AUTHOR'S NOTE: Believe me when I say I never meant to start a third series involving Sean and Alex, but I got a request on my Salex blog for this fic and how could I say no? I really wish the writers had done this. And they easily could have done this idea instead of giving up on Sean and pursuing that Olex bullshit. Sigh. Anyway, I hate that this is so short. I cringe. I hate writing short fics, I always like writing stuff between 2k and 3k if I can, or hell, even 7k if I can. But I guess it depends on the plot, really.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this & feedback is appreciated. This will only be in three parts, so I should be finishing this up soon and getting back to my other Salex fics soon.
The days didn't matter anymore – or he'd lost track of them. It was perhaps a combination of both. Like anyone in his position, Sean had been tenacious at first. He'd counted the days and weeks that had turned into months. He'd absorbed what Amanda had related to him every day with a grain of salt. He didn't trust her, would never trust her. She'd abducted and tortured Alex, done something to her. She had him closed off in here. He was her prisoner, away from everyone he loved. And that was what he couldn't understand. Why him, of all people?
But like anyone in his position, having your basic human rights taken away – over time and without subconsciously realizing it, he gradually adapted to his circumstances, took on a new mentality, and went along with Amanda's routine. Adapted, but not completely accepted. He would never completely accept his circumstances. A part of him still held onto some delicate shred of hope that somehow, some day he'd get out of here. There always came an end to suffering. He just had to be patient and wait.
I persevere and thrive on adversity. Part of the Navy SEAL creed. He could still recite the entire code as if he had just read it yesterday and not a little under ten years ago. He repeated every line like a mantra, holding onto every word to remind himself not to lose his humanity in here. He'd not lower himself to Amanda's level and give her the satisfaction of seeing him give up.
His anchor became Alex. Lying on the bed in his small cell, he'd stare up at the ceiling and think of her, wonder what she was doing and how she was doing. The last he remembered seeing her had been a few days after South Ossetia. He could still remember their limbs tangled together, the warmth of her body, the sweet smell of her hair, and her agitated breathing. He'd think back to that night and also to their first morning after. The warmth of the sun, tracing her butterfly tattoo with his fingertips – he felt like a fool now, badgering her about that; he understood now what the tattoo meant. He had always had a vague understanding of it, but had never really stopped to think about it. He even dreamed of her, and he'd always wake up from his dreams calling out her name. Two, maybe three times a week. He wasn't sure how often that happened, but it was frequent. Now, after all these months here in this cell with nothing but his own company and his own thoughts to echo the room, all he had was time to think on the past and on all the little mistakes he'd made with Alex. He swore to himself if he ever saw her again he'd make things right.
He missed her. To think of her with another him, a different him. An impostor. It was-... it was unsettling. He wasn't sure which preference was worse: to think of her with someone that was him but wasn't really him, or to want her to think him dead. He didn't want her to think he'd just abandon her – he'd never leave her – but the thought of her beguiled...
And ironically, now she really did think him dead. That was the worst part now. He was stuck in this hellhole, alive and well (to a certain extent) while she was out there, probably struggling with his death. But was she? Or was Amanda feeding him more lies by telling him Alex had been growing awfully intimate with Owen or Sam or whoever the hell he was now. What was her goal? Why was she coming to his cell every day and reciting all this to him? How did she even know? Was she trying to weaken him, make him think Alex didn't care for him anymore? In all truth, sometimes whatever Amanda's ulterior motive was, it seemed to work. There were some days Sean thought his double dying had been for the best. Maybe it was time for her to move on and fall in love with someone else. Be happy with someone else. He just wanted her to be happy and after all, they'd gotten their chance to be together. That was all that mattered, right? They'd been together. But if they'd been together, why did he still feel so bitter? He held on, however. He was stubborn.
These memories and thoughts drove him mad. He didn't sleep. He wanted to, but he was too mentally vigilant to be able to keep his eyes closed for five seconds at a time. So he paced the small cell day and night, eating what bland food he was given, and drinking the water. He'd come far from his first day, having broken the glass of water and tried to slit Amanda's throat, to now acting like an automaton. You didn't just attack Amanda and get away with it, though. She always got her revenge one way or another. She got her revenge with psychological and physical torture both at the same time. He now knew what it had been like for Alex to be in one of Amanda's chairs, put in an imaginary scenario and unable to tell what was real and what wasn't. He relived that torture awake and asleep – well, as little as he slept. As for the physical torture, he bore it. He was a Navy SEAL. He was trained to handle whatever was thrown his way. And he bore it. He took every punch; he heard every scream and heard every crack from every bone they broke; he even controlled his urges to slaughter the men torturing him whenever they'd talk about Alex, whether in derogatory ways or as some kind of strategy to catch him off guard and get into his head and control his thinking, make him vulnerable. He endured the torture three times a week every month. During those sessions, he kept his mind on one thing and one thing only: Alex. It was the thought of her kisses, her touch, everything about her that kept him from giving up. She kept him alive.
Observing the fading bruises on his chest being replaced by fresher bruises, Sean looked up at hearing the doors to his cell open and sat ramrod straight and pressed his back against the cold wall. He waited for Amanda to appear, his face hard and blank. He readied himself for whatever mind game she had ready for him today. But when she didn't come sidling in with her usual haughty expression, he tilted his head to the side and frowned. He grew uneasy until he heard familiar voices. Sean leaned forward, tilting his head to the side and listening to the voices. His lips parted and his eyes widened in disbelief. He remained seated for several minutes, his legs slowly coming to life and yearning to come to life after being motionless for so long.
Slowly, he moved his legs and stood up. He was unsteady at first, leaning against the wall for support and clutching his side as he walked towards the open door. Towards freedom. He paused for a brief second, listening to Michael's voice and then Birkhoff's, to a couple stranger's voices. It seemed too good to be true, he thought, standing out of sight by the door. What if this was a trick? What if Amanda was just raising his spirits to simply utterly crush them? Or what if he was having some sort of dream? What if he would wake up as soon as he stepped out into the room? What then? What if he fell back into despair?
Something told him, though, that all this was real. He couldn't forfeit the chance of not seeing Alex again. Not when he might actually be so close to making it home. Swallowing roughly (his throat was dry and scratchy, hurting like scratching your hand across a rock), he stepped out of his cell and into the open. He faltered and leaned against the outside of his cell when he saw Birkhoff, sucking in a sharp breath. He'd never been more relieved to see the nerd in all his life.
"Long time no see, Birkhoff," Sean said, his voice weak from lack of use. He swallowed again, struggling to water his mouth, clearing his throat. He looked down for a moment at his clothes, a uniform Amanda had picked out for everyone to wear. As he looked back up, Birkhoff had turned around to look at who had spoken to him.
Eyes going wide, Birkhoff's mouth slackened and he looked about to fall over from shock. Birkhoff's eyes traveled over Sean, taking in the bruised face, the cuts - and for a moment Sean thought he was going to come over and poke him to see if he was real. He wouldn't blame him, really. Finally, Birkhoff said, "Holy, Batman."