Last time: Maseo had not dared to move again, for fear of startling Oliver a second time. He'd also feared what the guards would do… to the man… if they witnessed this behavior. So he'd waited until the mutterings had ceased, before picking himself off the ground. Looking down at his friend, he'd found the man awake, but his eyes … they had been staring straight ahead … into nothingness. And they still did…

Maseo shook himself from the memory and stood up. "I have to leave… - but I will come back tomorrow." It was a promise.

xoxoxo

The days that followed were a repeat of the same. Maseo would come down to the cell every day, bringing with him bowls filled with something eatable – mostly it was oatmeal made of yak-milk - but sometimes he was able to get his hands on a pot of steaming stew or a loaf of bread. Always he would offer it to the man, praying, hoping… sometimes even resorting to begging him to eat.

Oliver never did, never reacted, never showed any indication that he was even aware of Maseo's presence or what was going on around him. He just lived in silence...

On some days Maseo would get a glimpse at the hell that was Oliver's mind, when he found the man muttering to himself, spitting or hissing phrases at non-existing figments of his imagination, rocking back and forth on his knees, begging desperately not to be touched or claiming he 'did n't know'. It was heartbreaking to see this once so strong individual brought literally to his knees.

He would leave the bowls with Oliver, but when he returned the next day, they would still sit untouched on the floor where he had left them; stew gone cold, milk turned sour. This couldn't continue. He needed to do something!

xoxoxo

Sarab steeled himself, before entering The Demon's chambers, leaving the part that was Maseo behind. In the presence of this man he could not afford to appear compassionate or caring, because this his master would see as a weakness. And weakness he did NOT tolerate. He had killed men for lesser reasons…

After entering, Sarab patiently waited to be acknowledged by Ra's al Ghul. The man was sitting at an old-fashioned wooden desk, writing something in a leather-bound book; his quill scratching across ancient paper was the only sound disturbing the silence that hung across the room.

Sarab did not know how long he waited, but after some time, Ra's al Ghul laid down the quill next to the book, before closing it reverently. "Did you know, Sarab," he asked rhetorically while slowly standing up, still facing the desk, "that this book is worth to me more than any piece of gold to be found Nanda Parbat? It holds my most precious memories. In it I've collected all the things I've seen and learned throughout my life." He turned to face the assassin. "So, what is so important, that you feel the need to disturb me at this hour… ?"

Still confident that he had made the right decision, Sarab looked straight at Ra's at Ghul, suppressing the urge to flinch at the man's piercing gaze. Remember; don't show any weakness, he told himself. A lesson he had been taught well by Amanda Waller… and mastered under Ra's al Ghul. Indeed, it had been years since he last felt a bond of kinship to someone which could have stirred his emotions. He had all but forgotten and buried them since the death of… No! He closed the door on that memory as soon as sprang open.

"Master, it has been four days now, since you raised him from the Pit. He still won't eat. It is, as if he isn't all 'here'. He doesn't recognize his surroundings; he has locked himself away in his own mind." Sarab explained in a detached voice, eyes looking straight ahead at the far wall; trying to sound unaffected by Oliver's predicament.

The Demon nodded his head. „The effects of the Pit still have a hold over him. It crazes the mind, for a time, and shrouds one's senses and memories, cloaking them in a dark mist."

Ra's paused in his speech, folded his hand behind his back and walked to a set of windows overlooking his courtyard and the city of Nanda Parbat. As he stood there, his tall frame was bathed in a golden glow by the light that streamed through the honey-colored glass. It was daylight 'outside'. The roofs of the houses below gleamed red, where they were shined on by the sun's rays that managed to find their way through the shafts in the cavern's dome-like ceiling.

Gazing down upon the houses and the people mingling in the narrow alleys, he continued his explanation: "He can't see you and he won't remember you - or the man you once were - Sarab. That part of him is lost… Now all that remains of him, is the 'man'… and he has to find his own way back."

"What shall I … we… do with him until then?"

Ra's al Ghul turned away from the window, looking at his trusted assassin with narrowed eyes. "Do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I don't care. Force feed him. Or sedate him. It doesn't matter to me. But make sure he stays alive… "

"As you wish, master," Sarab bowed in obeisance and turned to leave.

„And Sarab?"

The Demon's dark voice made him halt in his steps. "Yes, master?"

„This task I place upon your shoulders. Do NOT fail me… or your life will be forfeit as well."

Sarab swallowed barely noticeable, before nodding. "Understood"

xoxoxo

Oh, how he hated to this, but he had no other choice! – I am sorry. Please forgive me, he prayed silently, before instructing the men next to him. "Hold him!"

At his words the two guards who had entered the cell with Sarab, strode towards the man lying apathetically on his thin mattress. Oliver lay, his back facing away from the door, staring with open, uncomprehending eyes at the wall in front of him. But as soon as the guards touched him, he exploded into motion, struggling and writhing under their hands. The men could barely contain his flailing limps.

"I said, hold him!" Maseo yelled angrily at the two soldiers, as he tried to grab Oliver's chin with his left hand. In the other he held a bowl with thin broth, something he had deemed would be easy enough to feed to an 'uncooperative' person.

Sarab struggled to maintain his one-handed grip on Oliver's chin, but the man would not be held. With corded neck muscles he yanked away from the unwanted touch, as far as he could. A desperate "NO!" fell from his lips, then again. He began reciting it senselessly like a mantra. "No. NO! Don't touch me… please… can't... hurts…"

Maseo closed his eyes… just for a moment… wished he could un-see and un-hear his friends desperate struggles. How he hated this! Then he steeled himself, knowing he had no other choice. If he didn't do it, someone else would…

Ignoring his old friend's desperate pleas of 'No' and 'Don't touch!', he called for another guard. "This doesn't work. You…!", he instructed the third guard, "… take his legs!"

This freed the other two guards enough to finally be able to hold down Oliver's shoulders and capture his arms. He was still writhing, bucking and hissing beneath them, his body one taut bow of muscle, but Maseo was able to grip his chin, forcing his mouth open by forcefully pressing his thumb and index finger into Oliver's cheeks, until the sheer pain and pressure made him gasp. Holding Oliver's mouth open with brute strength, Maseo slowly feed him the contents of the bowl, mouthful by mouthful, waiting every time until he stopped choking and swallowed the by now cold broth.

When they were done, he released Oliver's chin immediately, dropping the bowl as if it was a hot coal scorching his hand, then angrily swiping it into a corner of the cell. With a last look at the once again inert form of his friend, he stood and barked out a "Release him!", before he turned and hastily left the cell.

He had done this to help Oliver… why did he feel so dirty now?