Trick or Treat

"I am not loved, nor ever hope to be. Nor am I fool enough to think that what I feel for you is love. But in this world, alone, I do not hate you… and alone in this world, you do not hate me."

- Edward Hyde, "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Volume II"


Michael went underground.
The earth had been good to him: it had always hidden him, provided him with escape routes. He was sure even Loomis didn't know of the elaborate sewage system, filled with pipes a man could easily walk through, or of the hiding place underneath his home. Secluded, soundproofed, and with the only exit easily blocked – it was ideal for making sure Loomis never again touched what was /his./

Anna was still unconscious. He laid her gently on the mattress, kneeling at her side. Some dim memory from before the rage impeded on his consciousness and he accordingly began to strip her. She needed to get out of her wet clothing and under the blankets or she would get sick.
When he took off her shirt, he froze. His eyes narrowed behind his mask and his breathing sped up.
She had been hurt.
Dark bruises – one on each forearm – splayed across her pale, wet skin, marring it. And it was the fact that he cared that she'd been harmed that bothered him almost as much as the bruises themselves.
He got up and turned away, regaining control of himself. Then he covered her with the blankets, being sure not to look at the bruises, and went to obtain a few of her things, barricading the door behind him.

////////////////////

Anna gasped, her eyes snapping open. She froze as memory came rushing back. \Michael. Michael found me. And I'm… not dead?\
Hazel eyes darted quickly around the room – as much as could be seen from her position on the mattress. She was underground – she had to be, in a basement or something. Her exposed skin was cold. And…
\I'm naked.\
Fear gripped her. He could have done anything while she was asleep. Anything he wanted…

Then her rational mind took control. \I'm not hurt. I don't feel sore. He took me from the police station and brought me here… why?\
Anna sat up, holding the blankets over her bare chest. Michael was sitting at the end of the mattress, watching her.

"Hello."

He picked up a pile of clothing next to him and held it out to her.

"Thank you."

She slid out from under the covers, shivering as the freezing air hit her skin, and pulled on the sweatpants. Michael stopped her before she put on the sweatshirt, touching the bruises on her forearm gently. Anna looked at them, confused for a moment. Then she understood.

"Oh… That man – Loomis – he grabbed me pretty hard. Probably harder then he meant to."

Michael retreated and waited for her to finish dressing before pulling her down and into his lap. Anna stiffened immediately, heart pounding. He pressed his masked lips to her temple, making an odd noise in the back of his throat.
She turned around, facing him. He stroked her arms gently, and she could see his eyes behind his mask…
Anna pulled away, crossing her arms over her stomach and hugging herself. Michael drew her up against him. She resisted, pushing away. He barely felt the pressure – Anna was weak compared to him – but he let her go anyway and she scrambled back onto the mattress, curling up in a corner.

"Please… not now, Michael."

Michael sat back, fury filling him. She didn’t want him? Every time before when she'd been upset he'd been able to calm her down. And now…
He wanted to lash out at her, to hurt her, but he /couldn't./ Finally he stood and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

////////////////////

Anna waited until his heavy footsteps had faded before scooting out of the corner and pushing at the door. It opened and she peered outside.
He was gone. She crept out and took off in the opposite direction from where she'd heard him go. Only a few feet along the tunnel, she was faced with a gate barring her way. Anna gripped the bars, feeling the night breeze move across her face from beyond the obstruction.
There was no lock – just a twist of metal, rusted with age. Knowing there was no real point – but having to try – Anna began to pull at the ends of it, trying to untwist the makeshift lock and praying she would finish before Michael returned.

////////////////////

Michael stormed aimlessly through the tunnels, fuming. The sewer water splashed against his boots, while the walls bore pockmarks and long gashes – remains of his earlier rages.
He didn’t understand why he couldn't just /kill/ her and be done with it. There had been times when he'd come tantalizingly close to just picking up the knife and stabbing it into her heart – it wasn't difficult, he'd done it countless times. Yet, every time he'd stop. He just… couldn't do it, and he didn’t know why.

Michael hated that.

And now she was afraid of him! She hadn't said so, but then she hadn't needed to – by now he could practically smell fear. Anna was his, and Loomis had taken her away. Loomis was always taking things away.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks as a new and interesting idea began to form. Loomis had taken Anna away by making her fear him. If he gave in and killed or hurt her, she would never stop fearing him, and Loomis would have won. And Loomis had spent far too much time winning in their acquaintance. Therefore he had to take Anna back – by somehow convincing her she was safe with him.

The question was, how?

Deciding he'd been gone long enough, Michael turned and headed back, mulling over this latest problem.

////////////////////

Anna worked furiously at the rusted metal, its screeches filling her ears. Her fingers ached, and she still hadn't budged it more then a few degrees.
That was when she felt hands encircle her waist and pick her up effortlessly.

\Michael!\

He swung her carelessly over his shoulder and she went limp. Tension radiated from him and she cursed herself for being stupid and not paying attention. I'm dead for sure…


The door to the room slammed shut and she was dumped unceremoniously on the bed. Anna huddled there, waiting for the inevitable and praying he'd at least have the good grace to be quick about it. Michael's back was facing her and she squeezed her eyes shut as he turned slowly, expecting any moment to feel the knife dig into her flesh…

He sat down next to her.

When nothing happened for a long time, she opened her eyes slowly. He was holding something out to her – \A photograph?\ – and she took it hesitantly.

It was a photo, showing a blonde toddler held by an equally blonde young boy, with a young woman with long dark hair in the background looking on indulgently. The toddler had the vaguely confused look typical of very young children, while the boy positively glowed. The young woman was grinning the embarrassed half-grin of teenagers trying hard not to seem emotional, but her eyes shone with affection. Anna flipped the photo over.
/Michael, Laurie, and Judith Myers, August 1963./

"Your family."

Michael nodded.

"You… loved them."

He was still, but his fingers clenched. Just a little, but it was enough for Anna.

"You did… and then something happened. What?"

Michael couldn’t answer, not fully understanding it himself. It just had, inexplicably. Anna looked at him, trying to see his eyes behind the mask. He didn’t like that and turned away.
Amazed at her own daring, Anna forced his head back, finally finding his eyes.

\He's not evil.\

She didn't know where the thought had come from – it was just there, as if she'd always known. It wasn't something that could be proven, but she knew it, was sure of it in a way no one could break.

\He's not evil.\

Anna let her hand fall from his face to his chest, feeling the barest edge of his strong heartbeat under her fingertips. Now Michael was frozen, unable or unwilling to move.

She leaned forward and kissed him through the mask.


Her hand began to roam over his chest, feeling his muscles tense under her soft touch. The heat he radiated was almost soothing. Using the other hand, she removed his mask and continued kissing him.

It took only a brief moment before Michael joined her in exploration. His fingers slid under her sweatshirt, feeling the sides of her breasts before freeing them of their restraint, literally yanking the garment over her head. She didn't mind his roughness, joining him as she jerked down the zipper of his jumpsuit. His skin bared, she began to kiss the scarred flesh, enjoying his heavy sigh.

Michael shoved her back onto the bed, breaking her contact and beginning to tug on her sweatpants. Frustrated with the prospect of having to pull them off her legs, he gave up and used his strength to rip them. Her sudden nudity, and the ripple of gooseflesh over her skin nearly made him lose control. Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

His mouth and hands were on her without any sort of warning. His fingers trailed a pattern over her shoulders, breasts, and stomach, his lips shortly following. Anna arched into him, nothing escaping her mouth but breath. Any minute now, his thumb would slide between her legs and heighten the pleasure, like he always did...

He avoided the area completely, instead going down her smooth legs and back up again to her neck. She pressed her entire length against his half-naked body, hoping to encourage more ministrations, but he ignored her, tracing swirls around her soft curls, never actually touching...

"Michael," she whimpered, "please..."

He kissed her lips, silencing her. Every time he came close to touching her clit, she would moan into his mouth, but he passed over it as if it didn't exist. The throbbing drove her insane. Finally, unable to take anymore, her hand reached between them to the erect nub, rubbing vigorously.

She barely noticed when he tore the sheets, only realizing what was really happening when he started tying her hands above her head.

"No!" she whispered. "Please--"

He covered her mouth with his hand, the look in his eyes so devilish and intense that she almost came from the sight of it. What came next nearly caused her to lose her mind. Slowly, he eased down until his head was between her legs, and blew -- hard. The final pressure against her clit made her arch her back and scream. He did this until she felt the pressure of an orgasm building--

And he moved, bringing his head up to her breasts and devouring them with his tongue. She whimpered hysterically, the pleasure fading from her lower regions until it was a throbbing ache. The attention to her nipples did nothing to help her situation.

Twice more he did the same thing, blowing on her clitoris until near-orgasm, then moving on to other areas. Each time her cries died into whimpers and desperate sobs. She kept tugging at her restraints in the hope that maybe, if he'd let her, she could pleasure herself.

Finally, while he was preoccupied with a very sensitive spot on her neck, she wriggled her hands enough to release them from their bonds. Ignoring his presence, she once again reached between her own legs and stroked.

Michael seized her around her waist, yanking her up into a sitting position and then pushed her against the wall, removing her hand in the process. She gave him a look, wondering what the hell he was doing. Then he slid into her. She flung her head back so sharply that it struck the stone behind her, but the pleasure far overrode the pain.

His thrusts were almost animalistic. Michael literally slammed into her, his length growing harder each time. Never were Anna's screams so loud, nor his growl so furiously primal. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, both eyes squeezed shut.

Anna came wildly, thrashing against him while clawing at his back. He, in his own pleasure gathered the flesh of her shoulder between his teeth and bit down, leaving a mark.

Then everything went black.