Following Orders

Oded carried the now familiar burden of food, water, cleaning supplied with him as he approached the cell. But this time the guard handed him something else also, a smirk spread across his face.

“You will perhaps need these.” he said, passing Oded a cloth bundle, simple clothes in faded colours. “They may make him a little more…agreeable. Unless you wish to take your turn, first. He may not have come around yet, would not even have to know it was you.” Oded nodded vaguely at the words, and his heart sank as he stepped into the room, already knowing what he would find.

As he had been the day before last, Sayid was curled into a ball in the far corner, facing away from the room. This time his clothes had been stripped from him, torn into rags that were now scattered over his battered body. One had caught in his hair, and somehow that single bloodied strip of cloth trailing down the back of his neck, edge tainted with blood, was more pitiful than the fresh blossom of bruises across his bare skin, the trickle of red that had dried down his thighs, the low whimper that he made as he heard footsteps approaching. As Oded looked down, he fought the urge to shiver, then gave in. If a man could see this and still flinch, then perhaps he was a man no longer, simply a demon in man’s form. So he allowed himself to pause, taking a deep breath before he knelt down, placing down his burdens far enough away that the water could not be knocked over if either of them moved suddenly. His hand hovered over Sayid’s side, where the ribs were beginning to show through the skin, and tried not to sigh at the flinch away from his presence.

This was something that would never be admitted to. The torture yes, that would be discussed. Men would brag to each other, share tales of burning a prisoner’s skin until bone showed through the charred flesh, of cutting pieces of flesh from a man until he told them things they hadn’t even asked to know, all over a cup of coffee as they relaxed. But this was something done in secret, in shame, would be denied if it were ever mentioned under the light of day. Everyone knew it went on, of course. The men became restless, long parted from the company of obedient wives, kept away from the whores who would be willing to slake their lust for a generous portion of that month’s wages. So they turned to different avenues, to bodies just as obedient but far less willing, or sometimes for sport to those not yet so obedient. Oded had seen the evidence a thousand times, had each time disposed of it in silence, the prisoners holding their own silence as he worked, revealing the results only in glassy-stares, flinches, whispered nightmares.

“Sayid?” he said quietly, and his only answer was an increase in the trembling, another low whimper as Sayid tried to curl tighter into a ball. He closed his eyes for a moment. Of course, they would have used his name. Taunted him with their power over him, forced him to acknowledge it. Now even the comfort of his own name had been torn from him, and Oded wondered if there was even anything left of this man to save. And if there was, was he the one that could do it? Would this be the task that was finally beyond him? Praying that he was wrong, that he was equal to the task, he tried again. “My friend?”
This got a reaction, beyond the startled flinch that came from being spoken to. Tentatively Sayid tried to roll over, almost constant pained noises falling from his lips as he only managed to turn his head far enough to see Oded. The bruising on his face had faded a little from yesterday, and there didn’t seem to be any fresh marks. He was able to open both eyes today, although the right eyelid would still not raise more than halfway, and the stare he fixed Oded with held a depth of despair that Oded had begun to hope he would never see on this man. The pride that had burned there had been stripped away as surely as his clothes had, and Oded had to force himself to hold the gaze.

“Oded?” The word was tinged with the same hopelessness that Oded had seen in his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to find the words to answer. Instead he simply nodded, reaching down towards Sayid. The prisoner flinched yet again, and Oded drew back, hands resting on his own knees.

“Sayid, will you allow me to help you?” he asked, eyes lowered, trying to be as unthreatening as possible.

“Have you come to take your turn also?” Sayid replied bitterly. His eyes flickered to the door, and Oded saw that the grille was open, must have been open all the time, and as his attention turned from Sayid he realised he could hear the guard humming to himself on the other side of the door. Biting back a curse he stood, crossed the room quickly and slid the metal into place, blocking out all noise from beyond the room. Then he knelt by Sayid’s side once more. The man flinched, even having seen him coming, and Oded fought to keep his movements calm, trying to tamp down a little of the anger that boiled inside him, threatened to spill over, make him curse at the sky and demand answers, reasons. For all he had thought before, no-one deserved this, not even a true enemy.

“Sayid, I give you my word that I am not here to harm you. Have I caused you harm on any other day?” As soon as the words had passed his lips he wanted to take them back, as the guilt at his actions the day flooded through him, a near physical-assault that made him briefly close his eyes, hands clenched until his short nails bit into the palms, a heartbeat away from drawing blood. The night had been restless, as he had predicted, disbelief warring for place in his mind with shame, and all of them wearing Sayid’s face. But Sayid did not seem to notice the sudden silence, or perhaps he did not understand the reason why, for he shook his head, a slight movement that set his hair dancing about his face. The faded green strip caught Oded’s eye once more, and he slowly reached towards Sayid, meeting the other man’s guarded stare, and tugged it away, crumpling it in his fist before he allowed it to flutter to the floor. It looked like a streamer from a celebration, curled over upon itself, and the sight made something low in Oded’s gut twist once more, a sick feeling rising up in him. “Will you allow me to help you?” he repeated, hand stretched out, a few inches away from Sayid’s shoulder, fingertips all but aching to make contact, try and drive away some of the fear.

“I do not have a choice anymore, do I?” Still so desolate, so lost, and Oded knew he would get no further with words, with questions. He pulled off his own jacket, folded it and lay it under Sayid’s head as he rolled the prisoner over, until they were face to face. He had been right, there were no further injuries to the man’s face. And his chest seemed similarly untouched, yesterday’s burns beginning to scab over. But lower…purpling marks spread across his hips, the marks of more than one set of fingers clearly visible, ugly lined of bruised flesh that were set at irregular intervals all the way from waist down to the tops of his thighs. The blood was visible from this side too, flaking a little as Sayid tried to press his legs together tightly, looking up at Oded with unmistakable fear in his eyes.

“I mean you no harm, my friend.” Oded reassured him softly, still fighting down the anger, forcing it away from his words. Later, there would be time for that, later, there would be time to pace and rant and vent his fury. But not here, not in front of this broken man. An idea occurred to him and he glanced around, searching through the piles of rags. A few of them seemed clean enough and he made a small pile of them, resting on one knee, before reaching behind himself to bring forward the bowl of lukewarm water and the wash cloth. He unfolded the cloth, shaking it out. Unrolled from the ball it had been scrunched into, the material was a reasonable size, and he draped it across Sayid’s hips, covering him. “It isn’t much…” he voiced, trailing off, picking up one of the rags and dipping it into the water. He ran the dampened material first across Sayid’s cheeks, wiping away traces of tears that neither one of them had acknowledged until this moment. Sayid’s breathing quickened, and Oded could see the trembling in his muscles as he fought to hold still, another single tear finding it’s way quickly onto the cloth. He wiped lower, across the dry cracked lips, and he saw Sayid’s eyes flicker around, searching for the water. “It is behind me.” he explained. “I did not wish it to be spilt if you moved abruptly. When you are cleaned, dressed, you may drink.”

“Dressed?” Sayid asked vaguely, looking up at Oded in confusion. Oded nodded.

“There are fresh clothes for you. But it will be easier to tend to your…” he trailed off, unsure of how best to continue. “injuries, this way. How are your hands?” he asked, deliberately diverting from the more obvious wounds that would require tending to. The look in Sayid’s eyes said he recognised the calculated shift and was grateful for it. He raised his hands, showing that the discolouration was beginning to fade a little. The bones were still out of line, already beginning to heal, and the sight saddened Oded. With proper facilities he could re-break them, set them so straight that it would never show that the hands had ever been damaged, give Sayid the full use of them back. But his superiors would not allow that, believed it a waste of time and resources for Oded to give the prisoners real medical care instead of simply water and bread and words of comfort. It was an old argument, and he refused to rehash it in his mind as he lay down the cloth, rested the hands on top of his own, examining them closely. “They will heal.” he said shortly. They both ignored it for the lie that it was, just as Oded pretended to ignore the way Sayid was trembling as the burns that marked his chest were washed.

“They said you were not coming.” When Sayid spoke it seemed to be as much to divert Oded’s attention from his body as to impart information. But the words surprised Oded, and he couldn’t help but pause. “That you were never coming back.” It seemed to Oded that he was watching his own hand move, without being in control of it, as it moved up to gently stroke Sayid’s face, skimming lightly over the bruises to caress the unmarked skin. After a moment he lowered his head, and returned to his task. As he reached Sayid’s stomach, the prisoner began trembling again. “I know.” he said abruptly, before Oded could find the words. Even more than yesterday Oded found himself wondering what it would have been like to meet this man under different circumstances, where they could have truly been friends, truly known each other. He moved the cloth away, letting it pool on the floor between them, and began to wash over the bruises, noting welts where blunt nails had dug in, drawn blood, and dragged down. His mind catalogued all of this, hands working on autopilot as he tried to understand why this time affected him more than every other had. Each time he had felt pity for the prisoner, disgust at his countrymen and their actions.

“Can you lie on your back?” he prompted, hand resting on Sayid’s shoulder, pushing him gently down. Sayid froze again, trying to resist the pressure. His eyes widened, fixed on Oded as the larger man leaned over him, chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly. He parted his lips to speak, but no words would come out. Seeing the fear take Sayid Oded drew his hand back, resting it instead on Sayid’s hair, stroking gently. “I will not harm you. I swear on all that I hold dear, I will not harm you.” And as his voice broke, as he fought back the urge to pull Sayid to him, hold him close in a desperate attempt to fend off the terror that was written across the other man’s face, he meant every word of it.
Something changed in Sayid’s gaze, a little of the panic easing away at the soft touch of Oded’s fingers against his hair, and Oded prayed it could be enough. Eventually Sayid nodded, allowing Oded to press him down to the floor, head still supported on the makeshift pillow. He whimpered as his back came into contact with the hard stone once more, quieting as Oded continued to smooth down his hair. Oded wondered for a moment if it would be kinder to draw this out as he was doing, stopping to comfort the prisoner every few moments, or just to get it over with as quickly as possible. He decided to try the second method for now, reaching for again cloth again and easing apart Sayid’s legs, forcing himself to ignore the hitch in Sayid’s breath, the sudden tensing of his muscles. He washed once more over the bruised hips, cleaning the grazes that ran over the tops of Sayid’s legs. The cloth brushed over the dark inner thighs, working at the dried blood there, moving dangerously close to his groin. Sayid flinched as the flesh began to waken, stir, and he looked away, unable to meet Oded’s eyes. Oded continued, pretending to be oblivious, moving carefully lower.

“Do not think on it my friend.” he said softly, one hand resting on Sayid’s shoulder. He dipped the cloth again, rinsed it, taking his time in squeezing out the water. When he returned it to Sayid’s body, the other man had calmed, managing to hold still as Oded finished. “It will not take much longer.” He tried to reassure Sayid, and realised his own hands were trembling. He forced them to be still, working over the other man’s skin as gently as he could, trying to keep the movements smooth and even, no sudden jerks that would startle him. “I need you to turn to your front now. Can you do that for me?” Yet again Sayid stilled, eyes widening, and slowly he nodded, shifting one arm up so it covered his face as Oded turned him. The prisoner was shaking constantly now, and Oded moved as quickly as he could, trying to force his thoughts into calmness as he tried to clean away the worst of the dirt, the blood, the…evidence. It was finished quickly, although not at all would still not have been quickly enough for Sayid, and Oded helped him sit up, one arm around his shoulders, supporting him without yet coming too close. Likely any contact was too close at this moment, too much, but the man was not yet in any shape to sit up without a small amount of aid, and Oded was not about to let him fall.

“Thank you.” Sayid murmured softly, and Oded inclined his head in acknowledgement. He reached for the clothes, held them up to show Sayid. Sayid raised his arms, hands curled over as Oded slipped the shirt over his head. It was baggy, hitting him at mid-thigh, and Sayid seemed grateful for the extra material, relaxing a little as he was covered. The trousers proved more difficult, Sayid’s first attempt to push himself to his feet resulting in him falling against Oded, crying out as his damaged hand struck the other man’s shoulder. Oded wrapped his arms around Sayid’s back, supporting him, lowering his eyes as colour began to rise in Sayid’s cheeks. The other man’s embarrassment was obvious, and it seemed cruel to witness it, but Oded could not help but watch as a single tear streaked out from under Sayid’s lashes.

“Perhaps if you lean against the wall, it would be easier.” Oded suggested a moment later, waiting for a nod before resting the prisoner back against the wall. His shirt bunched up, rising to his stomach, and Oded averted his eyes, picking up the trousers. He managed to get them up over Sayid’s feet, up to above his knees with no trouble. Moving slowly, he wrapped one arm around Sayid’s waist, pulling him to rest against his side and holding most of his weight, but Sayid was shaking again by the time he was fully dressed. He looked up at Oded, still leaning back against the other man.

“I need to stand, Oded.” he said quietly. “Not crawl around like the animal they treat me as.” Oded nodded solemnly. The rest of Sayid’s unspoken statement nagged at him. He had not meant to treat Sayid as a child, helping him dress, manoeuvring him around to make the task easier. It had just seemed simpler that way, less likely to cause pain and distress. But as he stared down, meeting Sayid’s gaze with sudden intensity, he understood what it must have been like for the other man.

“Of course.” he replied, rising to his knees. Both arms around Sayid he pulled the other man to his feet, bracing as they stumbled, Sayid from having been on the floor so long, muscles gone tired with disuse, and himself from the sudden weight of Sayid pressed against him as he supported the prisoner, waiting for him to recover. Sayid’s forehead rested against his shoulder, sudden warmth even through his shirt, and he held his breath, waiting. Sayid took a shaky half-step back, and Oded held out his hands, far enough away that Sayid could stand alone, close enough to catch him if he began to crumple. A few more short staggering steps took Sayid to the centre of the room, and he looked down at the bloodstains, almost detached. Oded followed him closely, quietly marvelling at the prisoner’s resilience. By the ninth day, most had utterly given up hope, hiding in the corner, speaking in hushed tones. He had never dealt with someone like Sayid before, was beginning to think he had never met someone like him before either. Sayid looked up at him, almost as though he could read his thoughts, and a small smile crossed his lips.
The prisoner continued to pace around the room, shadowed by Oded, occasionally glancing back at the larger man. He had just turned to speak when his legs gave way, and Oded darted forward, lowering him to sit on the floor.

“Are you alright, my friend?” he asked, releasing Sayid and allowing him to lean back against the wall.

“Better than I have been.” Sayid replied. He glanced over at the food and drink, raised his eyebrows at Oded. “May I?” Oded quickly fetched them, then looked at Sayid for a moment. It was obvious he was still unable to hold the cup, but after having walked around the room, it would seem silly to try and support his head. Oded told himself this more than once as he held out the water, waiting for Sayid to lean towards it. Instead Sayid looked at him, blinked slowly. Oded shifted closer, cupped the back of Sayid’s head as he had done every other day, and the prisoner began to drink. Perhaps he was tired, Oded decided, feeling the other man rest lightly back against him. He caught his fingers drifting across the dark skin, tracing the soft area just below Sayid’s ear. Trying not to make any sudden movements he pulled them away, settling his hand more firmly behind Sayid’s head, telling himself repeatedly that the other man needed the help, needed it more than Oded needed to give it.

The food was taken care of in the same way, Oded forcing himself to concentrate on the task itself, and not the man who leaned against him so trustingly, every now and again glancing up at him. Once more he caught himself stroking Sayid’s hair. Whether or not the other man had noticed, he was not sure; Sayid had neither said nor done anything to indicate he had. But it troubled him, and he told himself firmly that it must not continue.
When the meal was finished he rose to his feet.

“Whatever they tell you, I will be back tomorrow.” he promised. It made little sense, but once again he needed Sayid to know this, to understand. The other man licked his lips, nodded.

“I believe you, my friend.” He replied, glancing at the door as it began to open. “I believe you.”
Oded tried not to look back as he left the room, tried not to sear the sight of the prisoner huddled on the floor, dwarfed even by the small room, into his memory. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would manage not to.