Conviction

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Drama
Language: yes
Violence: oh yes
Nudity: semi (f, m)
Sex: see other
Other: sexual assault

Author's Note:

Part of this scene is swiped from my story Green & Black: Recurve, so you may recognize it. This is where the seed of this story originated; I was imagining Malcolm training Thea in the upcoming season, and how this scene would have gone differently if it were Thea he was rescuing.

Another revelation I had this morning... sooner or later, people realize what an advantage it is to have a ruthless, cold-blooded, vicious murderer on their side... ;) (Malcolm can be on my team any day!)

I am
Indestructible;
Determination that is
Incorruptible;
From the other side,
A terror to behold;
Annihilation will be
Unavoidable;
Every broken
Enemy will know,
That their opponent had to
Be invincible.

-Disturbed
"Indestructible"

Conviction

===#===

Malcolm slowed the car as he drew closer to where Thea said she'd meet him. He frowned at the car parked in the way, then pulled in ahead of it, at the far side of the alleyway. He looked around for his daughter, but saw no one except a passing older couple.

Then he noticed the club up ahead and grumbled to himself. If she'd gone off partying...! He pulled out his phone and hit her number.

There was no answer, but he had the windows rolled down, and he could hear a cell phone ringing nearby.

Trepidation creeping into his bones, he got out of the car, letting the phone continue to ring. He followed the sound to the gutter near the other car, and his heart started pounding. Where was she?

Frantically, he looked around, all his senses on alert. There was no sign of - wait. There was a purse in the mouth of the alley. He clicked off his phone and shoved it back in his pocket as he trotted into the dark, narrow passage. It was empty, dammit! "Thea?" he called.

He ventured further into the alley. He could hear a dull thumping coming from the club, music permeating the brick walls. His heartbeat was louder, and faster.

Then he heard a faint cry, the muffled scream of his child. It brought him to a door, a steel core door with an industrial lock. It didn't survive his demolishing kick. "Thea!"

He ran through a dark hall and turned in at a doorway. In that room, he found three men holding his daughter down, her clothes torn. One of them had a knife, and part of Malcolm's mind catalogued the weapon, but his attention was fixed on the man in the center, who had his hands pressing down on Thea's knees even as she kicked, whose pants were pooled around his knees. Whose eyes were bulging as he looked up at this interruption.

With an inhuman growl, Malcolm attacked. The man tried to struggle to his feet, or at least to get away, but his legs were tangled in his clothes. Malcolm helped by bodily picking him up and throwing him into a shelving unit by the wall. Metal crumpled, and various bottles, boxes, and one body crashed to the floor.

The guy with the knife jumped at Malcolm from the side. He raised his arm to deflect the weapon. He wasn't wearing his leather armor, but it hardly mattered; he barely felt the blade slice into his forearm. He circled his arm around and seized his attacker's wrist. He twisted; bone and cartilage cracked. Malcolm lashed out and punched the man in the throat. He collapsed, gagging.

Malcolm followed up mercilessly with a hammer blow to his skull and a rib-crushing kick. Then he turned and pounced on the third man, who was still stunned and holding Thea by the arm. Malcolm landed on the guy's back, a knee planted in his kidney. He collapsed straight out, screaming in pain. Malcolm grabbed his hair and forcibly introduced his face to the concrete floor a couple of times, until he spasmed and went still.

Thea was curling protectively in on herself, Malcolm noted with a glance. The first guy was struggling to get up, mewling as broken glass cut into his skin. He dragged himself to his knees, hanging precariously on the twisted shelving.

Malcolm snarled and strode over to him. The guy threw out a hand - in defense or attack, it didn't matter; Malcolm grabbed it, yanked it out straight, twisted, and then popped the elbow joint. The man howled, and Malcolm shut him up with a fist to his face.

He snapped a kick to the man's midsection, doubling him over. He didn't let up, but kept kicking, sinking his foot into the soft flesh of the leg, pulverizing the ribs. His vision went red and blood pounded in his ears.

Then, Thea's voice penetrated the rage. She sobbed quietly. He stopped and went to crouch in front of her, his hands out solicitously, but not daring to touch her. "Are you hurt?" He could see half her face swelling with a livid bruise, her lip split. But that wasn't what he meant. "Sweetheart, did they hurt you?"

She shook her head, and clutched at the torn strips of her shirt, folded her arms around to cover herself.

"Thea..." His voice darkened. "Did he touch you?" She sobbed and kept shaking her head. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" He didn't know what to do. If these vermin had violated his daughter, and he hadn't been able to protect her...

"No." She snuffled a breath. "I'm okay. He didn't... didn't have time."

He dared to touch her then, gently, on the arm. She flinched. He pulled his hand back, his fingers curling into a fist. He got up and fetched the knife from where it had fallen.

He held it out to her. "Take this," he said. "Kill them."

===#===

Thea looked dully at the knife her father held out to her. She was trembling, her mind and body numbed with shock. She'd tried to fight, as she'd been taught, but they'd overpowered her. She was still weak.

"They hurt you," Malcolm said, anger smoldering in his voice. "Take back your life. Make them pay."

He hadn't killed them? One of them moaned and stirred. He hadn't killed them! Thea's heart thumped. He wanted her to kill them.

Part of her wanted to, but she recoiled from the thought of actually stabbing someone, cutting them, of snuffing out the life of another human being. She shook her head. "I can't."

"You want them to live?"

She kept shaking her head, in answer, in denial... She was not a killer. "I can't!" She put her hands over her face, squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't!"

===#===

Malcolm clenched his teeth. He thought she'd be stronger than this, stronger than Tommy - hadn't she proven that at the train station? After everything she'd seen, everything she'd been through, she still lacked the conviction.

He, older and wiser, did not.

He went and slit the throats of the two bastards who'd held her down. As for the third...

Malcolm looked down on the broken, quivering heap. "Per favore...," the man pleaded, his eyes wide, pale in the mask of blood. "No... non mi-!" He begged for mercy. He should have thought of that before he'd decided to attack a young woman in the street.

"You tried to rape my daughter," Malcolm growled, showing his teeth.

The bastard hadn't been able to get his pants back up; there was nothing to stop the spread of the yellow puddle under him.

Malcolm raised the knife. He was not merciful.

===#===

Thea scooted back, still sitting with her legs folded under her, leaning on one hand, the other across her chest. She huddled in on herself, not watching, not listening. Her father was terrifying in his rage. He'd never raised his voice to her, except perhaps to bark orders during training. He was always patient, even when she teased him. She shivered.

Something warm and wet touched the edge of her hand. She jerked back, looked down. It was blood pooling on the floor from the dead men.

She stood up, shakily, and tried to smooth her torn dress. The shredded strips of her blouse, she had to hold clutched to her chest with one hand. "We have to get out of here," she muttered.

Malcolm left the knife buried in the body, taking a moment to wipe the handle down with a bit of bloody cloth. He came to her side, hesitant, his eyes cast down, his face devoid of anger. All that was left was his sorrow and compassion.

Thea pressed against him. He was so strong, so warm. She didn't care that his shirt was damp with blood. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she felt protected.

They made it to the car without being seen. Thea was still intermittently trembling and fighting off shock. She finally came to her senses enough to notice the blood soaking his sleeve. "You're bleeding!"

"It's mostly clotted," he said, his eyes not leaving the road.

Stubborn man. "Pull over and let me wrap it up." She dug around under her seat for the first aid kit.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"If you pass out from blood loss and crash this car and kill us both, I'll never speak to you again!"

She got him to stop for at least a few minutes. He gripped the steering wheel and stared out the window while she ministered to him. Her stomach clenched at the sight of the gore, but she kept on. "You should have a doctor look at this."

"No."

"What if it needs stitches?" She swiped it with an alcohol pad, but couldn't tell if she was cleaning it or just smearing blood around.

"Oh, it will." He didn't even twitch.

"And who do you expect to be doing that?" He didn't answer. Great. "Well, I've never done that - or any sewing - in my life, so if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, it's going to come out crooked and leave a huge ugly scar."

"One more scar will hardly make a difference."

She didn't have anything to say to that, so she just concentrated on wrapping the gauze bandage snugly around his arm. By the time she neared the end, he quit staring out the windshield and watched her.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

She frowned. "What?" It wasn't obvious?

"Everyone loses a fight sometime," he said quietly. "You can't let it sap your confidence. We should analyze what happened so we can be prepared next time. So I can see where your training needs more emphasis."

He waited expectantly, but she only finished tying off the bandage without looking up. She hurt. Her face hurt, her whole body ached. She didn't want to relive the attack, to go over it; she just wanted to go home, get warm, go to sleep. She just wanted to stop hurting.

"Did you fight them?"

"I tried!" she snapped, eyes stinging. "I kicked one guy in the balls; I smashed his face in. He just got up and pulled out a knife." Dammit, her tears spilled over, hot tears of frustration and humiliation.

"Why didn't you kill him?"

"I am not a killer like you!"

"Why didn't you break his legs?"

"He-He was... they were just... I thought they were just a bunch of stupid frat boys." She swiped angrily at her tears. "I thought they were just... messing around, like they wanted a date. Then... they grabbed me... hit me..."

"You always complain that you're smaller, weaker," Malcolm said, his voice still soft and gentle. "If three men try to hurt you, you have to make them stop. If you put them down, you have to make sure they stay down."

"I am not a killer," she said, her voice ragged with tears and pain. "I told you that. I'm not a murderer. I'm not like you. I can't- I can't do that!" Her stomach knotted at the thought of what he'd done to those men. She cringed away from him and the blood on him.

"Thea." He leaned close, making her look into his unflinching eyes. "It is not wrong to defend yourself from someone trying to hurt you. It is not evil to prevent those people from hurting anyone ever again."

Her breath caught in her throat. His gaze held her a moment longer. Within his eyes, usually so guarded, she saw how much pain he was in because she was hurt.

Then he blinked and looked away, almost in shame. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He drove in silence for several minutes, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Then he said, "Those men chose to attack you. What happened to them is a direct consequence of that decision. It's not your fault."

Thea sat back in her seat, her free hand reaching to toy with her pendant. The tigers eye was smooth and cool, but quickly warmed against her skin. She contemplated her father's words.

Those who live by the sword, die by the sword, wasn't that how it went? And those who lived without touching a sword? She squeezed her eyes shut as her mind flashed to the image of her mother. They die by some psycho wielding a sword, anyway. Her fist closed on the tigers eye. He was right. People would chose to hurt her, to lie to her, to use her. She couldn't stop them, but she could make her own choice. Anyone who hurt Thea Queen would die by the sword.

Her father would forge her into one.

===#===

Epilogue:

The next morning, when Enrico Armitucci strode into his office, he expected another day of ruthlessly crushing Mercator Trust's various corporate enemies. He was wholly unprepared for his assistant to be in a panic.

"Signore Armitucci, are you all right?" Carlos asked, hurrying to his side.

"Of course I am." He frowned. "What is wrong?"

"It's Giovanni, signore..."

"What now? Is he in jail after taking care of that Americana?" That would be typical of Giovanni's ham-handed manner. Nevertheless, it sent a message, and was worth the extra expense.

"Jail? No... signore, he's dead!"

"What? How?"

Carlos wrung his hands. "Killed... he and his boys... mutilated, signore! Beaten, and cut with a knife!"

Armitucci sank slowly into his chair, a chill creeping up on him. "The Americana... is she...?"

"No sign, signore!"

She wasn't at least in the hospital? Where the hell-?

The phone rang.

It rang again before he could convince his arm to move to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Armitucci," came the pleasant voice of the young American woman. "Have you reconsidered the contract I've offered you?"

"Si, signorina."

"Then I'll have a courier bring the documents over for you to sign right away."

He swallowed. "Si, signorina."

"Excellent. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, signore."

Armitucci stared at the handset a long while after it had gone dead. This... it was worse than Trieste. Finally, he replaced the phone on the cradle. "Carlos... cancel my appointments today."

"Signore? Are you all right?"

"I... do not feel well." He raked his hands back through his hair. "Just do it, Carlos," he snapped before the assistant could say or ask anything else. "I need a day." He needed some time, and a bottle of martini vermouth, to regain his manhood.

===X===

End Notes:

Continuity & Canon:

I am writing one more Malcolm & Thea story, entitled "The Box." That's going to be a bit different. I have not been worrying about my stories following or working with canon, but I think they can be sorta wedged in there.

"How I Met My Father" by Astra takes place in canon, at the end of season 2. The continuation goes between S2 and S3. In the show, we see one thing Thea says to Malcolm in the limousine, about not wanting to hurt or to be hurt. And Malcolm offering to take her anywhere in the world she wants to go. If you like, chapter 2 of "How I Met My Father" could occur after that, on their way out of the city. Chapter 3 happens a day or a few after that.

This story, "Turning Point," would occur before the scenes from "Corto Maltese." In my story, they travel to Japan, and then on to Italy (with a few places in between) before going to Corto Maltese. Also during this time, Malcolm is training Thea, but not as he was trained. I've set it up so the "Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional" scene would come after the end of "Turning Point."

There is one incongruity: I had Malcolm cut Thea's hair (which wasn't cut yet in that scene). We can sort of fudge that and pretend it happens when Malcolm starts training Thea the way he was trained, or if you prefer, you can pretend her hair was cut in that scene.

"The Box" takes place in Corto Maltese, after that scene, after Thea begins her hardcore training. I'll warn you now, it's not as 'nice' as my other Malcolm & Thea stories. Please read the warnings before you start that one.