L narrowed his eyes, lowering his head in an instinctive and primal stance of open aggression. Not that it did him any good strapped into a chair and gagged, but even when the rag came out of his mouth, the last time he'd chewed through it he'd promised himself and Tony that he wouldn't speak again. His silence was intended to be complete; if he convinced himself that he couldn't talk, it was the most effective way to ensure that he wouldn't. So his glare was the only answer their torturer would receive from him, regardless of the cruel method she settled on to loosen his tongue.

It was always harder once she started, though, and with Tony spitting up blood on the regular and drooping, no longer able to hold his head up, every ounce of empathy L possessed would be working against them.

As if any request I gave you would matter in the least. You always choose what hurts the most, what pushes him closer to death and me closer to breaking...