"Courage is found in unlikely places."
― J.R.R. Tolkien
:::
Clinton swallowed, hard.
The first thing he saw, entering the room, was the bright, bright lamp on the desk. Everything else was blinded, at first, by the lamp that shone directly in his face. He couldn't see, he couldn't move, he couldn't look away, he was held there by the light. Rooted to the ground.
Even when a shadowy figure clicked it off, he still couldn't move.
Paralyzed with fear? Maybe. He thought...he thought he'd gotten over it after talking with Greenbaum, after steeling himself during the long walk down the metal corridor, but now he wasn't sure. Adrenaline ran through him and left a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't know if that was fear.
The general, the one who'd been in the courtroom before, the one whose name he couldn't remember, stepped from behind the desk. He held out a hand. "Sergeant Clinton." He smiled a little smile when Clinton shook hands, automatically, without thinking. None of this seemed very real. He'd seen the others when they came back, but he couldn't think straight about whether or not something like that would happen to him.
All he wanted was to ball up the things he knew tight inside him, so far away and so deep down that nobody would ever find them. Not disappoint the captain and Greenbaum. Especially not Greenbaum, because he was one of the first real friends Clinton had ever known.
The guard had left and closed the door, but there were still three people in the room. He realized that now, after seeing the large man standing behind the general, standing there without saying a word, just looking at Clinton without blinking.
No, there were two large men. Hazy black splotches still marched across his vision, from the light, and he hadn't moved from where the guards had stopped him.
The general was speaking. Clinton heard him dimly, as if there was water rushing past his ears every other word. He forced himself to concentrate, to understand each phrase, but he already knew what the general was saying. Something about the information that he had and the general needed and why don't you tell us so we can be friends?
He shuddered inside and shook his head. It seemed to clear away the blackness.
"Are you afraid, Sergeant Clinton?"
He was afraid. He was more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. Afraid that he'd break down and give the general with his smiling eyes and smiling mouth everything he knew, everything the others had worked so hard to keep hidden.
Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.
The word pounded into his mind over and over again.
He shook his head.
Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.
"Really?" the general said. He raised a hand and the two men stepped forward, and Clinton watched them come closer and closer and he was still standing there, perfectly still.
Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.
It had repeated itself so many times through his head that it was starting to lose all meaning. Afraid. He was afraid? He had to be. He'd seen what had happened to all the others...Skvoznik and Vincent and Canelli. There wasn't anything else to be but afraid and ready to do anything to escape from what was-
The two men grabbed him and slammed him against the back wall of the room. It was cool and rough and pushed through the veil of fog that had wrapped itself around him and brought everything into focus, sharp and clear and impossible to hide from. He could feel his heart pounding in a wild way and he couldn't take a breath to calm it down. He couldn't take a single breath.
He was choking, choking, pain shimmering just behind his eyes, and he couldn't see anything except darkness everywhere. Roaring filled his ears and a sharp, metallic, warm taste filled his mouth, and then he fell. Down, down, down into an abyss.
Water splashed over him, cool and soft.
His throat was on fire.
"Now will you-?"
Without hearing the end of question, he shook his head, because if that was all they could do to him, he could take it. And even if he couldn't have, he'd find some way to keep fighting and not let them get to him, because he couldn't stop now or ever. The other guys were depending on him to get back with the information so he couldn't give it away now.
Up from his heap on the ground, to the wall, and the fire in his throat increased.
Again and again and again, until he stopped caring anymore.
They couldn't go on forever. He'd have to be sent back. With everything he knew still locked away inside him, at the very bottom of his mind.
Dimly, in the middle of the choking and the blood in his mouth and the harsh headache pounding at the back of his head, he could see the general slam the top of his desk. If he was angry, that meant their side, the captain's side, was winning, didn't it? He hoped so.
The pressure stopped, but the pain didn't. It didn't matter. They were taking him out now and that was all he wanted. To go back and tell the captain and Greenbaum and all the rest that he hadn't been afraid, hadn't even been afraid of being afraid. He'd tell them everything.
Down the hall and down the stairs and back into the prison.
Opening the cell door, the guards shoved him in.