semi-famous novelist; a politician's son who managed to piss off one of the business tycoons in the city... Could it be one of those? Not the banker, that's for sure. Desmond discarded the woman as well -- the idiotic bimbo thought she was invincible as long as she had those photographs of the writer fucking her in some seedy motel room. Yeah, that would be an interesting one to explain to his mate, Desmond snorted softly.
Desmond himself never had a mate. He didn't think he ever would. One of the reasons was the fact that his line of work could make him kick the bucket any second of any given day. It would hardly be a smart choice to get deeply involved with someone if you were a kill-for-hire. The other reason was that having a mate would mean having a huge liability. If there is someone or something you care deeply enough about, that gives the others a very good leverage against you. There was another reason. The one that outweighed the first two. To have a mate meant that you had to put your complete and utter trust into another person. Desmond didn't do well with trusting someone. Plus, what if your mate turns out to be someone like the said writer?
He shook his head, making himself to stop thinking about something so futile. It's not the banker, and it's not the bimbo. That left the politician's son. Desmond frowned again. Why would this bastard... Gabriel... Why would he give a shit about some spoiled brat? What was the brat's name, by the way? Samuel, Desmond remembered immediately. Samuel LeVoughn.
This time he heard the bastard to come into the room.
"So you are keeping me here because you are taking care of the LeVoughn kid?" he asked casually and smirked when the dark eyes widened in momentarily surprise. "I'll kill him anyway," he said with a small smile. "Because now it's a personal challenge."
"I don't care if you kill him," the bastard said, and now it was Desmond's turn to blink in surprise. "I have to keep you away from him until the end of the month. What happens after that is none of my concern."
Desmond narrowed his eyes.
"I see..." he muttered and Gabriel gave him a weary look. Desmond almost shrugged, but at the last second decided against it. His arms were straining above his head; shrugging would feel quite uncomfortable, to say the least. "LeVoughn-Senior thinks that by the end of the month the kid should be safe... He is probably shipping him off to a different continent," he laughed softly. "Like it would stop me... He's got something on you, huh? The politician? He's jerking your chain, so you keep me locked up `till he says it's okay to let go..." He shook his head and slowly got up. Shoulders started to ache again. "Never trust a politician," he said with a smirk and Gabriel turned away from him.
The shrill ringing of the phone made him look up with a startled jerk. "Jumpy, are you..." Desmond thought darkly, eyeing his prisoner through the dark strand of hair that fell on his face. Gabriel crossed the room and picked up the phone.
"Yes," he said into it. "Yes," he said again after a minute and glanced at Desmond. "No," he said with a small frown. "No problems... Correct," he nodded to himself. "It's fine..." he frowned deeper. "Why would I care about that? Guardians' business doesn't concern me..."
Desmond blinked. Guardians' business?
"I am aware of that," Gabriel said into the phone evenly. "They can figure it out on their own. I will," he nodded again. "Good-bye." He thoughtfully looked at the receiver in his hand before replacing it in the cradle.
"Why would someone bother calling you about Guardians' business?" Desmond asked in a low voice and Gabriel glanced at him.
"Because they think I might be interested," he answered shortly.
"You would make a good Guardian," Desmond said with a sneer and Gabriel stared at him. This time, Desmond was able to shrug. "Serve the greater good," he said. "You'd make a great servant... One of Claudia's lap-dogs..."
Gabriel's mouth twitched a little and Desmond couldn't tell if it was because he was annoyed or because he was trying not to laugh.
"There are worse things in this life than becoming Claudia's lap-dog," he said quietly. "And no, I wouldn't make a good Guardian. I am too unreliable."
Suddenly, Desmond didn't feel like making small talk anymore. He was getting really tired of this whole ordeal. He felt trapped and it was making him mad. It's been a while since the last time he felt this way, and he hated the feeling.
"I need to take a piss," he said shortly and Gabriel cocked his head to the left, thoughtful expression on his face. "You gonna make me piss all over myself?" Desmond asked irritably.
"No," Gabriel said finally. "I won't."
Desmond watched him warily as he walked towards him. As he reached for the cuffs, he asked:
"You gonna let me do it by myself or you gonna pull it out for me?"
"Sounds more than just one word," Desmond said.
Gabriel shrugged and unlocked the cuffs.
"How do you do that?" Desmond asked suddenly, his curiosity taking over.
Gabriel snapped the cuffs back onto the assassin's wrists, this time in front of him.
"Metals and me..." he paused. "We are on friendly terms," he finished with a small smile.
"Great," Desmond thought gloomily. That made the whole situation that much harder.
"Don't lock the door," Gabriel said when Desmond was walking into the bathroom.
Desmond glanced at the metal doorknob.
"That would be useless," he said indifferently and walked into the bathroom.
He shut the door and immediately went down on one knee. He shoved the fingers of his left hand under his pant leg and frowned slightly, searching underneath the material. Finally, he let out a small satisfied grunt and his fingers emerged, holding an oversized paperclip. "Always thought you might come in handy," he muttered at the paperclip, unbending it swiftly.
It took him less than two minutes to get rid of the hateful cuffs. He sat them on the counter and glanced at the door, thoughtful frown greasing his forehead. Killing this son of a bitch would be excellent, but Desmond didn't underestimate the dark-eyed bastard. He knew that right now, he was in no shape to fight the guy and he didn't have a slightest desire to have all the shit beat out of him again. "I'll come back," he thought. "I have no problems with the rain-check."
He went straight towards the window of the bathroom and snorted softly when he realized it was unlocked. "Cocky bastard, aren't you?" he thought, reaching for the frame. "Not even worrying that I might be able to..."
He never finished his thought because the minute he touched the window frame, a zap of something that felt like electricity surged through his body and Desmond literally flew backwards. He hit the floor with the back of his head, but his mind barely even registered it. The pain from the zap was overwhelming; Desmond couldn't even speak. He lay convulsing on the floor, his hands clenched into tight fists, toes digging into the tiled floor, back arching as if he was having a seizure.
The door opened and Desmond didn't even notice that. "Ah, hell," Gabriel said and lifted him off the floor. Desmond drew short gasps of air through his clenched teeth, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. He tried to speak, but the only thing he could say sounded like, "Mmgnph...."
"Don't try to speak," Gabriel sighed and carried him out of the bathroom. He lowered him on the couch and sighed again. Desmond stared at him blindly, his fists unable to relax, his entire body one screaming bolt of pain.
"Dammit," Gabriel said and walked away. He came back in less than a minute and Desmond was finally able to draw a deep breath when a cold wet cloth touched his forehead. "It should start easing up in a couple of minutes," Gabriel muttered, slowly working the cloth over Desmond's face. "The pain will be completely gone in less than half an hour..."
After several minutes, Desmond realized that the pain was indeed easing up. He managed to relax his fists and blinked several times, trying to get rid of that annoying haziness in his eyes.
"I know how much it hurts," Gabriel said seriously and Desmond glared at him.
"Like hell... You do..." he managed.
"No, really," Gabriel nodded. "Before I brought you here, I had to make sure that I secure everything... As I said before..." he hemmed. "I am not suicidal. When everything was in place, I had to make sure that it works properly..." He shrugged. "I had to test it out myself. So yes, I know how much it hurts," he finished.
"What in the bloody hell was that...?" Desmond muttered, his body shaking less violently by now.
"A spell," Gabriel replied seriously. "I put the same one on every window, door, and crawlspace in the house. Even if you manage to break out of these..." he nodded at the handcuffs that he apparently grabbed from the bathroom counter. "You will still be stuck here because I am the only one who can take the spell off, and if you kill me..." he shrugged. "You'll just starve to death because there is no way you will be able to get out of here."
"If you had the damn spell up this whole time, then why did you bother with the handcuffs?" Desmond narrowed his eyes.
"Would you really believe me if I told you?" Gabriel hemmed. "Also, you'd probably kill me before I had a chance to tell you about the spell if you woke up without the handcuffs."
True, Desmond had to admit that. If his hands were free after he came about, the metal-boy here would be if not dead right now, then very close to it, because Desmond would definitely take his sweet time before sending this bastard to hell. He blinked when he realized that the pain was almost half-way gone. Damn magic, he thought darkly. He didn't like magic; the magic was something he could never trust. Not like he could trust much else, but at least he always thought that weapons (hell, even poisons!) could be trusted a hell of a lot more than magic. Magic was unreliable, therefore, it was dangerous. One could never know how a particular spell would turn out. Also, magic had a habit of turning the tables on its user. "Well," Desmond thought reasonably. "Same with the weapons... Those can be used against you as well."
True, but when it came to weapons, Desmond was crème de la crème. When it came to magic, however, he was a complete and hopeless amateur. The fact that Gabriel knew how to use the magic to his advantage, along with his ability to be "friendly" with metals, only made him that much more dangerous of an opponent. "Who the hell is he, anyway?" Desmond thought. "I've never even heard of him..." And Desmond knew people, all right. With his line of work, it was pretty much a requirement. He welcomed the fact that the pain was almost gone and shifted on the couch. To his enormous surprise, he realized that he was hungry.
"Umm..." he said and Gabriel simply nodded.
"I know," he said. "You are starving, aren't you?"
Desmond narrowed his eyes slightly. Gabriel sighed.
"I know that because I was about to pass out from hunger after I was done testing the damn thing."
He is not lying, Desmond thought with amusement. He really did test this by himself.
"Yes," he said in a low voice. "I am starving... But I am not going to let you feed me," he added and Gabriel nodded once again.
"Figured that much," he said and got up, leaving the wet cloth on Desmond's forehead.
He came back five or ten minutes later, and sat a plate with steaming food on the table.
"Had to warm it up," he said apologetically. "Sorry."
The only thing Desmond said to that was:
"Mmngh!"
...and then he all but dove into that plate. Oh, God, this was definitely the best meal of his entire life. He didn't even care that he could barely taste it; the fact that he had food, made him almost delirious. Finally, he was satiated enough to be able to let go of his fork. If there were no fork, he would just eat with his hands. Hell, he would let Gabriel to feed him and he would beg for more. He didn't care if he looked pathetic; he didn't give a shit if that would make him completely...
"Useless," his Grandmother said at once.
...ridiculous; he could care less. He felt amazingly good and he didn't give a flying shit about anything else.
"More?" Gabriel asked, and it wasn't mocking; he was simply curious if Desmond needed more food, so he could go into the kitchen and warm it up.
Desmond shook his head `No' and Gabriel nodded, as if confirming something he knew the answer to already. Desmond pushed the plate away, his eyelids heavy with satiation and hovering sleep. Once again, he didn't give a damn about anything in the world, but the fact that he wasn't hungry anymore, and that all he wanted to do was sleep.
Gabriel slid the handcuffs onto his wrists, and Desmond just raised his eyebrows. "I can't get out of the damn place anyway..." he thought sleepily. "What's the point?"
Gabriel -- once again -- acted as if he were reading his mind.
"You can't get out," he said. "But you are stubborn enough to try it anyway... And I'd much rather to keep you preoccupied than being strangled in my sleep..."
That made sense, and to be honest, right now Desmond could care less. He simply snorted something unintelligible and closed his eyes. He drifted to sleep soon after that; his hands cuffed behind his back; his worries ridiculous, because they had nothing to do with his basic needs; his inner-self completely satisfied with its surroundings. Desmond has been drugged before, so he could recognize the symptoms and effects. This wasn't exactly chemicals-induced condition, but it felt very similar. "I guess magic is not much different from drugs," he thought before sliding into dark sleep completely.