Chapter Text
Suzanne has gotten used to witnessing the exact moment someone's life was about to be ruined.
Being Lionel Gerdinger's personal assistant, that kind of thing just comes with the job.
God, and she was so excited about working for him, too. It's not like he was ever likeable or anything, but he was known to pay well, and he had contacts that could advance her career. Never before had Suzanne had her own bedroom, let alone a meal that didn't have a long list of unpronouncable ingredients. Gerdinger is an asshole, but she never planned to stay here for long, anyway.
At first, she couldn't believe she actually got the job. She would have thought Gerdinger preferred slim women with smooth silky hair and golden, creamy skin and big boobs. She's pretty much the exact opposite of all of that.
Later she overheard a conversation that obviously wasn't meant for her ears.
"So, your PA? That fat girl? What is that all about? If you're gonna get yourself an Asian chick for help, at least get a hot one", an equally rich and disgusting business partner of Gerdinger had asked with a sneer, and Gerdinger had laughed and said, "I wouldn't be able to get anything done around here if I was tempted to fuck my PA, dude."
And yeah, hearing that hurt like a bitch, but after learning what kind of man Gerdinger is, Suzanne is actually quite thankful for her fat belly and her acne ridden skin and her thin hair that, no matter how she styles it, always looks frizzy.
She's seen what happens to people he finds attractive. She's seen all the men and women come and go, some of them young, really young, she's seen their terrified, uncomfortable faces when one of Gerdinger's henchmen took them to his room, and she's seen them shake and cry when they left it a few hours later.
Some of them never left at all.
Obviously the first thing in her mind was to quit the job immediately and go to the police because there was no way any of these people were here voluntarily. Gary, one of the henchmen who actually has quit, confidentially told her that yes, Gerdinger picked people out like he was doing online shopping, found out something incriminating about them, and blackmailed them into sleeping with him.
"Take care of yourself, okay?", he had said with a look of concern. "I'll make sure to make that asshole pay one day."
And then he was gone the next day without a word. She doesn't know if it was of his own volition. Gerdinger theoretically has the resources to remove him permantently without a trace.
Gary has always been a bit of a mystery to her. He had messy brown hair and the bluest eyes that seemed a little familiar, and his jaw muscles tensed whenever a new person was escorted to Gerdinger's room. He came out of nowhere and then he just disappeared again. Honestly, she's not even sure if "Gary" is his right name. In an attempt to find out more about Gerdinger's victims, she had stuck her nose into places she definitely wasn't supposed to be, and surprisingly, she had found Gary do the same. He didn't notice her because he was on a hissed phone call, going on about, "I thought you had an emergency, Colt! I'm at work right now!", and she swears, she could hear the man on the other end of the line say the name "Court". Whoever this "Colt" was, he was apparently talking quite loudly.
She's researched about a few of the people Gerdinger took in - most of them were famous in some way - and the majority of them have went MIA after coming here.
Suzanne has no idea what exactly Gerdinger is doing to these people, but she knows it's bad.
She discarded the idea of going to the police fairly quickly because...who would believe her? And also...Gerdinger is so filthy rich that even if he was found guilty, there would be almost no consequences for him.
But she has silently promised to herself and to each person who has been victimized by this pig that she would at least try. She would keep working for him and collect every bit of evidence she could find.
It was tough, but she pushed through. Sometimes, she cried when she thought of all these poor souls who might never receive justice, but that just added fuel to the fire that was burning within her, and she's forced herself to endure it. So far, she's managed great. And she's collected quite a bit of evidence. It wouldn't get him a prison sentence, or at least not a fair one, but at the very least, the general public will hate his guts after she's done with him.
So far, so easy.
Until it isn't anymore.
"Time Magazine wants to know when you're free for the interview, a Mister Wayne has sent you details for your photo shoot, and, oh, Eva Stratt has sent another email", she hurriedly lists all the relevant things while trying to keep up with his big steps. She's only like 5 foot 1 tall while he's 6'1. He loves bragging about that.
He groans and rolls his eyes. "She's still set on getting a fucking donation? Goddamn, that woman won't give up, huh? Tell her she can shove it."
Suzanne has to take a big breath and exhale to not immediately go into a big rant. Gerdinger is one of those people who doesn't believe in the Astrophage crisis, and he actually popped a goddamn bottle of champagne when he heard that the Petrova Taskforce was out of money because most world leaders had cut the funds. Why they cut it? Because Eva Stratt isn't afraid to do what needs to be done in order to save the world and they're all cowards.
And Suzanne is perhaps a little biased because someone very dear to her is working on the project, too. His name is Ryland Grace. He was her science teacher six years ago, when she was fourteen. He's the only reason she had any friends in school, because he managed to end all of the relentless bullying and integrate her into the class. She doesn't even want to know which kind of dark place she would be in right now if it hadn't been for him. He saved her. The very least she can do for him is help him save the world now.
"There's mass protests all around the world to get the proposed Hail Mary project of the taskforce back on track", she tries. "You could earn quite a lot of sympathy points if you finance it."
"I don't care about validation from a bunch of leftist wokies", Gerdinger snaps.
Suzanne takes another deep breath. For fuck's sake. "She's desperate", she says and sounds pretty desperate herself now.
He scoffs. "I bet she is."
"This could be beneficial for you as well", she tries. "Here, you'll see what I mean. I printed the email out for you."
Gerdinger takes the paper with a disgusted look on his face. "I didn't fucking hire you to print out my mails. Reading them is your fucking job."
"I just thought..."
"You didn't think at all." He scoffs and makes sure to give her another disgusted look before reluctantly letting his eyes fly over the words.
Then she sees him read them again, and finally, he huffs out a laugh. "Wow, she really is desperate. 'You can have anything you want.'" He mimics a high voice. "How literal do you think she means it?"
"Let's test it out?", she suggests before she can think better of it. The truth is, she's terrified of this Astrophage shit, and Eva Stratt and her team are the only people right now who are doing something about it.
They've reached his office. He gives her a curious look before opening the door.
He doesn't tell her to leave, so she follows him in. Everything in this room is disgustingly expensive. It looks like a king's bedroom from the 1700's, with a heavy wooden desk and red velvet armchairs and a fireplace. A TV takes up almost the whole wall.
"I heard they're holding a stupid press conference about the state of the taskforce right now", she says, trying to sound casual. He's smart enough to know she doesn't actually believe it's stupid, but not smart enough to let it affect him. She has to make sure he doesn't feel managed by her; they need to be on the same side for this, even if they both know they aren't.
"Like that's gonna do them any favors", Gerdinger scoffs. He plops down on one of the armchairs and throws a leg over the armrest. "TV on", he commands.
Suzanne averts her eyes. She gets a lot of second hand embarrassment from working with Gerdinger, but watching this fifty-something year old with the fake tan and the saggy cheeks and the white stubble act like a petulant teenager is too much even for her to bear.
The TV switches on and the camera is focused on Eva Stratt. She's sitting at a panel, wearing her usual black, shapeless attire. "...and the more time passes, the more devastation will occur. We're on a schedule. Right now, we still have the chance to do something about it, but every week that passes is just going to cause more and more deaths."
Her words spike fear in Suzanne. When she looks at Gerdinger, he mostly looks bored.
"Sure, as if", he says. "You know what, if she's really that desperate, tell her she can have the money. I want her to sit down for an interview about what a great guy I am, give me clearance to know about every last one of her decisions..." He trails off, his eyes focused on the TV screen with a new kind of curiosity. Even from here she can see that his pupils are blown. She's seen that expression on him a thousand times already. When she follows his gaze, her breath catches in her throat and her hands feel ice cold all of a sudden.
Oh no. Oh, fuck no.
"...and I want the twink in my bedroom next Tuesday, eight PM, sharp. Make sure he wears his little lab coat and his glasses."
Suzanne stares.
"...and these little buggers are hard to get rid of, so it's essential this mission can happen. Thank you for your time", the familiar voice on TV says.
She can hardly breathe. Not him. Oh, please, not him.
"Suzanne?" Gerdinger looks at her from beneath raised eyebrows with an expression like he's dealing with an idiot and then makes a handmotion. "Shoo."
It takes a few moments before her legs work again, and just before she closes the door behind her, she hears him scoff, "Jesus fucking Christ."
Outside of the room, she leans against the door.
Yes, she's witnessed the exact moment someone's life was about to be ruined countless times.
But this time, it fills her with a kind of dread that is unlike anything she's felt before.
Because Lionel Gerdinger's next victim is going to be Ryland Grace.
Grace's morning starts with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For some reason, this memory is crucial to him when he later recounts what happened that day.
He's just about to bite into it a third or maybe already fourth time when Carl receives a message through the speaker in his ear. Grace can tell because he puts a hand up to it as if to press it in and hear better.
"Stratt wants to see you."
"Now?", he asks with a full mouth. It's rude, and he knows this, but when you work on a project where time isn't on your side, you get used to working and talking inbetween bites. Eating has become less of a priority over the past few months. Now that they've lost all their funds, even more so. He consoles himself with the fact that he's not the only one; the vast majority of people working here have lost their table manners.
"Now", Carl confirms.
Grace gives his sandwich a wistful look and sighs. "Sorry, bud. We had amazing two minutes together, but work calls."
Then he bites into it one last time and chews slowly in an attempt to savor it.
Carl's mouth corners twitch. "Did you just farewell your food?"
Grace, in lieu of an answer, licks the strawberry jam off of his fingers and shrugs.
Carl huffs out a disbelieving laugh. "You're a weird guy, has anyone ever told you that?" He stops Grace when he's about to put the tray away. "You don't have to toss it, just eat it on the way."
"I was done."
"The tender moment you two shared just now makes me believe otherwise."
"Do you want it?"
"Hell no."
Grace truly isn't hungry anymore. He isn't hungry most of the time, actually. His guess is that it's because of all the adrenaline and agitation. Those are the only things keeping him upright these days. Well, that, and caffeine (and yes, he does own a mug that says, "Don't talk to me before I've had my coffee", and it's his favorite one. He even wrote his name on it).
But he doesn't want to be wasteful, so he wraps the sandwich into clear film and puts it in the pocket of his cardigan. Carl, wisely, doesn't comment on it.
"Did something happen?", Grace asks on the way.
"We'll see."
When they arrive at Stratt's door, Grace raises his arm to knock, but mid-motion, she already opens it.
His heart sinks at the sight of her.
Stratt never really puts a lot of effort into her appearance, she has more important things to do. But now, she looks positively dishevelled and her cheeks are flushed. She's clearly trying to keep her composure, but Grace immediately knows something's wrong.
"Thank you, Carl, you can go", she says.
Carl nods once, then he leaves. Stratt has already turned around and says, "Come in. Close the door" over her shoulder
With a feeling of looming dread, he does what he's told and follows her in.
"Please, sit." She gestures towards the chair opposite her desk.
She must be really distraught, because he's in this office so often that she never even offers him a seat anymore, he usually just takes it.
A few moments pass where they sit across from each other in silence, and he watches the wheels turn in her head as she's trying to come up with what to say, or how to say it.
He's never seen her like this, and it scares him a little.
Finally, she takes a deep breath. "Grace, someone wants to donate one billion dollars to us."
The words hang between them, and in the next moment, his heart jumps with excitement. "Seriously? That's amazing!"
Is that why she's acting so weird? Is this what she looks like when she's happy? He hasn't quite figured her out yet. But well enough that he knows giving into his instinct and pulling her into a hug won't be well received, so he stays in his seat.
Stratt raises a hand the slightest bit to put a stop to his excitement. "The donation...comes with a condition."
She puts the tips of her pointer fingers together over her lips in a thoughtful expression.
"What condition?"
She gulps. It's audible in the room.
"You."
He stares at her for a moment, then he laughs nervously. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Stratt takes a shaky breath. Her eyes are apologetic. Why are they apologetic? He can feel the beginnings of his stomach rejecting the peanut butter jelly sandwich.
"The donator is Lionel Gerdinger. I'm sure you've heard of him."
Grace frowns. "Y-yes. Of course I have. He thinks the Astrophage are a hoax and we're just fear mongering to make money off of peoples' panic. Why would he give us that much money?"
"I just told you."
"Okay? So, he wants me to, like...work for him? As what? Does he need a middle school teacher to dumb down important big-boy mails for him?" He laughs nervously at his own joke. Stratt doesn't laugh with him. "Or like, a scientist to explain to him why it's unsafe to eat greens in the form of one dollar notes?"
She exhales through her nose, and it sounds just as shaky as her inhale. When she talks, her voice wavers. "He wants sexual favors, Grace."
The words are so ridiculous that he actually snorts through his nose. "What?"
Not even a muscle in her face twitches, her expression remains completely still. "What?", he repeats, and this time, he hears the worry in his own voice that is starting to manifest in his gut.
Instinctively, he knows what this means. Instinctively, he knows she's not giving him a choice here. She's simply giving him a heads-up.
"I...tried to offer him something, anything else. I would have been willing to offer myself in your place, even. But he made it very clear that either he gets you, or there will be no money."
She lets the words sink in.
The fabric of Grace's jeans rustles against the soft comfy chair as he uneasily fidgets on it. A hysteric laugh escapes him again, a last desperate attempt to write this whole thing off as a really insensitive joke. Maybe she has a weird sense of humor. He wouldn't know.
But she doesn't say "Sike", and the crew doesn't crawl out of every potential hiding place in the office to laugh and yell, "Surprise!"
"But...", he shakes his head. "No. No! You told him that, right? In that tone: No." He hears his own voice border on desperation. Is she serious? This...he knows she can be cruel. He knows she puts the project above everything, human lives, even. For some reason though, this...allowing someone to rape a person for money...he has no idea why he thinks she'd draw the line there, but he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. She's not going to make him do this, right? They'll find a different solution. That's why she called him here. To find a different solution.
She bites her lip. Her eyes are wet, but no tears fall. "I tried. Trust me, I did. Grace, if there was anything else I could offer him, anything at all, I would, but..."
"I'm not doing it!" The words escape him before he even knows he was going to say them and he jumps up from his chair. It scrapes over the floor and makes a nasty noise. "I- Stratt, don't make me do this! You can't make me do this!"
She can. He knows she can. Bile rises up in his throat.
"We are dependant on this donation, Grace. We need it, do you understand?" She's trying to use her tough voice now, but he can see right through it. It's affecting her. "If we don't get his money, the entire project will fail. Everyone will die."
"Pulling out the dramatics, I see!"
"I'm merely stating a fact."
"But...but he's just going to want more! He's using us, don't you see?" It's a weak attempt and he knows it is. "If we give in now, he's just going to keep making crazier and crazier demands!"
"Do you think I don't know that?", she snaps. Then she sighs, resigned. "But we don't have a better option."
"I quit", he tells her.
"Don't do this, Grace", Stratt warns. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."
He can't believe that she's saying this. What is she expecting from him? That he'll nicely stay put, waiting to be transported to Gerdinger and let himself be...god, this is insane! This has to be a joke!
Why would that Lionel-guy even want him?
This...this isn't something...this isn't something that happens to guys, it just isn't. And if it is, then it happens to young guys, not men who approach forty. This is ridiculous. It's stupid.
With an expression that says, Try me, he opens the office door.
And runs right into the arms of two military men.
It's only then that it truly sinks in what's happening here. His eyes go back to Stratt, who is standing now. She's wiping a hand over her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Grace", she says, and he doesn't even get to say, "What the fudge" before the men drag him away.
He can feel Carl's eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to look back.
His breath comes in short little pants, he feels his chest heaving, his heart thumping, his limbs shaking. Carl has offered him his chocolate bar, but the thought of eating anything makes Grace feel sick to his stomach.
On any other day, he would blame the horrific jet flight he was just put through.
But in his mind, he's already in Gerdinger's bedroom. He keeps wondering what he's going to do to him and feels a little bit like a prisoner on death row.
Each thought gets worse than the other; hands roaming his skin, undressing him...and then he remembers that this isn't just a thought experiment, it's real, and it's about to happen to him.
He makes another attempt to run after they land. It doesn't even take ten seconds until the two military men - he's asked them for their names, it's Frank and Vincent - accompanying Grace and Carl catch him.
"Hey", Carl says softly and puts a hand on his shoulder that makes him flinch. "This is going to suck, but it's not going to last forever, okay? And I'll be right outside the door to make sure the bastard doesn't..."
He seems to struggle with ending the sentence because "I'll make sure the bastard doesn't hurt you" is a promise he's going to have to break. This entire thing is about hurting him.
"I'll make sure he doesn't go too far", Carl finally ends. "You can think of me as your emotional support from the other side, okay?"
Grace doesn't want that. He doesn't want Carl to hear everything. But the thought of being completely alone terrifies him even more.
"Why are you so nice to me?", he asks.
Carl looks a bit taken aback by the question. "I don't need reasons to be nice to people, Grace, but what's about to happen to you is a pretty damn good one, I'd say. You're a good dude, and you don't deserve this shit. Not that anyone does." He rubs his shoulder. "I'll be there, okay? I'll be there."
It doesn't put Grace at ease. The closer they get to Gerdinger's mansion, the more his legs feel like jello. The military men have to drag him the last few meters there because he can't get them to work anymore.
He futilely digs the heels of his converse into the ground. It's useless, but he has to put up at least a bit of a fight, for his own dignity. The entire time, Carl watches him with an expression he can only describe as shattered and Grace realizes Carl hates this as much as he does.
He finds himself wondering what Colt would do in this situation.
Colt wouldn't let anyone do this to him in the first place. He would have jumped out of Stratt's window at the mere suggestion of something like this. And then he would have jumped off the boat holding up both middle fingers. Hell, he probably would have organized a helicopter while he was at it.
Grace wishes he was here. Colt and Court both.
He doesn't want to rely on his brothers for his safety too much, they already think he's helpless and weak and he doesn't need to provide them with proof, but right now he doesn't care. Right now he wants to be saved, no matter how humiliating that thought is.
When they stand in front of the door of the mansion, a rather large man in a black suit and sunglasses greets them. Grace has to tilt his head up to look at him properly, and that's despite the fact that he himself isn't exactly small.
The man ushers them in. Grace is hit with the earthy smell of old wood, and over it the scent of polish. His stomach lurches and he turns around to make one last desperate attempt to run.
"Sorry, Dr. Grace", Frank murmurs.
He can tell they're both trying to be careful with him, but he doesn't have it in him right now to feel bad about how difficult he's making their job for them.
He's sure he looks like a mess right now, pale and shaking. It's a bit pathetic, really. People do this kind of thing for fun and he's acting like he's about to be drawn and quartered, but truthfully, the thought of what's about to happen to him isn't too far away from that. To him, anyway.
Grace can count his sexual encounters on one hand. Three fingers, actually. None of them have been very pleasant.
"Oh, that's just because you haven't met anyone who's done it right", is what the women he went out with would say with smirk and a wink when it came to that topic. And he never knew how to explain that, yes, it did feel....good in a way, and his partners were very attentive and put in a lot of effort, but he also felt gross and exposed and honestly a little disgusted. All those sounds, the way the hands on his body made him feel...and those were experiences he consented to. With people he trusted. He doesn't know what to expect from Gerdinger. He certainly doesn't trust him.
The giant with the suit leads them upstairs and down a hallway. A woman passes them, small and chubby and unkempt, and Grace only notices this because she looks so out of place in this over-polished, very expensive house.
She looks up at him, her face drains and her eyes widen- he swears he can see tears in them- before she quickly averts her gaze and starts walking faster.
That was odd, he thinks. And why did this woman seem so familiar?
The man stops in front of a white double door and opens it.
"Mister Gerdinger will be there in a second", he says and beckons Grace to go inside.
He doesn't dare set a foot in. It's like a swamp; as soon as he pokes as much as his big toe in, crocodiles will devour him. Instead, he peeks inside.
The room is as extravagant as the rest of the mansion. The walls are painted a dark blue, the parquet is so smooth and shiny in the light of the chandelier above that he can see his own face in it. There's a wooden desk, expensive looking carpets, and...his knees go weak when his eyes finally land on the bed. There's rose pedals on it. He gags a little.
"Guys", he says as he turns to Frank and Vince. "Can't you just tell Stratt that Gerdinger wasn't here and we had to leave? I'll take the full blame! And I'll come up with a plan how we still get the money!"
"Dr. Grace", Frank says fatherly. Vince, the younger of the two of them, is trying to seem as unaffected as possible. "You'll be fine."
Grace takes a shaky breath.
He feels like he's walking to the slaughtering block.
The only way he can go is in. Frank and Vince are blocking his way, and behind them is Carl, who looks sympathetic, but Grace has no doubt he's going to catch him in case the two military men fail to.
It's Frank who closes the door, careful to do it slowly to not hit Grace in the nose with it.
Maybe Grace should hit himself on the nose or something. Maybe Gerdinger will find him so unattractive that he won't want him anymore. But he doesn't have the heart to do it, and he doesn't have the time to, anyway, because purposeful steps are approaching, Frank and Vince outside are stepping aside, and the door opens.
Dr. Ryland Grace has quite the pathetic air around him.
That was Lionel's first thought when he saw him on TV.
A real disaster of a man.
His hair was sticking out in every direction. His glasses sat askew on his perfect nose. Behind them, his blue eyes looked so trusting and sweet. Goddamn Goldenretriever-eyes.
Lionel immediately knew he had to have him.
When he opens the door to his bedroom to find him there, he's quite the sight. He's tall, but right now he looks so unsure and scared that he seems much smaller than he actually is.
He's worrying his lower lip. Just like Lionel asked, he's wearing his cute blue little lab coat and a white shirt underneath. It's going to look even better on the floor.
"Hello, Dr. Grace", Lionel says in a low voice.
He can hear his own impatience in it. But he needs to savor this moment.
Lionel likes to think of his sex partners as a good Sunday meal.
At first, it's all neatly arranged and put together, an appetizer for the eyes, with candles and napkins and the silverware tidily lined up next to the plates.
You look at the innocent, pretentiously set table, and you know it's all just for show. A dsiplay of order and purity whose only actual purpose it is to satisfy our most primal needs. It always ends up the same way, with dirty plates and gnawed off bones and crumbs and gravy stains everywhere, a thoroughly full stomach, a smudgy mouth, and a satisfied burp. Nothing left of all the glam, all the orderliness. Just the remnants of what used to be the concept of it. The food? The pretty setup? Completely destroyed. That's how you know it was good.
He looks at Dr. Grace in his little labcoat and his glasses and his combed hair, watches the way he kneads his hands nervously, the way his blue eyes are fluttering, and thinks of all the ways he's going to ruin him.
He licks his lips when he compares this image of innocence and trimness with the way the scientist is going to look once he's done with him.
Grace gulps. The sound is audible in the spacious bedroom. "H-hi", he says, and the fear in his voice makes Lionel want to push him down and have his way with him. "I-I'm sure we can find a different solution," the scientist continues.
Lionel scoffs. He's not the first one who's tried bargaining with him. It's the main reason why he doesn't usually do this with men. They've never seen themselves as a potential target of something like this, have never even seen themselves sleeping with another man voluntarily, so they fight harder and longer. But something tells Lionel that this one is going to be worth it.
"We probably can." He steps so close that he can feel Grace's frantic breath on his face, taking in every detail.
In person, Stratt's lapdog looks even cuter. He can see why she keeps him so close to her. She probably has him on his knees every night, too.
Usually Lionel prefers younger guys, definitely not 36 year old specimen like this one, but he has such a soft face and jittery, nervous energy that he doesn't mind. In fact, the contrast of his age and his little virgin act is making him even more appealing.
He's obsessed with the way his bangs fall on his forehead in soft curls, and how blue his eyes are. Baby blue. He's especially obsessed with how they widen when he realizes there's truly no way out of this. Like a little rabbit in a trap. He can't help but put a thumb on the pulse point of his throat, delighting in the way Grace gasps, and feel his heartbeat go crazy. Poor thing is going to pass out at this rate. Lionel could work with that, too.
If it hasn't before, Lionel's blood rushes straight to his dick.
He can't wait anymore.
And the best part is, he won't even have to deal with the incessant screaming and whining with this one, because if he does, Stratt will chew her little scientist out and tell him to do it all over again until he's earned his money.
She's messed up like that.
The scientist laughs nervously. "Uh, so, let's talk about alternatives, then?"
Fuck, he's adorable. Still holding onto the hope that this will end anywhere that isn't this bedroom.
For a 36 year old, he's really fucking naive. It's kind of pathetic. It's kind of fascinating.
Lionel dips his mouth down without a warning and sucks a mark on Grace's throat. When Grace's smile falls immediately and his heartrate picks up again, Lionel bares all his teeth in a wide, wolfish grin. He pushes Grace backwards, where he lands on the bed.
Then he licks his lips.
The table is set. Dinner's ready.
Grace loses all sense of time when it happens. It's probably much shorter than it actually feels. It feels like hours.
He's felt helpless before. When he was stuck on top of a climbing frame in third grade for example. The thing was so broken, it was swaying if you shook it hard enough. Colt had said, "No way I'm climbing up there", which should have been Grace's first clue not to do it either because Colt had climbed up to a lot of dangerous places. If even he deemed it too dangerous, it was probably too dangerous.
But Colt's friends were also there, and Grace didn't really see what was so bad about a stupid climbing frame, and maybe this was his one chance to prove he could be brave, too, maybe even braver.
So he had climbed up there...and immediately embarrassed himself when he looked down, saw how far up he was, and clung to the brittle wood like it was a lifeline. He was so terrified that he couldn't even try to climb down.
Colt had run off to search for an adult to help, leaving Grace alone with his friends. Who had promptly started to make fun of him and shake the climbing frame. Grace thought he was going to die. He was going to fall off and die and it was going to be so stupid and humiliating, too.
That's how he feels right now. Except he knows that this time, Colt won't come with a responsible adult in tow to get him out of here.
Not even Eva Stratt, damn her, will.
He's on his own. He's exactly where he's supposed to be.
It hurts a lot, but the physical pain isn't the worst thing about this. It's the lewd sounds, not just the one Lionel is making, but also the ones their bodies are making, and the way he's forced to put something on display that he's been so careful to hide his entire life; in locker rooms before gym class, in public changing rooms, even when he used to share a room with Colt and he unexpectedly barged in while he was in the middle of dressing- or undressing himself. It feels so wrong.
His instincts told him to kick out when Lionel started to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants. But he didn't, because he wasn't allowed to, and a nasty little voice in his head whispered, You're just going to let him do this to you?
He doesn't bother screaming or begging him to stop, because if he will, Stratt is going to be very upset with him. There is no way to win here.
Lionel's hands are all over his body, crawling up and down his skin, their touch eating its way underneath it like termites. They're already digging tunnels through his chest and stomach with their little jaws, he can feel them there. Soon, they'll hollow him out.
Every time he thinks Lionel is almost finished, he puts him in a different position, against a different surface, exposing him in new, utterly humiliating and dehumanizing ways. Grace feels like an object. He wonders what Lionel is thinking. Is he actually enjoying this? Or is he secretly laughing at Grace for looking so pathetic, so gross? He doesn't know which would be worse.
Maybe it actually does take hours.
He yelps when he suddenly feels a sharp pain on his thigh. Lionel has bitten him, and then he's chuckling, low and delighted, before his teeth move to a different, just as sensitive spot and start sucking there. This will definitely leave a bruise. A reminder of this day.
He suddenly thinks of all the ways this could have been prevented.
If he hadn't written that stupid book for his stupid theory, Stratt would have never approached him. If he hadn't begged her to keep him on the project, he wouldn't be working for her. Maybe if he had worn a different outfit on TV, Lionel wouldn't have been interested in him.
Then his mind starts editing what happened right before this. He imagines Stratt coming in, telling Lionel the deal is off, because someone else was gracious enough to give them a billion dollars.
Or Colt or Court kicking down the door, demanding Lionel to let go.
But none of this happened and nobody comes to help him.
His whole body is alight with pain and embarrassment when Lionel finally finishes with a guttural, satisfied grunt, grabbing his hips tighter from behind and pushing in as deep as he can, filling him up with his poison. It has to be poison, because it's etching away everything the termites have left. It feels warm and sticky and disgusting, and when it drips out of him, it takes something with it. Grace doesn't know what, he just knows it was vital, and that he'll never get it back.
Until now, he couldn't bear acknowledge it, but his own stomach is wet and sticky too, and the fluid does not belong to Lionel. At some point during...this, his body decided it liked being treated this way. Grace's face scrunches up in disgust for himself.
It's only when Lionel's tongue, hot and wet and disgusting, licks his cheek, that he realizes he's crying.
Lionel pat him on his bare backside after he was done, and Grace's cheeks were flushed with humiliation. Before he could get up and get dressed, the older man leaned in and whispered into his ear, "You're the best fuck I've had in a long time", and then, horrifyingly, "Definitely need to do this again."
He's still shaking when he leaves the mansion, flanked by Frank and Vince who have been quiet the entire time. Behind him is Carl.
Leaving Lionel's room to find them waiting there, knowing that they know what took place in there, might have been the most humiliating thing to come out of this whole experience.
His mind, awfully, goes back to the time he watched that silly slapstick film Scary Movie with Colt and some of his buddies when they were in their early twenties, and Colt and the others laughed and laughed and laughed when one of the guy characters came back with a limp after a night in prison.
Grace is limping, too. He would fit right into this movie.
He wonders if Carl is trying to hide a laugh, or if he is perhaps disgusted, or, worst of all, if, underneath all the pity he obviously feels for him, he thinks Grace looks ridiculous. That would be a thought he couldn't even blame Carl for.
He wonders what Colt would say if he could see him. The shame has burnt itself into his stomach. He can hardly stay upright. How could he? He needs to show them he didn't want this. He needs to show them he is every bit ashamed of this as he should be. So he hunches up his shoulders and hides his hands in his pockets and lowers his head.
When they sit in the jet, he makes a joke about how he's not scared of crashing, because that would only be the second worst thing that's happened to him today, the first being the horrible breakfast at the cafeteria.
Carl doesn't laugh.
After they've arrived back at the Vat and Grace has puked his guts out, he tells him to rest with an expression that looks an awful lot like guilt and concern.
Grace, for once, listens without protest. He feels like he's been turned inside out. Like his most vulnerable parts are laid open for everyone to see.
No one else on the Vat knows. Before departure, Stratt told him that she would make sure no one would ever know. He ignored her, looking ahead stonefaced.
He refuses to feel grateful to her, even though a small part of him is.
As he lies on the bed, he's almost comforted by the fact that the mattress is so hard. Lionel's bed was soft and warm.
His legs hurt like he just ran a marathon, and his inner thigh stings where Lionel has bitten him. He hasn't dared change into a pair of joggers yet because he doesn't think he can bear looking at the marks he's left on his leg. And he's avoided mirrors, too; if Carl's expression when he laid eyes on his throat was anything to go by, it's probably for the best. He can still feel those wet, disgusting lips on the sensitive skin of his neck and he doesn't want to see the bruise that probably blooms there.
He flinches when he remembers the way his hands on his body felt.
Tossing and turning, he tries to sleep for two hours until he finally gives up. His thoughts are a carousel. They're not even circling around everything that happened in that mansion, they're more like...a mudpit of jumbled half-thoughts that he can't get into order.
He needs something to focus on. Like writing his letter of resignation to Stratt, for example.
"Definitely need to do this again."
That's what Lionel had said to him. He's going to do it again. Grace knows with absolute certainity that he needs to get out of here, fast.
Writing the letter feels good. It feels productive. He has to write a bunch of them, because the first four are just a bunch of accusations. He's happy with the sixth.
After he's done, he feels a lot better. Rationally, he knows Stratt probably isn't going to let him leave. He has the slightest hope that she'll take pity, maybe even understand that he's such a mess right now that he won't be able to be productive, so he'll be useless to her. Shroedinger's resignation; she'll either accept his resignation or she won't, but right now, he's happy enough with the possibility that there's still some humanity left in her.
His brain is still way too fired up to sleep. Sighing, he puts his laptop on the desk and starts to work.
Suzanne guesses she will live to maybe eighty years old, if the whole Astrophage crisis doesn't kill her.
Even if many would say her weight suggests different, she actually eats quite healthy and she tries to do a bit of fitness.
She sleeps well at night, except when she lets it sink in that she's working for a literal rapist.
And all her grandparents lived until they were ninety at least.
She's going to make a lot of new memories that override her current ones; she might get married, hopefully not have kids, she'll travel the world, and she'll leave Lionel Gerdinger behind.
At least sixty years worth of new things to experience. And yet she knows she will never, ever forget the way Mister Grace looked when they brought him in.
The people Lionel "invites" to his bedroom are usually anything but calm, but he was shaking like a leaf and white as a sheet. Before she rounded the corner, she hesitantly looked back and saw that he actually tried to run.
She remembers Mister Grace as a gentle, funny soul, someone who cared about getting his students to learn, someone who always listened when someone had a problem. She always respected him so much - still does!
But in this moment, he was like a little mouse caught in a trap by children who laugh with glee when it tries to escape, catching it with their pudgy little hands and putting it back in its prison for the cat to find.
After she saw this, she grabbed one of Gerdinger's 12 million dollar vases and puked in it.
She feels so useless. If only she could have laced Gerdinger's stupid fucking viagra pills (he always uses those to be able to go on for hours, and the thought of Mister Grace being exposed to this for hours makes her puke again) with cyanide or something.
But that man is more protective of them than he ever was of his own kids.
She failed. And it's all her fault, too. If only she hadn't pushed Gerdinger to read Stratt's email...
She needs to make up for this.
"Suzanne!", Gerdinger bellows and she flinches.
He's wearing nothing but his boxers and a bathrobe. The mere sight of him makes her sick. She presses her teeth together and digs her nails into her palm.
It's all she can do in order not to jump on him and claw his eyes out. She can't lose her composure now; if she wants to destroy this man - and now she's more sure than ever that this is all she wants -, then she needs to play nice for a while.
"Yes?", she grinds out.
"Get me some whiskey and a cigar. And while you're at it, tell George to transfer the five hundred million to Stratt's account."
She frowns, an uneasy feeling making itself known in her chest. "Five hundred million? You said you wanted to donate a billion."
He shrugs. "Can't let them take the whole hand when they've merely offered me their little finger."
God, he can't even get the easiest proverbs right. Suzanne hates him. She hates him. "What do you mean?"
He shrugs, a predatory smile tugging at his lips. She doesn't like where this is going one bit. "Why stop now? They have so much more to give, and such little ground to bargain."
"They upheld their end of the deal!", she can't help but yell.
"The deal was that I get to fuck the little scientist. I didn't say how often."
Her stomach sinks.
You monster. She swallows the words. You goddamn fucking monster. You disgusting piece of garbage.
He seems to see the effect his words have on her, because he smiles and purrs, "He sure was something, that Dr. Grace. I expected him to be good, I just didn't expect him to be that good."
She forces herself not to react, and it seems to make him upset.
"Get me my fucking drink and my cigar, won't you?"
She stares at him and hopes the disgust isn't too visible on her face.
Then she turns around. She's going to kill him. She's going to lace his drink.
And then...
...then what? She'll go to prison. Her family will be ruined. She will be ruined.
But she can't let this happen to him again. There has to be something she can do.
Her thoughts suddenly go back to Gary, the security man whose name might not actually be Gary.
He'll be on her side, right? She needs an ally more than anything. And he's smart and obviously has lots of experience with being dangerous and mysterious.
Before she brings Gerdinger his drink, she spits in it and later hands it over to him with a sweet smile.
Then she watches him drink it and turns on her heels to search the number of Gerdinger's secretary.
She'll find Gary, and she'll make sure Mister Grace is save.