Make It Hurt

A/n: For referance, my co-writer (mlle-relda) and I have given Villatoro the first name of Piero, the Italian form of "Peter". We assume he has Italian/Hispanic background and the meaning of the name ("Rock/Stone") suits him.

Villatoro seemed to be in a good mood lately. This probably meant that something bad was going to happen. Elizabeth Owens, Villatoro's co-worker and object of lust, was concerned at the too-friendly smile he flashed at her in the locker room.

"Are you high, Piero?" she inquired. Villatoro's smile fell a little as he spoke.

"You wish, honey," he said, the friendliness in his smile replaced by fiendishness in an instant. He grabbed Elizabeth's forearm in a vice-like grip, causing the blonde woman to whimper in pain. "You wanna know what goes through my head at night? The things I want to do to you–" he paused and ran his tongue under her jaw.

Her left arm free, Elizabeth raked her nails down the side of Villatoro's face. He howled in rage, moving his hand from her arm to her throat.

"You little BITCH!" he snarled, spit flying from his mouth. He tightened his grip around Owens' throat.

"P-Piero-please-" Elizabeth gasped, clawing at Villatoro's grip.

"Jesus Christ!" gasped Garcia, surprised at stumbling upon what could have turned into rape if he hadn't entered the room when he did. Villatoro reluctantly let Elizabeth go and pointed a finger at Garcia as he knelt down to help Elizabeth to her feet.

"If you tell Andover, you're a dead man," he warned. His eyes locked onto Nurse Owens', glaring at her in a silent warning to keep quiet as he cursed and wiped the blood from his face with his hand.

"You're awfully quiet today, Elizabeth," said Victor Andover in concern. Elizabeth had been avoiding him all day, but now that they were alone for the moment, he hoped to coax a word or smile from her if nothing else. Victor reached forward and lightly put his hand on Owens' shoulder, but she let out a small cry and slapped his hand away. "Elizabeth–?"

It was then he noticed the purple hand print-shaped bruises on Elizabeth's throat and arm. Victor felt the blood drain from his face at the frightened, pained look in Elizabeth's eyes. He knew Villatoro had an attraction to the pretty blond that was rightfully his. If this was Piero's way of telling him the game had begun, so be it. Victor shrugged off his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his button-down dress shirt.

"Victor…wuh–what are you doing?" choked Elizabeth, tears falling down her face.

"If it's a fight Villatoro wants, it's a fight he'll get!" Andover replied.

"He'll kill you!"

"He hurt you, Elizabeth!" Victor shot back, unable to contain the rage in his voice. "I will not stand aside and let him hurt the woman I love!"

Elizabeth tried to protest, but a sob escaped her lips before she could get the words out. Victor walked to the locker room where Villatoro stood as though he'd been waiting this confrontation for quite some time.

"Clean out your locker and leave this building immediately, Villatoro. You're fired!" Andover said. The next thing he knew he was suddenly grabbed and slammed against the lockers, Villatoro's forearm pressed against his throat, pinning him against the metal containers.

"All the more fun I'll have making you hurt, Doc," Villatoro said. He applied a small amount of pressure against Andover's windpipe as he reached into his own open locker. Victor choked, fighting to pry the much-larger man's arm away from his throat. A glint of metal caught his eye and the more Victor fought the more pressure Villatoro applied to his trachea.

"I'm more than aware of how Lizzy Owens gave her heart to you," Villatoro said, holding a scalpel so Victor could get a good look. "I'll give her yours for you," he went on as he gripped the surgical knife tightly in his free hand, aiming for Andover's heart. Victor managed to ram his knee into Villatoro's stomach and push him back a few inches. A sharp pain bit into Andover's ribs. Victor had managed to knock Villatoro's aim, better a punctured lung than a punctured heart.

Villatoro, his hatred and jealousy of Andover at its zenith, gave the scalpel a sharp twist before sliding the blade along until he came near another rib. Victor slid to the floor, unable to voice the pain and rage running through his mind and body. He could see the death certificate now: Victor Phobos Andover, PH.D. Cause of Death: Asphyxiation on his own blood. Probably wouldn't be much to drown to death on, as it was beginning to pool on the linoleum floor where he sat.

"Piero!" came Elizabeth's voice from somewhere near them. Victor, his vision growing hazy, saw what looked like a surprised expression on Villatoro's face as he suddenly gripped the side of his neck. He staggered on his feet, slipped in the pool of blood on the floor and fell to the ground, a syringe sticking out of the side of his neck.

"Elizabeth–" Victor gasped. "What did you–?"

Elizabeth knelt down beside him, fighting not to cry.

"I gave him enough tranquilizer to kill a horse," she said, putting her hand to Victor's cheek. Andover's eyes were the only part of him that seemed to have any color left, the rest of him was either chalk-white or stained crimson.

"I need–you to listen, all right?" Victor said, each breath growing more strained. "You have to–carry on here. For me. This place is–the closest thing to–a child I could ever give you…"

His voice trailed off and Elizabeth knew she was alone.