Hanna

[maculategiraffe]

Fourth-place winner in the poll.

This is-- an unusual story for me. I guess it is essentially the Slave Breakers version of your classic "break the spitfire" slavefic, which-- despite the title of my universe-- is not a fic I write. I guess partly I just wanted to see if I could pull it off. Y'all will have to let me know.

Also, it's very spare and somewhat disjointed, you'll note; I wrote it this way, intending to go back later and fill in more details, a more specific timeline, etc., but then read back over it and decided (I hope rightly) that it works the way it is, as a subjective picture of Hanna's experience of this time.










The first thing she said to him was, "You can't stop me."

"That's where you're wrong," he answered pleasantly. "I can, and I will."

"I'll kill you," said Hanna, looking up at the dark-haired man who now held legal title to her body. "I'll wait until you're not looking, and I'll get you down and wrap these chains around your neck and squeeze until you're not breathing any more, and then I'll squeeze just a little bit longer, and then I'll wait for your stupid fucking bitch and your stupid fucking whore to come find you and I'll kill them too, and I'll stamp on all your fucking faces until your brains splash up my legs--"

"You do have a way with narrative," said the man. "Are you done?"

"Not until the cops shoot me between the fucking eyes!"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Well, now you've spoiled the ending."

Hanna flung herself at him, aiming for his groin-- surely there was a chance she could get in at least one lucky bite-- but he moved too quickly for her and caught her in his arms, dragging her against him with her back against his chest, one arm pinned across her stomach and arms, the other resting lightly against her throat. She struggled furiously, regretting the recent hunger strike that had left her muscles so limp and wasted, and ended with a tube down her throat. She wouldn't try the starvation tack again.

"Hanna," he said, not loudly, but very firmly, as his arm pressed a little harder against her throat, "I'd rather not sedate you, but if my other option is sitting on you until you pass out from sheer rage, then I'm going to have the nice doctor give you a shot, okay?"

"Motherfucker," she said, lacking the breath to scream it. "Motherfucking cocksucking piece of--"

"--shit, scum bastard son of a bitch from hell," he interrupted. "I know. I'm going to put you down now, okay?"

She didn't answer, and she didn't fight as he put her down on the padded table in a sitting position. Then she headbutted him in the chest as hard as she could, taking him enough by surprise that he staggered backwards. She was up, bowling him the rest of the way over, and on top of him, trying to hit him in the face with her head, but he was ready for her this time and blocked the blow, then wrestled her over till he was the one on top of her, crushing her with his weight, and no matter how hard she struggled, his weight advantage-- he must weigh at least twice what she did-- was insurmountable. Especially without the use of her hands, which were still chained uselessly behind her.

"Okay, Hanna," he said calmly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I also don't want you to hurt me. Or my bitch and my whore-- by which I assume you meant my beloved wife and my cherished lifelong companion. If I have to hurt you to protect them, I will. But I'm not going to seriously injure you and I'm not going to kill you, no matter what-- and you're not going to kill yourself, either, not on my watch. You might as well just resign yourself to that."

"Never," she said through her teeth. "Not until I'm dead. So you might as well kill me now and save your beloved bitch and your cherished whore, because I don't care how long it fucking takes before you turn your back, I'm never resigning myself to life as a fucking slave."

"I might be able to offer you a third option," he said, sitting up, with his weight on her thighs and his hands pinning her shoulders to the floor. "We'll discuss that when you're feeling more rational. But not before then. For now, I've got some slightly more advanced restraints to put you in, since the standard ones weren't designed for the criminally insane, and then we'll see about that tranquilizing shot."

"Make it lethal," Hanna said, staring into his impossibly calm face. "Shoot me up with poison. Stop my heart. I bet your doctor's done it a thousand times, for old and sick slaves. And I'm sick in the head, you just said, I'm criminally insane, so put me the fuck down."

"No," he said.

She had to drag in a breath to scream loud enough into his face, "Why not?"

"Because," he said, "you're going to be okay."







"Ow!" Hanna turned her head and bit his hand, hard.

"Ow!" he echoed, and pulled back, looking at his bleeding hand.

"You hurt me," she said, "I hurt you."

"I didn't hurt you, you little psychopath," he said. "I was putting disinfectant on your face. Which I am not responsible for beating in. Try to keep up."

He poured more disinfectant from the bottle onto his hand where she'd bitten him, and then resumed dabbing delicately at her bruised and cut forehead.

"It could just be me," he added, "but beating your own brains out seems like a particularly inefficient and painful method of suicide."

"If you'd just kill me," she said, "I wouldn't have to do it like that. You could at least untie my hands."

"If I wanted you to die, I sure could," he answered. "As it is, you stay in the restraints and I stay within ten feet of you, all the time, from now on. Won't that be fun? Especially at night. We can share girlish confidences and braid each other's hair."

"I'll kill you in your sleep," Hanna said grimly.

He smiled at her. "You know, Hanna, if anyone could pull it off, I bet it would be you."

"So, what, you're invulnerable?"

"No, I just fight dirty," he answered. "As do you-- but I've got a lot more unfair advantages on my side. Size, strength, experience, heavy restraints, that kind of thing. And a gag, for tonight, so you can't bite my throat out in my sleep."

She stared at him in horror. "You're really going to make me sleep with you?"

"Only in the most literal sense," he said. "Relax, Hanna. If I were going to rape you, I would have done it by now, don't you think?"

"If I wake up and you're touching me," she said, "I'll bite off your dick before I kill you."

"Duly noted," he said. "If it helps, I don't cherish fond fantasies of snuggling up to you, either. No offense, but you're not the cuddliest slave I've ever trained. I don't think you're even in the top ten."








"Hanna?" he said a couple of days later. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Why would I do you a favor, asshole?" Hanna asked, disbelieving.

"No harm in asking," he said. "Just, if you do get loose and kill me and yourself, I was hoping you could find it in your heart not to kill anybody else in the house. Leave my family alive. You think you could do that?"

She peered at him. "You're making fun of me, you bastard."

"I'm really not," he said. "I was just thinking-- you're smart, and terrifyingly determined, and it's actually not outside the realm of possibility that you might think of something I haven't already thought of. And you mentioned you were going to kill me, possibly by biting off my dick-- which doesn't really seem all that fair since you've never even seen my dick-- but that's a risk I'm willing to take on my own account. I was just hoping you could make it possible for me to stop worrying about my family. They're innocent in this."

"No," she said, hope flaring. "I'm going to kill them all, unless you kill me first. Like now. Just snap my neck. Then you won't have to worry about them any more."

"I won't do that, Hanna," he said firmly.

She blinked up at him, and then said, "So what's the third option?"

"You're still too crazy for the third option, kiddo," he said.







"Ow!"

"Sorry," he said. "Thrashing around all night puts some serious knots in your hair. I'm just trying to make sure we don't have to cut it all off."

"Yeah," said Hanna, sneering, "we wouldn't want to have to do anything that would make me ugly, would we, and lower my price as a slave."

"Kid," he said, "I'm pretty sure the only way I could lower the asking price for you at this point is if I threw in a rabid wolf as part of the bargain. Cutting off one of your limbs might actually sweeten the deal-- it would make you less dangerous."

"Right," said Hanna, "but you're going to fix me, right, and turn me into the perfect slave."

"I really, really doubt it," he said.

Hope leaped up again. "So you'll kill me?"

"No."

"Then what's the motherfucking third option?"

"The third option involves you being saner than you are now," he said.

"Does sane mean happy about being a slave?"

"Certainly not," he said. "But it means not homicidal, and preferably not suicidal either. Hold still."

"Fucking ow, cocksucker!" she screamed, as the comb tugged at a knot.

"Sorry," he said again, putting the comb down and beginning to work at the knot with his fingers. "I guess this is why my old master had all my hair shaved off."

She didn't say anything for a minute, as he sectioned off her hair and pulled it back in a braid, and then she said, "Your what?"

"My master," he said. "When I was a slave."









"I don't need the gag," she said one night at bedtime.

Holding it in his hands-- she was already cuffed to the bed, her hands above her head, her ankles secured so she couldn't kick-- he looked at her sharply. "No?"

"No," she said. "I won't-- I'll be quiet. I won't bite."

After looking at her for a long moment, he nodded and put it down.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

She didn't know what he was thanking her for, unless it was her promise, which irritated her-- she wasn't doing it to please him, she was doing it because she hated the gag even more than all the other restraints.

That was probably how most good, obedient, cringing-puppy slaves got started being good. They were so tired of all the shit they went through that they started asking for small indulgences, and being grateful when they were granted. Obedience earned comfort. Slaves got comfortable, and then they didn't mind being slaves any more. Kindness could be addictive.

Hanna was tired of all the shit she went through. Tired enough to die. But no one would let her die.

She couldn't reach his throat to bite it, anyway, not tied the way he had her.

She slept, instead, waking in the morning without the awful, cottony, tacky aftertaste that the gag left in her mouth. He was still asleep next to her. She watched him for a while, then tugged and twisted perfunctorily at her bonds, already tired of the pointlessness. He woke up and looked at her.

"Morning," he said, sitting up to undo the chains that attached her wrists to the headboard. She considered lunging up to bite him then, but decided that whatever damage it would do wasn't worth having the gag replaced. She could bide her time.







"If you let me out of the cuffs," she said, "I promise not to kill you. Or myself."

"Promise?" he said.

She nodded.

"Okay," he said, and went around behind her to begin undoing the cuffs.

She couldn't believe it had been that simple.

She had her arms free now.

"And the shackles," she said.

He shook his head. "I think those stay, for now. We'll see how you do with your hands free."

"Can I eat dinner with a fork?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. "I am absolutely that stupid. Except if I were, we'd probably both be dead already. Do I need to put the cuffs back on?"

"No," she said, unexpected panic grabbing at her stomach at the thought. "I won't-- try anything."

"Very convincing." He reached for the restraints.

"No," said Hanna again, her heart pounding, feeling sick. "I-- Please."

He gave her the sharp look again, and didn't pick up the restraints.

"Okay," he said. "But when we go to bed, they go back on."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I know you're not that stupid."

"Really?" he said, sounding genuinely surprised and pleased. "Thanks."








"I changed my mind," she said the next day. "I'm not going to kill you."

"You aren't?" he asked. "Why the change of heart?"

"It would be pointless," she said. "A waste of time. I'm going to have little enough time to kill myself as it is, without worrying about killing you and everybody else, too."

"But I'm going to try to stop you from killing yourself," he pointed out. "How are you going to get me out of the way without killing me?"

"I'll outsmart you," she said.

"How?"

"You think I'm stupid."

"Far from it," he said. "Which is unfortunate for you, in some ways. If you were stupid, you'd be a lot happier as a slave."

"Would you have been?"

"Absolutely," he said.

"How did you get free?"

"My third owner freed me," he said. "And married me."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she said, but he shook his head. "You married somebody who owned you like an animal?"

"Yep," he said. "You hungry?"









One morning, when he unfastened her wrists from the headboard and took off the cuffs, he left her ankles free, too.

She looked up at him, trying not to show surprise. Or gratitude. Especially gratitude.

"Let's just give it a try," he said.

She stood up and started walking towards the bedroom door. He didn't say anything; he just followed her. At the top of the stairs, he grabbed her arm firmly; she twisted away, but he didn't let go, and after a moment, she let his hand stay where it was while they walked down the stairs. He let go at the bottom, and let her walk towards the front door.

She got to the door and put her hand on the knob, just to see what he would do. He didn't move. Neither did the door; it was deadbolted.

She turned to look at him. He was watching her silently, not smiling.

She walked past him, deliberately bumping his arm hard with her shoulder, and he made a little sound that could have been surprise or swallowed laughter; she didn't turn to look, or to see if he was following her to the kitchen.

Nobody was in there. A block of knives stood right on the counter. He stood in the doorway, poised, watching.

She sat down at the table and looked up at him.

"So," she said. "What's the third option?"

He still didn't smile. He sat down opposite her, and told her.







In the car, on the way, she said, "Why didn't you tell me before? Why didn't you just take me straight to them?"

"Because you were homicidal," he said. "I wasn't going to put them in danger."

"You'd rather have yourself in danger?"

"Yes," he said. "Because if anything ever happened to them-- I couldn't do what I do."

"What about all the slaves you do train and resell?" she demanded. "What if I'd given in? What if I'd decided to be a good slave?"

"Then you'd have been a good slave," he said calmly. "No problem. Not everybody needs to be free."

"You did."

"And you do," he said. "But we're not everybody."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," he said.

"That's no reason why you shouldn't be."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Was it fair for you to threaten to kill Alix and Yves?"

She looked away, out the window. "I was desperate. It's not the same. You have-- power."

"Not that much," he said. "Not enough to make life fair. Here's where we get out."

"Don't try to touch me," she said as they both opened their car doors.

"Hey," he answered, with a sudden smile that almost, but not quite, surprised her into smiling back. "You've trained me better than that."