Following Orders

Oded offered up a short prayer before he stepped into the room, would have crossed his fingers if his hands had not been full. Let them not have touched him again, he pleaded. The beatings, those it seemed Sayid could take, those would break his bones but not his spirit, and bones could mend. But to be used they way he had… He thought he’d got Sayid back towards the end yesterday, got through to him, but he wondered how much of that reaction was simply shock, and what state the prisoner would be in today.

Mercifully, Sayid was still clothed, and this time he was sat up, knees drawn up against his chest, arms wrapped around them. His head had been down, resting on his knees, but as the door scraped open it jerked up, immediately wary. His expression calmed when he saw who is visitor was and he offered the other man a nod of greeting. Oded waited until the door clicked shut, the scrape of the bolt outside loud as the two men looked at each other. Waited a moment longer then turned and snapped the grille into place, shutting off all contact with the world outside that room. Then he hurried over to Sayid, kneeling next to him, facing the other man. An almost smile crossed the prisoner’s face as he watched Oded set down the food and drink, sitting close enough that his knee brushed against Sayid’s thigh.

“How are you?” Oded asked softly, eyes raking over the slender body as the Sayid slowly uncurled and stretched a little, checking to see what harm had been done that morning. Curiously he could see no new marks on his face or arms, simply the fading bruises and grazes from the days before. The rest of him was covered by the clothes of course, but there seemed to be less stiffness to Sayid’s movements today, almost as though he was healing. Oded looked up, met Sayid’s eyes, looked a question at him, and Sayid shook his head.

“No-one came today.” he answered, voice as soft as Oded’s had been. “I do not understand it, but…nobody came, not since…since yesterday.” he winced a little as he said the last word, and Oded almost reached out, needing suddenly to touch the other man, give him what little comfort was possible in this hell hole. For the first time, he admitted that perhaps this was beyond his need to aid those in pain, his constant despair at being unable to do any true good. The thought stopped the movement abruptly, his hand pausing in mid-air above Sayid’s wrist, fingertips bare inches away from the skin, and Sayid looked at him curiously. Oded lowered his hand the rest of the way, thumb tracing small circles across the back of Sayid’s arm. He looked away from his hand, glancing down at Sayid’s. The marking there had begun to fade, and he saw that the fingers of the left hand had uncurled partway. Evidently those had only been strained rather than broken, and he was thankful that Sayid should keep the use of one of his hands at least. He pushed down the little voice that reminded him such things mattered little. Even if Sayid was released, thrown out onto the street as sometimes happened when the interrogators felt that all useful information had been pulled from a prisoner, what life would there be left for him? There was little mercy in this world for a soldier who could no longer fight, and they so often suffered the fate of a lamed horse, sometimes even at the hands of their own people. Oded shook his head, ignoring the curious look on Sayid’s face, and focused on what the other man had just said.

“It is isolation, my friend. They hope that, should you be left alone for long enough, a prisoner will become desperate enough for company of any kind that they will answer any questions put to them.” he explained this flatly, detached, looking past Sayid to the far wall. Sayid tilted his head, gaze fixed on Oded.

“Yet still they send you to see me?” he questioned, not yet understanding. Oded looked at him sadly, and his shoulders slumped a touch as comprehension crossed his face. “Ah. I understand.” there was sorrow in his voice as he closed his eyes, their respective positions, duties, suddenly emphasised in a way that had not been since the first day. “And if I will not speak to you, will not spill my secrets this way, what then? Do you join their ranks, try to beat the information from me? Or will you simply vanish, never to return?” A lock of hair fell in front of his face as he looked down and he made to brush it away, struggling to uncurl his fingers enough to do it. It kept slipping away, falling back over his eyes, and with a small noise of frustration he gave up. Oded watched, startled, as his own hand crossed the gap between them, tucking the rogue curl into it’s proper place behind Sayid’s ear. The fingertips followed it down, tracing over the sensitive skin, before coming to rest on his shoulder. He had not planned to do it, had not realised he would until he had, but as Sayid stared back at him, he realised also that he would not undo it for anything that he could name.

“I would never join their ranks. And I would find a way to return.” he countered fiercely, and somehow the words made more sense with Sayid’s skin warm under his own.

Then he frowned. Too warm under his. He pulled back, shifted his hand to Sayid’s forehead. This too was heated, and he realised that the other man’s eyes were a little unfocused.

“Is there a problem, Oded?” Sayid asked quietly, looking up at Oded with open confusion. Oded took his hand away, reaching for the jug of water.

“How do you feel, my friend? Beyond your injuries, do you feel well?” it seemed like a strange question, after all the prisoner had been through, but there seemed to be something…off, something different.

“I feel…cold.” Sayid admitted. “An my throat is dry, more so than it has been.” Oded nodded, his fears confirmed.

“I think you have a little of a fever.” He poured a cup full of water, hesitantly held it out to Sayid. After the failed attempt to push away something as light as his hair, Oded held little hope that Sayid would be able to handle the cup, but he felt he should at least offer. Sayid looked up at him, and slowly shook his head. Oded was disturbed by how grateful he felt as he moved forward, turning so he could rest one arm behind Sayid, fingers resting in the hair, idly brushing out the tangles. He raised the cup, felt Sayid’s head move away from his hand, and he knew in that moment that the support Sayid needed was no longer purely physical. He was not supposed to do this, feel this. Prisoners should be patients to him, an opportunity to practice his skills in medicine, take away a little of their pain before the end. They should not be, had never before been, someone he could call “my friend” and almost mean it, wish he would have the chance to truly mean it. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, refusing to even consider how many times that week it had been, he pushed down his thoughts, forcing himself to focus on the present, on the actions he was performing.

When the water was half empty and Sayid had said “Enough.” Oded picked up the food. Quickly Sayid shook his head, rolling his eyes up to look at Oded.

“I have no hunger today.” he said, and Oded frowned, holding the food out again.

“You must keep your strength up in order to fight this illness.” he explained, and Sayid shook his head once more.

“My stomach…” he began, then trailed off, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Not hungry. Just cold.” This was not possible, not only was he half-starved already, his bones showing through the dark skin in more places than Oded liked to contemplate, but the sun was beating down outside, warming the buildings until Oded could barely stand it. Perhaps the hottest day they had seen in many years, and yet the prisoner was shaking, huddling in on himself as though to keep in what little warmth he possessed. With a sigh Oded lay the food back down a small distance away, and turned back to Sayid. Hesitantly, unsure of the wisdom of his actions, he sat back against the wall next to Sayid, his arms open. Sayid shifted, pressing back against him, moving until he sat awkwardly against Oded’s side, back against his legs, one of Oded’s arms around his shoulders. It was not enough, and as the trembling grew stronger, Oded made up his mind. He shifted one leg until it was on the other side of the other man, pulling Sayid fully back against him, both arms wrapped around Sayid’s chest. The prisoner was far warmer than he should be, yet he huddled close to Oded, seeking out his body heat the way a man would draw close to a desert bonfire in the dead of night, when shadows and whispered crowded near, borne on a bitterly cold wind that could take away your life as fast as it stole your breath.

Oded sought out one of Sayid’s hands, fingers resting around the wrist, finding the pulse as he counted. That too was higher than it should have been, and Oded hoped fervently that it was a simple fever, caused by the poor food and worse treatment, rather than a sign of worse illness to come. The heat pressed against his chest should have been unpleasant, considering his surroundings, but Oded welcomed it, refusing to think of when he would have to rise, leave once more for the day.

Still so few words had passed between them. It startled Oded to realise just how few. Yet he felt he understood this man, perhaps better than anyone he had known. Perhaps better than himself, for more and more of late were his dreams haunted, his nights restless. He had begun to question many things, even before fate had brought him to Sayid, but now not only was he unsure of the answers, he was no longer certain he knew what the questions were.

He reached past Sayid, picking up the bowl and cloth. The water was room temperature, warm, yet Sayid shivered more as the cloth was pressed against his temple, washing away the sweat that gathered there.

“Cold.” Sayid protested, shifting a little in Oded’s arms. But Oded continued and after a moment he gave in, letting his head rest back against Oded’s shoulders, hair tickling against Oded’s neck. He cloth continued to trace over his skin, soothing as much as cleaning, and he murmured something too soft for Oded to hear. The other man paused, waiting for it to be repeated.
“I am sorry, I did not hear that. What did you say?” Oded asked, one hand absently around Sayid’s wrist again, holding loosely. Sayid shook his head, turning his face into Oded’s neck, almost hiding.

“It matters not.” he replied, and Oded could do nothing but continue, cradling Sayid’s hands gently as they were washed, Sayid biting back a hiss of pain as the edge of the cloth brushed against his broken fingers. Oded stopped immediately, waited until Sayid had settled once more before beginning again, more careful than ever.

Sayid had almost fallen asleep on him by the time Oded knew it was time for him to go, lulled into peace by the warmth of the man behind him, the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest he rested on. He made a small displeased noise as Oded began to sit him up fully, opening his eyes and stretching.

“I must go now.” Oded explained, apology and regret in his voice and eyes. Sayid nodded, glanced towards the door with a look of hatred Oded had not seen from him in several days. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Sayid agreed.

Oded stood, made his way to the door, instructing the guard to open it and let him back out into the real-world. And today, as he had every other day, as he had told himself he would not, he looked back.