Greetings, fellow Total Drama fans, Moony here! It seems like every time I find something to adore wholeheartedly, I must write something for it. So here. Have a dark fic. This will be mutli-chaptered, and I plan to make future chapters much longer; this is simply a pilot.

I don't know what it is, but I adore Mal and Zoey together. I think it's the whole evil, evil bad boy and innocent sweetheart thing. Either way, they're my OTP at the moment. I just. Augh. I can't even. There's not enough of them on here, so I figured I'd give it a shot. I hope you enjoy, and can't wait to hear what you have to say!


Chapter One - Fatal Attraction

How had she come to share a bed with the infamous psychopath? She could hardly recall how many days it had been since she'd fallen under his lusty spell. Even now, as she lay with him, curled close to his body, he didn't sleep. His deep breaths permeated the silence so that she could hear only the air in his lungs and the beat of his heart, her ear pressed to his chest. This calmness that he had acquired was a huge contrast from the first time she'd met him. In that hospital, he'd been pushed to his farthest limits; the torture of isolation only made him stranger, wilder, and more of a taboo. He'd grown away from society, making his own rules, finding his own way. Prison wasn't simple enough of a word to describe his experience there. It had been his own personal hell until they brought her to him. Their union was nothing short of a miracle.

She frowned softly, rousing herself from her semi-sleep as she turned onto her back to stare at the ceiling. He glanced over at her with his dark eyes, and let his hand fall from her shoulder. There was a silence between them, even as she slipped her fingers between his and examined his hand; his rough, calloused, scarred hand. He'd done horrible things with his hands; she'd watched him do horrible things; he'd forced her to watch horrible things. Yet, he'd never harmed a hair on her head. Not directly, anyway. He snaked his arm around her, pulling her to him more closely than before, and turned on his side to face her. He gazed at her, his wide, sleepless eyes watching her with the utmost scrutiny; she gazed back at him with a more serene expression. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing before he broke the space between them and let his lips slip against hers in an aggressive embrace. She responded timidly, letting him have his way. She'd always let him have his way. That was how it had all started. Just a year ago, everything was different. They weren't running for the border. She wasn't a wanted criminal. She was just a girl, trying to do a good thing. She had no idea that the moment she stepped into that wretched place would change her life forever.

Perhaps it was the white walls, or the spotless floors, or the distinct taste of chemical sterilizers that lingered in the air which made the redhead uncomfortable. She was used to the cheerful, bright atmosphere of the Harden Institute. She had worked there for only a few months before she was transferred to the facility that she was now to attend at all times. The Harden Institute had been a small facility with a staff of only twenty nurses and four doctors. Everybody who had worked there knew one another along with the patients that they took care of. Things there had been homier, softer to look at, gentler. This was not so for the Grangington House. Large on the outside, and even more vast on the interior, Grangington was home to hundreds of patients, most dubbed by the state, 'criminally insane.' It was cold, and melancholy, and 'homey' was definitely not the right word to describe it.

Though all of the aforementioned factors bothered her, more than anything, she was made nervous by the young man's harsh gaze and hungry eyes. He watched her with the utmost of ravenous wanton in those dark orbs, though she wasn't the one asking him the questions. He directed all of his answers to her, as if she were the only person in the room capable of understanding what he had to say; that is, when he would answer. More often than not, he directed odd questions in her direction, or bizarre requests that didn't make much sense.

Zoey was a psychiatric assistant. She'd been in love with her job at the Harden Institute before she was transferred to the Grangington House. They'd needed extra aid, the doctors had insisted, and she had the perfect attitude and spunk to help. This place was much harsher than the one she'd worked for previously, and the people at Harden had been much less intimidating. Here, she felt like prey. At any given moment, somebody could attack, maime, strangle; she'd be entirely vulnerable to anything. That was why this young man was making her so uncomfortable. Despite the fact that he was bound in a straightjacket, something about him seemed incredibly strong; completely insane. Though it was obvious that he had a natural tanness to his skin tone, it had faded slightly from years spent away from the sun. His eyes were bruised from a lack of sleep, or perhaps too much of it; nonetheless, his beetle-black eyes watched her from behind a veil of dark brown hair, burning with some unknown fever. He had a space between his teeth-whether it was just a gap, or if it was where he'd lost a tooth or two, she couldn't tell. No matter the reason behind it, it made his smile all the more menacing, crooked and incomplete.

This young man was a very special case; he'd been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. Now, however, he seemed only to exhibit signs of sociopathy and violent behavior. She would be assigned to him and nobody else, taking care of his medications, keeping him company, and, above all else, making sure he stayed out of trouble for as long as she remained at the facility. This was what Dr. Kobe was doing his best to explain to the young man, though it was beginning to seem hopeless. For the past fifteen minutes, now, they'd been standing there, trying to make him fathom what was going on, or at least acknowledge that the doctor was speaking. He simply kept his eyes focused on the redhead's face, examining her closely, as if she were a new toy.

"Mike," the doctor prodded, glancing between his patient and the young woman beside him. "This is Zoey. She'll be helping to take care of you from now on." The young man refused to answer, eyes glued to hers, smile fading into a grimace. She did her best to keep up her smile, though it was beginning to falter and give way to a shiver. She looked away from him, unable to keep her gaze fixed upon his. He smiled again, triumphant. What a pretty little doll for him to play with. She'd be easy to overtake, submissive.

"Pretty girls shouldn't be nurses," he murmured, offering his dark, broken smile. "Their pretty faces will get them in trouble, especially in a place like this. Especially with a body like that." Zoey frowned and crossed her arms, already unsure of this situation. She didn't want to be this man's caretaker. He was unnerving. She spent the next few moments trying to decide whether or not he was complimenting her or threatening her, discomfort only growing with her internal debate.

"That's quite enough, Mike," Kobe commanded, eyes narrowing a bit. "You'll be on your best behavior while she's working with you. She's shown outstanding work performance in the past. Treat her with respect, or-"

"Or what?" the young man snapped, glaring at the doctor. This was the first time since the beginning of this interview that he'd spent any of his attention on the physician. "You'll take away my new plaything?"

"She isn't your 'plaything.' She's a person, she's your nurse, and you'll be sure to act your age. I will not hesitate to replace her with somebody more forceful. This is your last chance to follow the rules." The boy paused, pacified for the moment. Slowly he nodded, returning his attention to the girl.

"Why don't you tell me your name?" he inquired, eyebrows raised a bit. He'd obviously not paid attention to anything that Kobe had previously mentioned about her. "You tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

"Zoey," she replied, doing her best to maintain her smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mi-"

"Don't call me that. Mike is dead. Mike is dead. I'm not Mike." He cast his attention back to the doctor, eyes ablaze with malice. The nurse faltered for a moment before she nodded, his response catching her by surprise.

"Alright, not Mike," she noted. "Then what do you prefer to be called?" His brow furrowed before he looked back to her. Kobe stood, and the young man shut his mouth tight, refusing to speak any further. The older man offered the nurse a pat on the back and wished her a brief 'good luck' before he left the room. The young man cast his glance back to his nurse, softening a bit as the doctor retreated.

"You can call me 'Mal,'" he replied after the doctor slipped out the door. His eyes lingered at the threshold, as if afraid that somebody else would enter. "But nobody else. You have to keep it secret." She kept her eyes upon him, allowing herself to sit, and clasped her hands in her lap.

"I can keep a secret," she replied, offering him a smile. It took him a moment to register that she'd agreed. He didn't smile back at her. He merely rested his head back against the wall, indifferent to this situation.

"If you couldn't," he said, a dangerous edge to his tone. "I wouldn't let you live." Whether threat or fact, she didn't question. Her smile fell, and she rubbed her temples. Silence passed between them for a long time before she spoke again.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, biting her lip a bit. He merely laughed in response, mirthless.

"Oh, trust me, honey. There's plenty you could do for me. But only a few of them don't break the rules." He licked his lips before he leaned forward a bit, growing serious again. "One thing you could help with, though, is taking this damned thing off of me." Even as they spoke, the tight cloth and straps of the straightjacket were digging into his skin, causing him great discomfort. She immediately nodded, and stood to meet him. He stood with her, and turned his back to her so that she could loosen the infernal garment from his body.

"There we go," she murmured, smiling as she pulled the straps loose. "That better?" He took a moment to sigh with relief, flexing his fingers before he looked up at her.

"Much better," he replied, smiling. Before she knew what hit her, his fingers were pressed into her throat, and she was pressed back against the wall. His face was dangerously close to hers, and she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"I will not hesitate to crush your pretty little face," he hissed, slipping his fingers upward so that he was pinching her cheeks together. "If anyone needs to worry about behaving, it's you. I'll do what you ask. I'll take my medication. I'll go to bed. Whatever. But the moment you try to pull one over on me will be your last. Understand, doll?" She was quiet for a long time before she gulped a deep breath, nodding. His smile returned, reassured by her response. He released her from his grasp and pat her on then head.

'I think we'll get along just fine, Zoey."