A/N: Hi pretties, I'm back! I'm so sorry for being late. Twice. That was mean of me. But I hope you can accept my apologies with these TWO new chapters, and I hope you'll forgive me by leaving a review and telling your friends. Sorry again, and here's chapter three:
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Days passed, and John and Victor became fast friends, helping each other in their own way. Victor kept John alive physically, keeping him fed and unharmed, while John kept Victor going emotionally by telling him stories about his childhood and his home. "They keep me grounded," he would say, gesturing to his heart. "They heal me here."
Once, Victor was called into the captain's quarters, and when he returned, he clutched his side and a handful of meat. "Here," he winced, handing the food to John who aided the New Cardiffian in sitting back down. "Do you hunger ever?" the Karayork asked, taking a mouthful of the meat. Victor shook his head and laughed bitterly. "I eat my fill. Whenever that bastard calls me into that room, I eat and drink till I am full, I bathe, and then I am thrown back into here."
John nodded. "That's not so bad, is it?" he asked innocently enough. Victor shot him a rueful smile. "Not for what he takes in return." At first the Karayork didn't understand the severity of his friend's voice, but his eyes soon widened with realization. "I am sorry." he said, touching Victor's shoulder. "It's not your fault, nor can you do anything about it. Don't apologize for that evil bastard." The Karayork swallowed thickly and gazed at the little, round breathing hole in the wall. "Do you think that the Creator can see us in this place?" he asked. Victor looked to the small light the gap gave. "I think He can, but I don't think He can do anything about it."
Night fell, and the guards, both men and women alike, came for the captives. "Stare blankly at the guard when he passes," Victor whispered to John. The blue-skinned male obeyed and the uniformed soldiers left him alone. "Why did you do that?"
"So they do not take you the way I have been."
John frowned at him. "The men would not, would they?" he asked angrily. "They would."
"But I-I know nothing of that!" John protested.
"They don't care. They will take you, rape you, and there will be nothing you can do." Victor stated coolly.
"You are cruel!" the other exclaimed, tears slipping from his eyes. "I am honest." Victor cradled John and let the tears trail down his chest. When John ceased his sobs, he asked, "Then why do we live? What is the use?" Victor shrugged. "Because you must. Because you are still alive, because light continues to shine, I don't know. But you must. You are strong spirited. Don't break, or they win."
John continued through long, miserable, on-edge days, this saying, this vow, echoing through his mind. And so he survived. He willed himself on, said nothing when Victor came back from a long night, and looked blankly at the floor whenever a guard threatened to have him as a fancy. He lived, but not for himself, rather the memory of his people.
Eventually, the door was opened again, and a guard came to summon them into the light of day. At first, the light was a blinding, brilliant white, but John's eyes adjusted and he found himself in a polished courtyard among his fellow captives. Three men waited in the center of the courtyard, one with his hands folded behind his back, the other two with writing utensils. The captives were all lined up in rows, and the three passed between them, inspecting, prodding, fondling, and poking, checking for something. Several were sent away back into the consuming dark, and those who remained were herded and lined in a single file. The man who had had his hands behind his back shouted something of approval.
But what were they approved for?
A/N: So there's the third chapter of John's many adventures as he endures bravely through this hardship. I hope you guys like this one and the next...DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters. Moffat, Gattis, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do. Thanks, and enjoy the next!
