Chapter 2
Before he was fully conscious, Tony was already feeling the full agony of the trauma his body had gone through. He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming, because his body was on fire. He was on fire! He had to wake up, needed to wake up. This was a bad dream – wake up – shake it off, right now! He opened his eyes, but then the pain was suddenly worse. Why? Why hadn't the pain of burning flesh stopped with the dream?
He lifted his head slightly, groaned at the pain the movement caused, and saw through blurred vision the hands on him, a lot of hands, holding his body down. Another pair of hands, painted red, were dipping in and out of his chest. What were they doing to him? The pain was sublime. His chest was on fire. Sharp dagger thrusts sliced through his body with each breath. He tried to reach up, swat one of the hands away, but his arms were held down tightly, like the rest of his body, pinned down to some sort of table.
What are they doing to me? He was disorientated and confused, unable to form full thoughts that weren't focused on anything other than the complete and utter AGONY that he felt. His blurred vision darkened with black spots as he tried to strain his eyes, to see just exactly what the hell they were doing to him. He screamed, tried to fight against the ties and hands that held him to the table. They were too strong. He was too weak. The pain – MY GOD – what were they doing? He screamed and fought and screamed and fought until finally somebody held a cloth against his mouth and nose and he was fading, fading away from this table, this nightmare, this hellish pain that had wrapped itself around his body. Finally, he drifted back into a sweet numbness.
Days passed by in a blur of muggy half formed thoughts. Pain, pain was the first thing his mind was able to grasp each time he regained consciousness: P-A-I-I-I-I-I-N-N-N. At times he managed to open his eyes, but before he could process an entire thought he would give in to the trauma he had been through, and pass blissfully away, back into sleep. Just twenty four hours after the surgery, the insurgents took the sedatives away from Yinsen. Each time his patient awoke, for those snapshots of moments, he was in instant agony, almost delirious from the pain. Usually, his waking moments would last a few minutes, often nothing more than a few seconds, before it was too much, and the black numbness would release him. Twice, the patient had panicked, tried to move, tore open his stitches, and Yinsen had struck him, knocking him back out, preventing him from harming himself further. Guilt haunted Yinsen for these acts, striking an injured man, his bruised knuckles a reminder of the brutality he himself had shown. Despite doing it for the man's own good, it still hurt to do so.
Yinsen longed for the pain medication to help his charge, especially when he cried out for Pepper. At first Yinsen thought it was a delusion from the man's fever, a hallucination, a dream. But then Yinsen put two and two together. Pepper had to be the ginger haired lady. He hadn't seen her in days, not since the two hostages had first arrived…
When his patient has first been delivered to him, bloody, on the verge of death, his body torn open by a dangerous and gaping wound, a young woman had also been present, wearing a pretty pink business suit. For some reason, her clothing struck Yinsen. He had tried to keep his presentation as neat as possible since being brought into the caves, and this lady, this hostage – she looked professional – and it was nice. Despite her business attire, she had been hysterical and terrified and had fought against the men dragging Stark's intert form between them – his legs from the knee down dragging over the stone floor, his tailored trousers shredded before they had him on the make shift operating table. The lady had then been dragged out of the room, kicking and screaming and spitting and fighting - Yinsen had not seen her since – it had been three days. He wondered how long her fighting spirit would last in these caves, were she even alive.
Yinsen did not ask the terrorists of this woman 'Peppers' fate. He did not want to know. He realised 'Pepps' – the name often slurred in his patients sudden and short lasting bouts of consciousness, could be this woman. Was she dead? Yinsen shuddered. Given the fate of females in this part of the country, especially white, western women, perhaps she would be better off dead. Perhaps, he thought, looking at his patient, the man the insurgents had insisted must pull through, perhaps he was also better off dying here, on the operating table.
Yinsen had no idea what the Ten Rings would want from these captives – but they were certainly after something. Each day they photographed his patient with the daily newspaper from the closest city, over an hour's journey away – they certainly needed him for something. Usually any captives were kept alive long enough only to be executed on a live internet stream. This was different, they wanted him alive alive – fully functioning. They wanted something, and Yinsen didn't dare think of the lengths they would go to get it.
On the third day, Tony's health began to improve. He woke, was able to open his eyes and consciously look around the room before the pain would creep in and jump out on him. Yinsen would be at his side, talking to him calmly, like a paramedic at the scene of an accident, "My name is Yinsen, I am a doctor, taking care of you. You have been in an accident," he would pause a beat, then add, "I know you are in pain, but you are going to be okay." Twice his patient had drifted back off after this statement, but on the third time, the man lifted his head, looked confusedly around the room and made a dazed request for water. Yinsen quickly gave him a beaker containing room temperature water - cold.
He helped cradle his patients head as he sipped at the water, then coughed, causing more hurt to rattle through him.
"Easy, easy," Yinsen warned as he gently lowered his head back against the table.
"Where am I?"
Yinsen wished he had prepared answers for these potential questions. "You are in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan." Yinsen couldn't bring himself to hit the injured man with this statement so soon, so fed him a slightly altered version of the truth: "You were in an accident," he said, "I had to perform surgery on you, but you are going to be okay, for now, although it is going to hurt for a while."
"Yeah," Tony gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the pain radiate out from his chest. "What kind of accident?" He tried to remember, but all he could think of was the burning sensation that had engulfed him in his dreams. "Was I in a fire?"
"No." Yinsen moved closer so that Tony could see him in the dark room. "A… a car accident."
"Really?"
Yinsen signed, then placed a hand on Tony's arm. "A vehicle you were travelling in was ambushed, and you were injured during the events which happened after that."
Memories suddenly came flooding back. The flight. The demonstration - that had been such a great demo, he'd been practically buzzing in the car ride back to base. Snubbing Rhodey, posing for photos with the soldiers, teasing Pepper as he drank a scotch or two - "Pepper!" He tried to sit up in a hurry, quickly realised this wasn't going to work, his body wasn't going to let him. A muscle in his chest pulled and he rolled onto his side, gasping from pain.
Yinsen gently eased him onto his back, tried to reassure him, but was lost for words – what could he say?
"Where is Pepper," Tony whispered, his voice hoarse. "Pepper was with me when-"
"I am afraid I can tell you nothing for certain. She was here when you were brought in, three days ago. But then she was taken away. I have not seen anything since."
"Who are they? The men who attacked us? Where are we? How long have I been here?" The patient was sweating, his breath coming in fast as his line of questioning became more frantic.
"Please, take another sip of water, try to calm yourself."
Tony did as asked. The process of raising his head, sipping the water, seemed to take so long, and take so much out of him, it only frustrated Tony more. "I just need to know that Pepper is okay."
"As soon as they are back, I will ask."
"Ask who?"
"The men who are holding us here. They are terrorist cell. They call themselves The Ten Rings."
"Are you one of them?" Yinsen shook his head gravely. Tony didn't know why, but he instantly believed the man. "What do they want with me?" It was a stupid question really, they were either after his money, or revenge for the damage his weapons had been doing.
"Who are you?" Yinsen asked.
Tony looked up at him. Swallowed. He suddenly felt very tired. He ached all over. He sighed. "My name is Tony Stark."
"Hmm…" Yinsen was surprised, but didn't let it show. It all made sense now – why they were so desperate to keep him alive earlier – this man was worth billions. Yinsen looked closely, beneath the blood, sweat and grime, if you added a few years, this could be the same man he watched drunkenly lecture all those years ago. "Well, Tony Stark," Yinsen said kindly, seeing the fatigue overtake him, "you need to rest. You are seriously injured."
"I need to see Pepper," Tony interrupted. "I need to know she is okay." He knew he was fading, so stupidly tried to sit up again. He fell back down, swore under his breath.
"Trust me," Yinsen said, feeling sympathy for this man – so desperate to take charge of the situation – so helplessly trapped in his injured body. "You need to rest. I will find out about this Pepper lady, I promise."
"Thank you," Tony muttered as his eyes began to close. He opened them again briefly, looked quizzically at Yinsen, frowning. "Why the hell am I hooked up to an old car batter?"
Hi everyone! Thanks for reading. Thank you to everyone who left a review on the last chapter, hopefully you will do so again! I do have a plan of where I want to take this story, and I can't wait to get there :)
