Following Orders

Today, Oded was late. His superior had called a meeting at the last moment, demanded his presence with the kind of tone that brooked no arguments, as though Oded could think of any he could say in the presence of others. Demanded a report on the prisoner, his condition, how much longer it was likely to be before they got some useful information out of him. Oded’s answers had been guarded. If he voiced the opinion that Sayid was likely to crack soon, the efforts to make him do so would be redoubled. Too distant a possibility of him giving up the secrets he held, and in best case scenario he would be thrown onto the street, too battered to fend for himself. In the worst case, he would simply be shot. Oded had been so very cautious as he responded to the searching questions, and he only hoped it could be enough.

But now he was late. And he could not hurry down the long corridor, could not show any kind of eagerness to get there quickly. He collected the food, water, fought down a wince when as well as the usual cleaning materials he was given a roll of bandages, and waited for the guard to open the door.

A jerk ran through Sayid at the noise from the far side of the room and he automatically tried to raise his head. Tried, failed, slumped back down to the floor with an agonised groan. Oded all but fell to his knees beside the shaking body, dropping everything without caring where it went. By sheer luck the water landed upright, but he would not have noticed had it drenched him as he reached out for Sayid.

The prisoner’s hands were bound, yanked behind his back and tied roughly together with rags, the knots already rubbing into his flesh. His feet had been bound too, the ankles pressed tightly together. Another ragged strip of dirty cloth across his eyes rendered him sightless, and yet another had been pushed into his mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Sayid.” Oded called, low and urgent. He pulled out his knife, but there was no way to free Sayid while he struggled, not without risking harming him further. Sayid‘s hair hung over his face and Oded gently pushed it away, trying to calm. “My friend, be still.” Whether the prisoner finally recognised the voice, the touch or whether it was the tone of command, he did not know, but Sayid suddenly ceased his movements, sagging back down. O

ded managed with some difficulty to slide his knife between the blindfold and Sayid’s skin, just above the ear, and the material was quickly cut through. The prisoner’s eyes were wide as they rolled up, searching out the man crouched over him. “

It is me, just me.” Oded said, working the gag out of his mouth before moving quickly onto his wrists and ankles. The material here was tougher, not helped by the angle at which they had been tied, and it took a minute of Oded’s feverish work, hearing Sayid’s ragged gasps so close and yet so far away, before the prisoner was finally free and Oded could see his injuries.

His shirt had been torn up the front, exposing the too-thin body, and yet again his stomach and ribs were marked with the prints of boots, some sharp and distinct, some more blurred, all beginning to darken fearfully. His right hand had been attacked once more, the half-healed fingers badly broken again, the flesh torn and bloodied. By some mercy of luck the left had not been touched, and Sayid reached out towards Oded, eyes still wide and wild. Oded took the hand quickly, tucking the knife back into his pocket so he could wrap both of his own around it.

“Hurts…” Sayid rasped. “To breathe…” Oded nodded.

“I need to move you. It will hurt more for a moment, but I must do it, my friend.” Sayid tried to nod, eyes rolling up in agony as the pain this produced. But Oded saw the movement, recognised it for what it was. He got an arm around Sayid’s upper chest, which seemed relatively unharmed, and pulled him quickly up to sitting, leaning the prisoner back against him. Sayid screamed through clenched teeth, a high ragged sound, and Oded tried desperately to ease the pressure on him. It seemed impossible, injuries everywhere that Oded looked. Stomach, legs, arms, all purpling with fresh bruises, and this time the cigarette burns were on his face, down across his cheeks, even one spilling onto his upper lip, a livid red mark on the sensitive flesh.

“Hurts…” Sayid moaned again, trying to bring his left hand up to his ribs. The right lay limply on his thighs, and Oded wondered how much of it could even be saved, let alone how much would ever truly work again. He ran his fingertips over the ribs, felt without even pressing down that there were at least three breaks.

“Sayid, I know it hurts, but it is important you tell me this. Are you able to breathe? Beside the pain, can you breathe?” If Sayid couldn’t it meant worse than simply broken ribs, meant the sharp edges had connected with something vital. For the first time since Sayid’s recovery from the sudden illness of so few days ago he was acutely aware just how many ways fate was trying to steal the other man from him. First they were enemies, born so and damned to die so. This alone would have been hard enough, but if Sayid died here, died in his arms as was suddenly such a real possibility…he could not finish the thought, his own breathing gone as ragged as Sayid’s.

“Just hurts. Little easier…sitting” the prisoner managed, and Oded could have wept with relief. Casting about the cell he spotted the bandages less than arms length away and pulled them towards him.

“I am going to wrap your ribs. It will hurt, and for that I am sorry, but it will make it easier for you to breathe.” Sayid’s head lolled back against his shoulder, dark eyes trying to focus on him, and he searched desperately for a patch of skin that remained unmarked, finally just pressed his lips to Sayid’s temple where the flesh seemed relatively unharmed. He sat them both up straighter, awkwardly supporting the other man with one arm whilst trying to fasten the bandages as tightly as possible around his ribs, bracing them. It should have been done under the shirt, normally would have been, but there was no way to remove the garment short of cutting it off, and he was reluctant to do that.

Sayid cried out again, one low wordless sound after another, as fast as he could draw air to make the sound, but Oded forced himself to ignore it, forced himself to keep working, telling himself over and over that he was doing this for Sayid, that it was the only way. By the time he finished Sayid had gone quiet, throat too hoarse to make a sound above a whisper. Oded realised suddenly that as he had been in the office just down the hallway he had heard screams just like those, had hardened his heart and fought to show no concern, no compassion, just as the officer instructing him had shown none.

If he had known then that the cries had come from Sayid…the war with his emotions would have been one he lost. He had wondered, the thought dancing through his mind, taunting him, but the had pushed it down tight, over and over again, telling himself it could not be. Once more he ran his fingertips lightly over Sayid’s hair, as though reassuring himself that the man in the arms still lived, still had hope.

“Wa-ater?” Sayid rasped, and Oded cursed himself. To get so lost in his own thoughts, at a time like this, that he failed to attend to Sayid’s needs, it was beyond unacceptable. He pulled the cup towards them. Sayid tried to reach for it, wrap his hand around it and dip his head, but the movement cause too much pain and he let his hand fall back down with a harsh gasp. Oded quickly switched hands so he held the cup in his left, and brought his right up behind Sayid‘s neck, curving around the back of his head and supporting gently. “Thank you.” Sayid didn’t even try to raise his voice above a whisper now, the words somehow fragile yet determined at the same time. He moaned as the cold water met the fresh burn, but he swallowed down greedily, almost choking. Oded took the cup away, reaching for the rag and water.

“I’m sorry.” he said softly. Sayid did not ask for what he was apologising, and Oded was glad. Was it for the pain he was about to cause him, necessary though it was? Was it for the actions of his countrymen, those with whom he was supposed to empathise? Or was it simply for not having been there to stop this, to save him? He did not know, but as he began to trickle cool water across the burns, as Sayid whimpered and winced against him, he knew there were not the words to say how sorry he was. He paused for a moment, allowing Sayid time to calm himself once more, watching as he gasped for air, chest rising and falling rapidly and drawing small moans. He reached around Sayid, trying to avoid pressing his arm to the so badly damaged body, and laced their fingers together.

“I didn’t-” Sayid began, then hung his head, fighting back another low whimper of agony. Oded began to rub his thumb in small circles across the palm of Sayid’s hand, felt the fingers clench on his. “I told them nothing.” he paused again, shuddering. “I didn’t break. Didn’t break.” he repeated desperately, and Oded could feel how much this meant to the other man. He pressed his lips to the dark curls, waited until Sayid relaxed a little.

“I know. You did so very well, my friend.” he had wondered before now if to say such things would be to patronise the other man, demean him in some way. But it seemed that Sayid needed these words of comfort, needed someone to tell him that he was still doing the right thing. It would have been so much easier to give up the information, to give in, but he had not, and that deserved acknowledgement. There was silence for a moment, then Oded picked up the cloth once more, had to let go of Sayid’s left hand to reach for his right.

He paused, fingers hovering over it, then drew back to turn Sayid, allow the smaller man to hide against his shoulder.

“I am sorry.” he repeated as he began to wash away the blood, the dirt, exposing the torn flesh, the now-misshapen bones. He felt as much as heard the cry, muffled against his neck, felt the dampness against his skin. Even working as quickly as he could it was an unbearably long task, every touch and movement bringing Sayid more pain, drawing more heart-wrenching sobs from him. When it was done Oded stroked Sayid’s hair, waiting for the shivering to subside a little. Then he cradled the other man’s head once more, this time allowing him to drink until the jug was empty. The food lay untouched, and he knew to even try would be foolish. Tomorrow, yes tomorrow he must eat, but today it would do him more harm than good.

Suddenly Sayid’s eyes flickered towards the door and he stiffened.

“Someone…coming.” Oded blinked, and then cursed himself. Yet again his attention had been distracted, so much that even with the grille left foolishly wide open he had not heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He slid out from behind Sayid, resting him as gently as he could back against the wall. He glanced around the cell, spotted the jacket crumpled in the corner. He began to roll it up, intending to place it behind Sayid and give him at least a little relief from the cold stone wall. But as the murmur of footsteps and voices outside grew louder Sayid looked up at him and reached out, barely managing to move his trembling hand from where it lay on his thigh. Oded quickly unrolled the jacket, draped it across the prisoner’s lap, carefully picking up both his hands and laying them back down on top of the material.

When the door opened, Oded was knelt down in front of Sayid, collecting together his things.

“Why will you not tell them, Sayid?” he was asking, and without looking back at the guard he held up one finger “I will be but a moment.” he said, then returned his attention to the prisoner. Sayid’s eyes were barely open, but they were fixed on Oded. “I can help you, but only if you co-operate.” There had not been time to explain to Sayid, but he somehow knew that the other man understood, and he played along with the charade.

Oded rose to his feet, heading towards the door.

“Is it so late already?” he asked, glancing at his watch. The guard saluted neatly.

“An urgent letter has arrived for you.” he replied, holding out the crisp white envelope. As Oded took it, he already knew what it would contain, and it was all he could do not to crumble there.

“Thank you.” he replied brusquely and thrust the rest of his burden at the guard, heading towards his rooms. He tore the letter open almost before he had shut the door. He slid to the floor, the message crumpled in his fist, and wept.