Following Orders

As the door swung open, Oded paused, prayed as he had done yesterday, let them not have touched him. But today he added another part to this, another line, something more that he desperately hoped for. Let him be well. Let the sickness of yesterday have lasted but a day, let him heal.

As he stepped into the cell, he knew that whoever was answering his prayers was only willing to grant him so much mercy, and would listen to no entreaty further, no matter from how deep in the soul it came. Oded slammed the grille into place almost before the door way shut, blocking out the rest of the world, trying desperately to buy them peace and privacy, if only for a few short hours.

He was on his knees at Sayid’s side before he realised he had moved, setting the jug and bowls on the floor quickly, reaching out to touch his fingertips to Sayid’s forehead, as though he didn’t know already what he would find there.

The skin was clammy, gone sickly pale underneath the darkness, and it all but scorched his fingers. Sayid was curled up on the floor, huddled into a ball, and he flinched away from the sudden touch. He shivered, rolling his eyes up, trying to focus on Oded. He had obviously been left alone again today, for there was no more damage to his face than there had been the day before, and Oded gave thanks for the smallest of mercies as he reached for the cloth, dampening it and gently wiping away the sweat that formed on Sayid’s temples.

The other man tried to speak, his cracked lips moving, tracing the shapes of words, but there was no noise beyond a hollow sigh. Oded touched the cloth softly to Sayid’s dry lips, cleaning away the trace of blood that trickled from the split in the centre. Abandoning his attempts to cool the other man down he wrapped his arms around Sayid, pulling the smaller man back against his chest. He was easy to move, too easy, and Oded could feel more bones pressing against the skin under his hands, each one making him despair more and more.

Sayid whimpered as he was repositioned, his eyelids fluttering closed for a long moment, but he leant back against Oded without complaint, seeming to try and burrow back against the larger man. Oded quickly reached down and filled the cup, gently supporting Sayid’s head with one hand as the other raised the water to his lips. Sayid drank greedily, and the cup was refilled several times before it was finally Oded who stopped.

“More later, my friend. If you try to take more now you will choke.” he explained. Sayid turned his head, pressing it against Oded’s neck.

“Cold.” he murmured, shifting until Oded’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly. Then he seemed to settle, drifting a little. Oded shook his head at the statement. The man was burning up, was almost painfully hot to touch, and yet he claimed to be cold. He put a finger under Sayid’s chin, tilting it up to look into his eyes. As he had feared they were fever-glazed, barely able to focus as they tried to fix on him. The slid shut as he watched, and Sayid whispered again. “Stay.”

“I will, my friend. I will.” Yet again he picked up the cloth, trickling cold water across Sayid’s skin. It seemed cruel, and as Sayid flinched he flinched with him, but it was the only way. Oded had seen people lost to this state, more often than he cared to remember, and he needed to bring the other man’s temperature down somehow. “I am sorry.” he muttered, cloth working over Sayid’s chest where the cloth gaped, raising the hem of his shirt to wipe across his stomach, cleaning the scabbed-burns that dotted the skin, the muscles twitching under his touch, all the while trying to ignore the shuddering that wracked the slender frame.

“What is…” Sayid began, then broke off, coughing harshly. Oded rubbed a hand across his back until it subsided, trying to hold him upright, keep him from curling in on himself as he seemed to so desperately want to do.

“It’s alright, I have you.” Oded comforted softly as Sayid collapsed back against him. There were tears streaking down the burning cheeks now, each clear drop swiftly followed by another, but Sayid did not seem to notice them, or else if he did then he was beyond caring.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked, but it sounded more like a plea, and he turned to Oded again, hiding his face against the other man’s neck, shifting position until he could get one arm behind Oded’s back around his waist. Oded let him, all intentions of not crowding a man whose defences were so utterly down gone as Sayid pressed against him. He raised the hand that wasn’t holding Sayid to him, ran it gently through the dark curls that were all that remained visible as Sayid bent his head.

“I am not certain. You have a fever, that is all I know. You need to rest. Just…rest.” The lie came disturbingly easy, and he was glad for a moment that Sayid could not see his eyes. Would the half-truth show in them? And would it be better or worse if it did? He did not want to frighten Sayid, the idea tore at his heart in a way that terrified him, but he also did not like the idea that he could lie to someone like this without showing at least guilt, if not more. But lied he had, to save Sayid’s hope, give him perhaps a little chance. For if he gave up hope now there would be no chance, no recovery, but if he could cling on, perhaps there was still some small chance.

As it was…he had seen too many lost to this, too many slip away, their last days clouded with more pain and fear than the torturers could ever manage to inflict upon them. First came the fever, the sudden refusal of the food that they so badly needed. Then as they grew weaker, as the lack of nutrition wasted their already fragile bodies, lowering their defences. After that came the delirium. Talking to comrades long-dead, or love ones a thousand miles away. Beyond this there was nothingness, as they simply gave in, became a haunted shell of pain and fear that crumbled slowly into death.

He tightened his hold on the man in his arms, shaking his head. This one was strong, a fighter. He would not succumb the way others had. For not all of them had died. Some that could be forced to take food, could still be spoken to as they muttered feverish nonsense, they had lived, woke one day with the fever broken. Oded refused to remember how few those had been, refused to acknowledge just what a truly tiny shred of hope he was clinging to, mind fixed on the fact that there was hope.

He shook Sayid gently, waiting for him to look up.

“My friend, you must eat something.” he insisted, reaching for the bowl. Sayid shook his head, hair dancing around him.

“I am not hungry.” he replied, leaning back against Oded. Then Oded shook his head, sitting them both up straighter.

“You must. Your body needs this to fight, to become well again.” He soaked a small piece of bread in the soup, holding it up to Sayid’s lips. “Please.” Slowly the lips parted, the morsel disappearing between them. “Yes, that’s it.” Oded said encouragingly, raising another tiny chunk. This one was swallowed too, with a groan.

“Water.” Sayid croaked and Oded quickly reached for the glass, leaning Sayid back to tilt it for him. More food followed this, agonisingly slow, until the bowl was half-empty. “No more, please?” he begged, and Oded nodded, stroking his hair again. It was not much, did not even come close to being enough, but it was more than he had hoped for, might perhaps be enough to make the difference between recovery, and…he hugged Sayid still closer, shudders still running through the other man, and closed his eyes.

He prayed again, with a kind of fervour he thought had been lost through the years, whisked away with adult duties and the day to day darkness of life. Prayed for strength, prayed for hope. Prayed for forgiveness, prayed for them both. Just prayed, as Sayid began to drift into a restless kind of almost-sleep. He continued to run his fingers through the matted curls, separating the tangled strands and letting them fall back against the skin that smouldered against his.

Not an hour later the other man woke, twitching violently, hands coming up as if to ward off a blow. Oded slackened his hold a little, still careful not to let Sayid fall as his eyes snapped open.

“Please take Farah.” Sayid pleaded, eyes fixed in the distance, caught half between nightmare and reality. “Keep her safe. Please!” he repeated, voice urgent. Oded guessed that Farah was the sister Sayid had mentioned, the one he had traded his conscience to save. And now Sayid begged, desperate, the fever making him reach out for the only things he truly knew, truly cared for.

“She is safe, my friend. Farah is safe.” Oded hoped it was true, hoped that whoever this woman was that Sayid so obviously loved, she was far from harm. The answer seemed to be enough for Sayid and he quieted a little, resting back against Oded, seeking his warmth. That he had progressed so quickly to the delusions, the fever dreams…Oded was not sure if this was a good sign or no. It could be that the sickness was burning itself up, would pass as suddenly as it had arrived. Or perhaps it meant that the slow inevitable decline into that final darkness was being hastened.

Sayid began to cough again, choking. This time it did not pass within the moment as the others had. Even with Oded’s hand on his back, trying to calm him, trying to ease a little of the pain, still he gasped for air. His lips were beginning to turn blue before he finally sank back, lungs rasping with every indrawn breath, turning yet again to cling to Oded, closing his eyes and holding him tightly and being held in return as though that alone would be enough to stave off…Oded shook his head, fighting back despair.

This man needed medicine, real treatment, not water and whispered comfort. But there would be no such help for him, no way for Oded to persuade his superiors to let him treat Sayid. As far as they were concerned, if the prisoner died, it was “unfortunate”, as long as they still believed that there was information he could impart to them. But their caring did not extend beyond that.

Now Sayid’s worth was being measured in what he could tell them, measured and judged by those who had never exchanged words with him. Perhaps had never even laid eyes upon him even, had only seen a description of his condition and origins passed to them by one of those lower in the food-chain whose job it was to produce those endless reports. It was obscene, inhuman, and the anger inside Oded raged at it.

Sayid stirred, almost as though he had heard this thought, but his eyes did not open again. As Oded held the other man in his arms, feeling the slender body shiver against his as the fever raged through him, he was torn between fighting for him, fighting to save him, what little there was left, and praying for a quick and painless death, for an end to this man’s suffering, a release. But as Sayid glanced up, as those dark eyes fluttered open once more, met his, and Sayid pressed closer against him, he could not do it. God forgive him, but he could not end this man‘s life.

The sudden sound jolted him from his thoughts, snapped him back to the present, a whisper of leather on concrete, becoming louder as time passed. Oded froze, trying not to disturb Sayid as he listened to the sound of footsteps moving closer. If they came in here, how could he explain… His actions, which had seemed so reasonable to himself so few minutes ago suddenly seemed to defy logic. He glanced down at the man in his arms, as though he would sit up and give Oded the answers. “Why?” he asked himself, and Sayid did stir, opening his eyes, a small smile drifting across his lips as he registered that Oded was still with him.

And suddenly Oded had his answer. Because there was no way he could not, that was why. Perhaps that was not the correct answer, should not be. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, he had truly disobeyed an order, set himself against the rules his superiors bound him with. But if that was so, then so be it.

He touched two fingers to Sayid’s cheek, trying to rouse him from his slumber. Bleary eyes sought out his, a spark of understanding still dwelling there.

“I must leave now, my friend.” he told Sayid softly. “But I swear to you, I shall return tomorrow.” He moved out from behind Sayid and quickly stripped off his jacket, rolled it into a small cushion. This was laid on the floor and he gently urged Sayid down to the floor, resting his head on the pillow. Once more he stroked Sayid’s hair, murmuring his goodbyes, and then stood, walking towards the door.

This time, he did not try to stop himself looking back. That night, when he lay his head on his own pillow, he was still looking back.