Part IV
i.
Ian doesn't even know how long Don's been unconscious for. They were moved, he knows that much, and there are tight loops of solid rope around their ankles that are tied together. Blindfolds too. (the last time was too much they aren't going to give us the chance again)
He wishes that he knew how to act broken enough for the guard to come down once more but he feels the burning stares even when he dares to sleep. They never cease and he knows that they are on Don too, unconscious or not.
(I can feel your breath sometimes when I lean close enough it's the only way I know you're still here)
ii.
The blindfold is gone and he doesn't remember how or when. Propped up against the wall in an out of the way corner, he can see people, playing cards at a table, drinking coffee, glancing towards him with ill-disguised interest. Anger swells in his chest (circus show) and he has to close his eyes even as the man, ostensibly a guard, guffaws at something on a small television.
Eventually, the noise becomes too much to take alone and reaching to the side, his fingers brush over worn fabric, stiff with dried blood. A moment later, tilting his head in that direction and blinking, he sees the slightest flicker of dark lashes in response. (still here still here)
The bruising is a sickly green and purple pattern, disappearing into shadows and the edges of thick curls. Bile rises in his own throat and he swallows it with difficulty. (this is too much too long too far gone) Don's eyes are open when he looks again and the dark brown seems almost liquid underneath the dim lighting.
His voice cracks a little as he asks a meaningless question to fill the void (lie to me if you have to Don please just don't not be here)but the voice that responds with a soft reassurance is warmer and smoother than it has been in a long time.
Ease settles over him and his fingers curve around the thigh beneath them. It could have been a minute, an hour, a day later, when answering fingers rest lightly atop his. (thank you thank you thank you thank you)
Really, it doesn't matter how long it was because when the fingers curl around his own and squeeze just a little, the fact that their situation is hopeless seems that much less overwhelming.
(it has to end eventually somehow whatever way it happens we can be patient)
iii.
There isn't any warning when the panels of the ramshackle roof come crashing down. The rapid fire impacts of steel and glass are quickly followed by the banging of doors hitting walls and the unrelenting pounding of feet against hard floors. (have they found us for real this time)
Two sets of arms instantly seize him as voices bounce from wall to wall and gas begins to overtake the air. (standard operating procedure make entry tear gas identification and engage the hostiles) He barely sees a monster of a man lift Don like a limpet through the gas but then they begin to move.
Vague faces swim across his vision as hacking coughs wrack his lungs and he uses the momentum to writhe against the restraining arms. (don't go too far they have to find us together) The struggles are in vain as arms tighten around his shoulders and speed picks up as the gas thins just a little.
A scream that sounds heartbreakingly familiar (that's Liz screaming for Don it really is them) makes him struggle harder as a guttural cry escapes from nearby. He hears gunfire but it is more of a background noise than anything as his blood pounds painfully loud in his ears.
Faces appear barely a yard away, desperation written in every crease, every line, every particle as the distance closes millimetre by millimetre. Green eyes fierce with determination flash (Granger you're really here) as hands scrabble for grip on his arm and a second pair, splayed and searching, (Cooper please help Don) reach into the gas.
The grip on his wrist slackens. (no no no no)
His vision falters under the relentless sting as tears of sorrow tip the balance. A thud sounds and the monster with Don is gone and fresh air hits his lungs so hard it is painful.
(please don't let them be dead because we failed)
DON IS STILL ALIVE.
I'm sorry if I gave the impression that this was going to be the beginning of the REAL angstfest but this certainly isn't where we dovetail with Eighty Days, there's still plenty left to go! This story was just the four times they tried to escape and failed. They don't make it out yet, the next story is a team-centric one called Five Bloodhounds and THEN in Sixteen Hours Don and Ian kick some ass and take a few names up to where Eighty Days picks up. Seventy Seven Seconds will be the last piece with a section each from the usual suspects before EightyDays and then I think there are probably a couple more to tie up some loose ends.