Posted on 02/11/2006 (dd/mm/yyyy). I do not own the Teen Titans, but this story is my original work.
Ten chapters. Who would have thought it? Not me, that's for sure, but here we are. I've even picked up some great reviewers along the route, who I do appreciate. If you're reading this, do add something. Even if it's just to say you liked it, or didn't.
To warn you, there is a little language in this which might be considered unsuitable for younger children. Nothing terrible, but just so as you know.
Well, on with the show.
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Chapter 10
Ramsey looked down into his drink, hoping to find the answers to life's questions. Even above the ruckus of a typical bar filled with soldiers, he had found his own little world.
Swirling the glass around, he watched with infinite interest as the liquid settled. The frothy head creating a ring around the edge of the glass, through which the amber bubbles fizzled.
He let out a heart felt sigh and slid the glass away from him across the polished wooden table. Somehow a 'celebration' drink seemed pretty disrespectful.
"Whoa man," came Jameson's voice from over his left shoulder, "you're not just gonna waste that beer, are you?"
Ramsey shrugged, not raising his eyes.
"Hey, what's up?" asked his friend, sliding into the seat next to him.
"I just don't feel like drinking…"
"Are you kidding? You do know who we just caught, right?"
No response.
"Look," Jameson place a large hand on Ramsey's shoulder, "whether you agree with it or not, you can at least be happy that nobody got hurt. Could have gotten a lot worse, and you know it."
"I guess…" mumbled Ramsey.
"That's the spirit," he smiled, patting Ramsey's shoulder. "Hey Joe, you crazy son of a bitch!" he called over to the bar. "I'll take a beer."
"Hold your damn horses," came the reply of an old man already swamped with orders.
"Alright…" said Jameson, returning his attention to the dejected man he sat with. "You wanna talk about it?"
"Not unless you're going to tell me why we arrested them."
Jameson exhaled heavily and sat back on his seat. "We already talked about this…"
"No," he turned to look Jameson in the face, "you already fobbed me off with some crap about this."
"Look," he replied sternly, "this stuff's way above your head. If you want to know, ask Hamilton."
"I'm asking you."
Jameson softened his expression. "As a friend, I'm asking you to drop this."
"And as a friend, I'm asking you to tell me."
"Don't put me in this position Ramsey. If I start handing out classified information, it's gonna be my ass."
"So you do know something."
"Hey," said Jameson, holding up his hands defensively, "I didn't say that."
"I know you're holding out on me Jameson. Here I am trying to figure out what's what, whether I can sleep at night and there's you, sat there with all the answers."
"Don't take this personally Ramsey. It's the chain of command. We only get told what we need to know to do the job."
"Whatever," Ramsey dismissed, deciding a few swigs of beer were just what he needed after all.
"Look, let's change the subject eh?"
"Well well," sneered an all too familiar character behind them. "You two love birds not getting on so well?"
"Not now, Cropple," warned Jameson.
"Oh I'm sorry," he said with a fabricated touch of over concern. "I wouldn't want to offend you poor guys."
They chose not to rise to his taunts, although this seemed to make him all the more determined. He leaned his arms on the table between the two, looking carefully at Ramsey. "You can tell me what's bothering you, surely."
"It's nothing."
"Well it's got to be something. I mean, what gets a trained soldier to cry into his drink?"
"It's nothing," he repeated, gritting his teeth.
"Come on Ramsey, it won't do you any good to bottle these things up. They'll only boil up and erupt at a later time. Maybe on a mission. I'm only concerned for you."
Ramsey took a steadying breath and rose to his feet, looking Cropple squarely in the face. "What do you want Cropple?"
"I'm just concerned for the soldiers in my unit," he shrugged, half concealing a smirk.
"Maybe you should be more concerned for yourself."
"Oh, why's that?"
Ramsey responded with a solid right hook to Cropple's jaw, knocking him to one side. The bar went deadly quiet.
Cropple wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, inspecting the drops of blood. He cast Ramsey a deathly stare before lunging at him. The soldiers erupted with excitement, cheering the fight on.
Jameson took a deep breath and kept to his seat. Maybe Ramsey just needed to work this out of his system, and who better to work it out on that Cropple.
Ramsey saw the lunge coming and pushed out his arms to try and stop it, but Cropple managed to throw a punch between his arms and catch Ramsey full on the chin. He recoiled, trying his best to keep his arms ahead so as to avoid further blows.
Cropple took advantage of Ramsey's lack of focus and landed another blow upwards into his stomach, causing him to double over and exposing his head for a clear strike. Cropple drew back his right arm and threw his fist in hard, committing his body. Ramsey had anticipated this move, and parried the blow with a swift left palm, knocking Cropple's punch slightly off course. As he jerked past, Ramsey came over the top of Cropple's arm with a powerful right fist, delivering a crunching blow to his nose.
"Oooh," winced several soldiers, almost able to feel the sting in that blow.
Ramsey stepped toward the laying Cropple, who cradled his nose. It bled furiously, coating his hand and mouth, and dripping onto his uniform.
"That's enough," ordered Jameson, rising to his feet.
Ramsey and Cropple stared at each other bitterly, neither showing any intention of ending the conflict. Ramsey took a step forward, but a bulky arm blocked his path.
"I said that's enough."
"Fine," he grunted, lowering his arms.
Cropple came uneasily to his feet, brushing himself down with one hand while stemming the flow of blood with the other. "I hope everyone saw that," he yelled, a spiteful look aimed at Ramsey. "He struck me first. He started this."
"You got what you deserved," said Jameson.
"Well, if you won't take this seriously," he sneered, "I'm just going to have to go above your head, sergeant. I'm sure Hamilton will be interested to hear what happened here."
"I doubt it."
"We'll see."
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Robin relaxed backward onto his bed, expelling a pent breath and interlocking his fingers behind his head. He had been in his cell only half an hour and already he was running low on things to do. He could probably exercise some or practise his martial arts techniques, but it was probably best to take stock of events.
As he traced a path between the white ceiling panels with his eyes, his mind went over the day's events. One event in particular came to dominate his thoughts; the confrontation in the warehouse. Had his decision to give himself, and his team, up been the right one? Beast boy had sounded quite sure the event was a set up, but surely he only had the same information that Robin did. It would not be unlike Beast boy to jump to the most dramatic conclusion, but could Robin deny it lacked merit?
Rolling over and burying his face in the surprisingly fresh smelling pillow, he considered the facts. Firstly, there was the emergency call to the tower. It carried nothing but the most basic information and led them straight to the warehouse. On one hand, this could have been an incomplete transmission, or even a false alarm. On the other, it may have been the first step in an elaborate setup. Secondly, there was the body. In particular, the body's possession of what appeared to be Beast boy's communicator. Looking at it from a positive angle, it could be surmised that it was a coincidence and that the person may well have stolen it prior to death. From a negative perspective, the body and the communicator were placed as incriminating evidence, just in case all that circumstantial evidence failed to hold up. Thirdly, there was the convent timing of the soldiers' arrival. A suspicious mind would look at that one as the final part of the trap, catching the Titans at the time and place of a murder with no other apparent suspects. On the flipside of that, the commander had mentioned that his unit were a kind of back up for the Titans. It would make sense for there to be such a measure in case the Titans were incapacitated or otherwise engaged, but surely he would have been told about it. Then again, he thought, if he had known about it, would he have been more likely to leave some situations for them to handle on occasion?
Troubled with his thoughts, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Relaxing was clearly not going to work with his head so full of critical unanswered questions. There was yet another question, he realised. Had they wanted to set them up and capture them, why not split them up? Had they resisted, they would certainly have been easier to detain that way. Then again, it may not have been possible to incriminate them all at the scene of one crime were they separate.
As much as he went over the questions in his mind, the more he came to the same conclusion. It had been his decision to give them up and his alone, and now he was going to have to live with it. As much as he burned to solve the problems that plagued his mind, present circumstances were not on his side. All he really had was the hope that he had made the right call, and that this really was just one big mistake waiting to be worked out. So much depended on it.
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"So," said Hamilton calmly, as he stood behind his desk, facing away from the two guilty looking soldiers, "Cropple paints quite a picture."
He turned and leaned on desk, alternating his gaze between the faces of the two men. "But I know there are two sides to every story."
"Sir, if I may," started Cropple, adjusting the brown plaster that sat astride his nose.
"You have something you wish to add to your existing story Cropple?"
"Well…I"
"I'll take that as a 'no'. So," he turned to Ramsey, "Mr. Ramsey. Cropple here seems to be under the impression that you attacked him without provocation. Would you say that is a fair assessment?"
"Not exactly sir," he said, shifting his weight anxiously. He was aware that he was probably going to take the fall for this one, so he figured he should be concerned with damage limitation.
"Not exactly huh," repeated Hamilton in a questioning fashion. "Care to elaborate?"
"Well," he cleared his throat, "I was having a conversation with Sergeant Jameson, and Cropple comes over and starts pestering me." Cropple sniffed in such a fashion as to question Ramsey's version of events.
"Go on."
"So I tell him to back off. He doesn't. I tell him to back off again, and he keeps on with the remarks and comments, so … well then I hit him."
"Hmm…" nodded Hamilton, taking a seat. He leaned back in the leather chair, causing it to creak slightly, and raised one hand to his face, rubbing what appeared to be a day or two's worth of stubble. "So you do admit to throwing the first blow."
"Yes sir, I do."
"Hmm, okay. Well, fortunately, nobody was seriously hurt…" Cropple looked as if he were about to protest when Hamilton continued. "But… as I'm sure you're aware, this kind of behaviour is not acceptable. This is true of the military in general, but particularly in my unit. If you have a problem Ramsey, you need to talk to someone before you lash out, not after."
"Yes sir," he said in a low voice, bowing his head slightly.
There was silence in the room as Hamilton took a file from his top drawer and placed it on his desk. "You know Ramsey," he said as he leafed through a file, "I wouldn't want this incident to hurt you in the future, and since you're new, I'll not be placing it on your record."
"But sir," protested Cropple.
"Did you get promoted above me in the last few moments, Cropple?" barked Hamilton.
"No sir, but…"
"Well then, until that day comes, I will be the one giving the orders and you will be the one following them. Are we clear?"
"Yes sir," affirmed Cropple in a somewhat less than respectful tone.
"Good. Now, Ramsey, don't think you've gotten away with this. You break the rules under my command and you get punished for it."
"Yes sir."
"Hmm…" he pondered, considering a suitable penalty. "One month basic rations only."
"Yes sir."
"I'm not finished yet. In addition, you are not to visit the bar during this period and I want twenty laps of the yard every morning. Understood?"
"Yes sir, perfectly sir." He sighed with relief internally, for he had predicted a far worse punishment than that. Cropple's face creased up with clear displeasure at the leniency of the judgement.
"As for you Cropple," he looked over to the other soldier, "no bar for a month."
"What?" he asked loudly and incredulously. "But sir… I didn't…"
"Problem Cropple?" His hard stare was enough to let anyone know how little he cared for insolence.
"…no sir," he grumbled.
"Okay then, dismissed."
"Yes sir," shouted Cropple, saluting firmly before turning sharply and marching out of the office.
Hamilton opened a small wooden box on his desk and took from it one of his preferred cigars, smelling it carefully and savouring the aroma. He struck a match and lit it, the end glowing warmly as intakes of breath fuelled the ember.
"Aaah," he exhaled, shaking out the match and allowing a lungful of grey smoke to drift slowly into the air in front of him. "Ramsey," he said finally, greeting the soldier with an unwavering eye contact. "If something was bothering you so much that you would attack a comrade, might that thing weigh on your mind to such an extent as to interfere with your work?"
"I suppose it would depend what that thing was, sir." His sly attempt to deflect the question had clearly won him no favours with Hamilton, whose face now betrayed his growing impatience.
"What is it that was bothering you, Ramsey?" he asked directly.
"Well sir," he began, before taking a pause. The thing he was bothered about was the evidence Hamilton had on Titans, but admitting that would raise several questions, including his ability to effectively follow orders and his disrespect for Hamilton's command decisions.
"Yes…"
"I'd… rather not talk about it sir."
"Well that's unfortunate private," he raised his voice and sat forward, "because I'd rather you did talk about it."
Hamilton watched Ramsey squirm on the spot. He could probably make him talk, but fortunately he had another option. "Mary," he said into the intercom, "send in Sergeant Jameson."
"Yes, sir," came the response.
"You don't leave me much of a choice here Ramsey."
Jameson marched in, giving a slight nod to Ramsey before saluting his superior.
"At ease," waved Hamilton.
"Sir," he acknowledged, relaxing his posture somewhat.
"I have a question for you, sergeant."
"Sir?"
"Private Ramsey here has a problem," he said, gesturing with one arm. "A problem which causes him to lash out at fellow soldiers. A problem he chooses not to reveal to me at this time."
Jameson shot Ramsey a quick look, raising his eyebrows. This was going to be a tricky situation. "The problem I refer to I believe you are familiar with, since I have heard from a reliable witness that you two discussed the matter."
"I see sir."
"Oh then I'm glad," he replied with more than a helping of sarcasm. "Now if you wouldn't mind enlightening me…"
"Well sir," he started. "Erm… well…"
"Spit it out soldier," demanded Hamilton.
"Well it's a little tricky, sir."
"There's nothing tricky about it soldier," he bellowed, standing up from his seat and leaning across his desk, "and if you don't understand that, maybe you don't belong in any kind of command position."
Jameson lowered his head and let out a short breath.
"Wait…" Ramsey cut in. He did not want to tell Hamilton what had been on his mind, but he desired even less to see a punishment dished out on his friend who had done nothing wrong in this matter. Perhaps this had been Hamilton's plan from the start. If it was, he certainly deserved his rank.
"Something to say, Mr. Ramsey?"
"Yes sir. I… well… had my doubts about the mission, sir."
"Your …doubts?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, sir."
"Your doubts?" he asked again, raising his voice angrily.
"Yes, sir."
"Doubts are a luxury you cannot afford, soldier. Your job is to follow your orders. Do that long enough and well enough, and one day you may be granted the luxury of doubts." He retook his seat and swivelled slightly to one side, taking another puff of his cigar. He at least seemed to have calmed down now, thought Ramsey. "Pray tell," he began softly, "what were these doubts?"
"Erm, well sir… I was curious as to why we were sent in to arrest the Teen Titans." Hamilton nodded, prompting him to continue. "Well, we caught them at the scene of a crime, but that can't have been the justification for beginning this operation. I never heard of them doing anything bad before this…" He stopped in response to Hamilton's raised hand.
"You're new here, so I'm going to tell you this one time, and I don't expect ever to have to repeat it."
"Yes sir!"
"As I'm sure you're aware, I have access to intelligence above and beyond your clearance. As such, I am better able to make decisions that you are not. While you may not understand these decisions, I do expect you to trust that I am acting in the best interests of all of us. I'll give the orders, you concentrate on following them." He sat back in his chair and looked Ramsey over. "I was where you are once. I know it's not easy at first, just blindly following orders, but you've just got to buckle down and get on with it. Understand?"
"I do, sir."
"Right then," he said, eyeing them both, "you can go."
"Sir." They both stood to attention and saluted, followed by as sharp left turn. Jameson led out and Ramsey followed.
"See?" pointed our Ramsey as they relaxed outside Hamilton's office. "I knew he'd never tell me."
"I still ain't tellin' you."
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Cyborg checked the watch on his wrist display. Without any windows or natural light, it was hard to guess the hour, let alone tell night from day.
Three hours. That was how long he had been locked away for now, although it seemed longer. With so little to do, time seemed to stretch out before him. If only he were tired, he would be able to rest. Although he did not need charging, he would have slept just to pass the time.
He looked around the room for some visual stimulation, but there was little to be had. The uniform, pale walls reflected slightly the light from the ceiling seemed to serve only to dull the mind.
"Damn, what I wouldn't give for some conversation," he grumbled to himself. "Even Beast boy would do." He had to admit, he missed his friend. He missed all of his friends. "Pull it together man," he scolded himself, "it's only been three hours. You've been away from them longer than this before."
He got up from his bed and started pacing up and down his cell. He had never really thought of himself as a pacer before, but it seemed to help relieve stress in this situation. Plus it was some exercise at least.
He strode over to the thick metallic door and peered through the thick glass that separated him from freedom. "Hmm," he murmured as he saw only one guard present. Although Robin had ordered them to give themselves up, plans to escape seemed to form in his mind almost involuntarily. Now for some reason unknown to him, they had not removed or sought to deactivate his sonic cannon. Perhaps they did not have the technical know how, or else felt that, since he gave himself up voluntarily, he would not use it. Either way, he had it, and this fact soon wormed its way into his escape plans.
Making his way to the opposite wall near the bed, he began to test the durability of the wall sections by applying a gentle pressure. As expected there was no give.
"What am I doing?" he sighed, sitting back down on his bed. "How am I supposed to escape without the others?" He rubbed his face with his hands, considering his situation. Even if he did escape, what would become of the others? Besides, the safety of the others aside, one of the main reasons they gave themselves up was to avoid a public relations disaster, so to escape now would most likely destroy that effort.
"Urgh," he grunted, shaking his head. He tried to think of something else. Something constructive. "Oh," he remembered, "the cloak!" No, that was no good. It was so far from important now, it barely warranted a stray thought.
He drummed his fingers on his knees, trying to think of something to think about. As much as he tried to swat it down, the Titans' current situation continued to surface. "Well," he sighed, "I guess I've got plenty of time to think about that."
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"I'll take the steak."
"What about you Ramsey?"
"I'm on basic…"
"Oh," grinned the rotund chef, "I've not had to make vege-slush for a while."
"Vege-slush?" enquired Ramsey.
"Yeah. Provides all the body needs by way of nutrients and… that stuff."
"Oh."
"Tastes like crap though," added Jameson.
"You questioning my cooking boy?" snapped the bearded chef.
"Of course not," Jameson raised his hands innocently.
"Right. Find yerselves a table and I'll bring it over when it's done."
"Sure thing chef," Jameson saluted in a mocking fashion.
"Kids," he grumbled, waddling through a swinging door into the kitchen. "Hey Andre, go through the bin and see if you can find a half decent cut," he yelled.
"Heh," chuckled Jameson. "Alright, let's get a table."
Fortunately, the large mess hall was relatively empty due to the late hour. Ramsey made his way toward one table close to their position.
"At least it's quiet," remarked Jameson, looking around.
"I guess. So what's this vege-slop like?"
"Oh, you're gonna love it," smiled Jameson. "It's kinda like a thick soup made from vegetables and some other stuff the chef won't say."
"…but it tastes like crap?"
"Yeah well, there's a downside to everything," Jameson shrugged. "You are on punishment, you know."
"Yeah yeah."
"So," Jameson sat forward attentively, "how'd it feel to smack that idiot Cropple?"
"Hmm," Ramsey thought, a grin creeping across his face. "Pretty good."
"Yeah I bet. So, you through with this whole evidence thing?"
"Are you kidding?"
"Erm…no."
"Well how would that change anything?"
"I dunno," he shrugged. "Maybe since Hamilton told you to leave it."
"Yeah, and?" he replied flippantly.
"And so did I," Jameson said firmly.
"Look," he laid his hands on the table and returned the serious expression. "I understand that questioning orders can be bad and lead to questions in judgement in the field."
"Uh huh."
"Yes, seriously," he replied to the cynical agreement. "I may not be experienced, but I can see how it would be a problem. I can even see how it is a problem in this case."
"Then why…"
"Because," Ramsey interjected swiftly, "I just can't shake the feeling that it's wrong. I need to be able to look myself in the face in the mirror and not look away in disgust."
"That's pretty dramatic Ramsey."
"Yeah well," he mumbled, feeling a little self conscious, "it's true…"
"Right and wrong are just convenient definitions anyway."
"Even so, I have to do what I believe is right."
Jameson raised an eyebrow at that comment. "What exactly do you plan to do?"
"Huh? Oh, I just meant that I would try and find out what the evidence was."
"Yeah, well you can't," concluded Jameson, folding his arms.
"Yeah, but you know," Ramsey pointed out.
"Uh uh man," he said, waving one finger, "I told you about this already. Twice. I ain't telling you what I know or whether or not I know it."
"I already know you know something."
"Yeah… well…" said Jameson, shifting awkwardly. "I still ain't saying, and also I told you not to put me in this position. It's more than my job's worth."
"Doesn't your conscience trouble you?" he probed. "Hmm, actually, I guess your conscience only wouldn't worry if you were totally heartless, or unless you knew the evidence, and you knew it was good."
Jameson declined to reply and avoided eye contact.
"That's it isn't it. The evidence is good, isn't it?"
"Hey now, I never said that," corrected Jameson.
"But that's it though, isn't it," he asked with a slight smile.
"What even makes you think I know anything?" he responded innocently.
"Oh come on, you can't pull that one now. It's pretty obvious you do know."
"Well come on, I am a senior in the unit. It hardly takes a genius."
"I see…" Ramsey nodded slowly, as if receiving unknown information. "Interesting…"
"Oh what, like this is news," he huffed.
"Then the next step is…"
"The next step is you leaving this alone," advised Jameson sternly.
"You know I'm not going to do that."
"And what if I ordered you?"
"Then I'd have to respectfully tell you to shove it where the sun refuses to shine, sir," he said, raising his right hand in a salute.
"Hmm," murmured Jameson, giving him a disapproving look.
"I still think you'll tell me."
"Oh really," said Jameson with a mild disbelieving amusement, "and how do you suppose you're going to manage that?"
"I think your conscience will make you talk."
Jameson looked down at his hands for a moment before casting his eyes over to the kitchen and raising his voice in that direction. "That steak's sure taking its time."
"Yeah," agreed Ramsey with a hint of sarcasm, "I can hardly wait for my vege-slop."
The swinging door burst open and something was thrown in their direction.
"What the…" began Ramsey, as the object slapped down onto the table. It looked like a half cooked cut of meat. A smile crept across his face as he realised it was…
"My steak!"
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A heavy clank and a metallic squeak called Beast boy's attention to the door of his cell. He sprang up from his bed to see the thick metal door open slowly. The door must have been a foot thick at least…
"Rations," said the first of three soldiers who stood in the doorway. He held a silver tray on which was some sort of food. The other two kept a close hold on their rifles, which were aimed in Beast boy's direction.
"…right," he nodded slowly, careful not to give the soldiers any cause to fill him full of holes.
The first soldier took several steps forward and placed the tray on the ground. Although this soldier was not familiar to Beast boy, he did notice that he wore the same uniform as the soldiers earlier, as did the other two.
"Umm…" he started, feeling a slight need for some social interaction.
"What is it?" asked the lead soldier.
"I'm vegan," he announced. "I hope that food is suitable."
"Oh," said the soldier, examining the food briefly. "I think you'll find this to your taste," he replied with a snide edge.
He turned and made his exit, sealing the thick door behind him.
Beast boy approached the tray apprehensively; unsure as to whether the soldier had been serious when he had said it was to his taste. After all, this was a prison, not a restaurant.
He picked it up and gave it a looking over. Although there were several grooved compartments on this metal tray, only two contained food. The first seemed to be some kind of vegetable stew. The other was two pieces of white bread. He set himself back down on his bed and rubbed his hands together.
"Hmm…" he mumbled, leaning a little closer to grasp the aroma. He shut his eyes and savoured it, trying to piece the overall flavour from the smell. It seemed to be predominantly cabbage and leek. Not entirely unpleasant, but a stone's throw from an ideal meal. Assuming that stone was a chunk of tofu in an otherwise meat rich dish, and the thrower was Cyborg.
"Alright then," he said, picking up the plastic fork and stabbing one of the larger chunks of vegetable. He held it up from the tray and let the water thin broth drip away. It looked like potato. It smelled liked potato.
"Hmm… potato," he announced, chewing away at it. His face slowly turned from a mild contentment to a slight grimace as the flavour took hold. As bland as it was on first taste, there was a definite kick to it. Still, he thought, at least there was bread to compliment this restaurant quality cuisine.
He chewed on one of the pieces of bread and considered his situation. In truth, thoughts of his situation had only subsided when the food had arrived, and now they had returned.
"So," he followed his chain of thought through verbally while crumbs spilled onto the sheets. The soldier Jameson had told him that they were all going to be held in the same place, and he did not seem like the type to lie. At least that was one good point in all of this. Maybe if there was an exercise yard or something he may get to see the others soon. This one burning hope was the only thing keeping him positive and he was going to hold onto that dearly.
Finishing the bread, he returned to the vegetable dish. Fortunately, his hunger allowed it to pass by a little easier.
What would Robin do, he asked himself as he chewed on a carrot like morsel. He thought on this issue for several minutes, before realising it was not a sensible question. Robin had made it clear that they were to give themselves up and do things through the system. No heroic escapes or daring plans this time. This was reality and it was like a hard brick wall.
He sighed and placed the tray down by the bed before laying back to rest. He shifted left and right, trying several different positions before concluding with certainty that this bed was far less comfortable than his own.
"Who am I kidding," he exhaled faintly. Whether this was the right thing to do or not was starting to feel quite unimportant. He was locked up in a strange place. There was nasty food and he faced the prospect of being in this place for a long time. He laid his head on the pillow and thought of better times.
He placed a hand over his face and sniffed loudly. He was fighting a losing battle against a quivering lip and tears, but that did not matter now. None of his friends were there to laugh at him or comfort him. He was very alone. That flame of hope he held on to so dearly was growing very dim now.
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If you're not reaching for the tissues now, you're not human, understand?! I even had to listen to extra sad music to get me in the mood for that last bit.