A/N: I'm sorry. The past week has been... busy.
Chapter 12
"Alex!"
Nile stared at him. Stared at him as he fell to his death. The look in his eyes burned into his brain. He could see him now, laughing, joking with him at the Scorpia training camp, not really a friend, but a comrade. Nile had belonged. Like Alex had belonged. In his twisted world, everything had made sense then.
Nile's dark eyes, burning into his, leaving a permanent mark. That was when it had started.
"Alex, are you all right?"
He had killed. He had killed before, but he had never looked into their eyes before when they died. It had somehow seemed as if it hadn't really been him. It hadn't had anything to do with him. He had just been there by accident. He had never felt particularly guilty over it.
"Alex, answer me, dammit!"
Sarov had killed himself. Alex had tried to avert his eyes, but some twisted part of him, some sick fascination had made him look up at the last moment. The man had looked at him. And then he had blown his brains out. Alex had watched as the light in the man's eyes had suddenly been extinguished.
And in a way, he had caused that too.
And Ash, poor old misguided treacherous Ash. He was the first person Alex had actively, intentionally tried to kill. Too bad he had missed. Because he still felt a trace of resentment at Ben for doing his job for him.
His job.
The stock of the gun against his shoulder. The target in his sight, getting out of the car, looking around, looking up. Alex couldn't see his eyes. It didn't matter. The man died anyway.
"Alex... come on, wake up... you have to wake up, we're going to get out of here... Alex?"
Craig's voice came from far away, echoing in his head, mixing with his thoughts. Slowly, he became aware of the concrete pressing against his cheek. Then the rest of his body started to protest from laying in the same position for too long. His joints ached, his right arm seemed to be numb again and worst of all, his headache was still there. He groaned.
"Alex...?"
He moved his mouth, opened it. Something nagged at his brain, and it took him a few moments to remember what it was that was strange about him opening his mouth. It had been taped shut before. It wasn't now. Somebody – Carnegie? Craig? – had removed the tape. He must have been really out of it not to have noticed that.
"Leavemealone," he muttered.
"Alex, come on, focus."
Focus? "Why?"
His voice needed work. It sounded all wrong. Raspy and croaking. He cleared his throat and coughed, which immediately caused another painful jolt through his head.
"Come on, Alex, work with me here. Open your eyes, boy, show some spine. Don't go laying about waiting for somebody to rescue you as if you're some damsel in distress."
Nobody talked to him like that. He opened his eyes to glare at Craig, and found that he could. Light shone in through a very dirty and very small window close to the ceiling. Being in the dark for so long, it seemed very bright. Craig was sitting beneath it, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, taped together. Alex couldn't see his arms, as they were behind his back.
"What are you doing here," he growled, "Carnegie wave his little pop gun at you and you let yourself be tied up too?"
Craig barked out a short laugh. "Something like that," he said bitterly, "Only he had help. He called his friends, I guess they're his contacts here in Spain. There were two of them."
"So you let them tie you up."
"I didn't... don't try to rile me, Alex." Craig looked at him intently. "How are you doing?"
Alex closed his eyes. "Not too good."
"Alex, open your eyes, stay with me!"
"M'not sleeping."
"Open. Your. Eyes."
Alex sighed and then, just to stop the man from nagging, opened his eyes again.
"Good." Craig shifted a little. "Carnegie dumped your backpack in here. Is there anything useful in there?"
Alex grimaced, remembering how he had tried to get to his backpack in the dark, the nausea, the terrifying prospect of choking on his own vomit... which reminded him.
"Why is my mouth no longer taped? I would think Carnegie wouldn't want anybody to hear us if we tried to shout for help."
Craig tried to move a little and winced. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.
"I convinced him to remove the tape. Told him you might suffocate. Or choke on your own vomit or something. His friends didn't seem too concerned about that, but he was, so he took it off. Said there wasn't anybody around to hear us anyway."
A soft thump coming from somewhere in the house made them both look up. When it didn't happen again, Alex and Craig looked at each other. Craig shrugged.
"Must be packing," he said, "Jennifer wasn't there this morning. So I guess he's right, there really is nobody around to hear us. Which is why we have to help ourselves. Now how about your backpack, what's in it?"
Alex turned his head and tried to see. It was just laying there. One zip wasn't completely closed, and he saw part of a shoe stick out.
"My shoes," he said, "He put them in there. Smithers gave me those tungsten shoelaces."
"I was thinking of something more useful. You can't use those to saw through that stupid tape."
Alex shuffled closer to the bag, until his face almost touched it. He looked at his shoe. Craig was right, there was no way he could use those laces with his hands tied together. But he did have something else. Getting to it was a problem, though.
"I have a knife disguised as a Chelsea Supporters Club membership card," he said, "But it's in my wallet... if it's still in there, it's somewhere at the bottom."
"Can you get to it?"
Alex twisted his head and looked at Craig, still sitting in the exact same spot. Now that he looked closer, he could see a drainpipe rising behind Craig's back. He was probably tied to the pipe, that was why he couldn't move. He turned his attention back to the backpack, trying to ignore the painful stabs in his head when he moved.
First, he needed to open it. Easier said than done. He rolled back and forth a few times, pushed himself with his legs to position himself with his back to his bag, allowing his hands to touch it where he hoped the zip was. After feeling around for a few minutes, not helped at all by Craig's comments on how to move, he managed to get a hold of it.
He paused and leaned his head on the floor. The exertion of moving around like that had exhausted him. The cellar was spinning, and he couldn't seem to focus. He closed his eyes.
"Alex..."
He grimaced when he heard Craig's voice, no doubt about to tell him to stay awake. He was tired of listening to the man, always manipulating him into doing what he wanted him to do.
"Don't fall asleep on me Alex, now. Come on, you can do it. Open it up. It's easy. It's not even completely closed. Come on, Alex, no slacking now."
Alex growled in frustration and began pulling at the zip. It moved a little, got stuck, moved again. He started sweating. The zip only came in short bursts, and he had to strain his arms in a very awkward position go get it moving at all. His muscles started to ache, and he stopped again.
"Don't... start," he brought out between gasps, sensing Craig was about to start trying to encourage him again, "I just need to rest."
Thankfully, Craig remained silent. Alex leaned his head against the floor once more, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, or at least not sound like he was an old smoker with asthma. He wanted to close his eyes, but was afraid to fall asleep right there, so he stared at the semi-bright rectangle on the floor, caused by the sun shining through the window.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"No idea," Craig said, "They took away my watch, probably afraid it was some sort of gadget. Not that it'd help, I can't look at it like this anyway. I arrived here at ten fifteen, they brought me down here, and it took me about an hour or so to wake you. I'd say around noon."
Alex turned his head to look at his fake father. "Was it?"
Craig raised his eyebrows. "Was what?"
"A gadget. Your watch. Was it a gadget."
Craig smirked at him. "Classified," he said smugly. Then, sobering up, "Yes. I could have used it to send out a distress signal. Spanish secret service would have been here within the hour, which would have been embarrassing, but at least we'd get out of here. Carnegie knows what he's doing."
"Wonderful," Alex muttered.
He groped around until he found the zip again and started pulling. It moved a few centimetres, then got stuck again. Muttering several obscenities, Alex yanked it, hard. The zip came loose, and the backpack opened all the way.
"If I were your real father, I'd probably have to tell you to wash your mouth," Craig said lightly.
"Shut up. Don't even mention the possibility," Alex said angrily, "You're nothing like any father ever. I'm not listening to you any more."
"Hey," Craig said, "I don't care. Whatever works for you, kid."
"Don't call me 'kid' either."
He leaned his head against the floor again, trying to dispel the feeling that his arms, painfully twisted behind his back, would cramp. He didn't even dare to move his fingers for fear it might have his muscle spasm uncontrollably. He moved his head a little to look at Craig again, who was just about to open his mouth to no doubt ask Alex what he was waiting for.
"Shut up," Alex said, "It hurts."
Craig closed his mouth and grimaced. "I know," he said.
A minute passed in complete silence. Alex's fingers started tingling. He blinked a few times and sighed deeply. His mind was fuzzy, and for some reason he felt the almost overwhelming need to just close his eyes and let himself drift...
Darkness tried to swallow him, deep, deep darkness with small pinpricks of light, bright pinpricks, stars, glittering like... eyes. Eyes, staring at him accusingly, glaring at him, mocking him, blue, brown, green, breaking, dying, turning into something glassy and useless because the brain behind them no longer functioned...
Alex's eyes shot open. "Talk to me," he said hoarsely, "I'm... tired."
Craig moved his legs a little. "You have to stay awake, Alex," he said, "Sleeping is dangerous now. Not just because we have to get out of here, but I think you may have a concussion. What happened, Carnegie hit you? How did he find out?"
"He checked the safe. Found the SD card missing. I tried to escape but I tripped, he hit me on the head hard enough to knock me out. End of story. What about you?"
Craig shrugged. "I already told you. They were waiting for me. Carnegie let me in, then the three of them pulled their guns on me. I'd have tried to get it away from Carnegie, but the other two..."
He stopped and stared ahead, past Alex, at the opposing wall. He was quiet for a while. Alex tentatively moved his arms, started to reach for the backpack, but froze when he felt a painful spasm go through his right arm. Biting back a groan, he laid still again.
"Tell me about Selma," he said.
Craig's head shot up and he looked at Alex. His face, which up until then had had a somewhat amused expression on it, went blank. He stared at Alex, who stared right back at him. Slowly, Craig shook his head and looked down at the floor.
"I guess it doesn't matter now..." he said, "We got married two years ago. Blunt doesn't know. I think he doesn't know. Three weeks ago she was on an assignment without me, which wasn't unusual. And she didn't come back. I don't know what happened."
"And you just let it go? Didn't you try to find out what happened to her?" Alex asked.
"Sure I did, of course I did!" Craig glared at Alex, "But it's not like MI6 is that forthcoming. I could ask where she was, as I worked with her from time to time, but they flat out refused to tell me anything. And it's not like... I can't push too hard, they'd think it strange if I was too insistent. We all know the risk of what we're doing. Agents sometimes disappear. It happens. If they found out..."
"What?" Alex asked, "What would they do? Fire you?"
Craig's eyes darkened. "Probably," he said, "They frown upon these sort of things. It's... unprofessional."
Alex shook his head. "I'd love for them to fire me," he said morosely, "Why don't you just let them?"
Craig remained silent, and for a while Alex thought the man was done talking. The silence in the cellar became oppressive. Then suddenly Craig spoke again.
"It's all I have," he said, "And besides, I can't go look for Selma if I no longer have access to the MI6 databases. And they won't just fire me... they'll discredit me, disown me. Nobody will help me, nobody will want to even be seen with me. And I can't do it alone."
He shook his head, as if dismissing the subject. His face remained impassive as he studied Alex.
"How's the arms?" he asked.
Alex moved, wiggled his fingers, tentatively moved his arms. A painful jolt in his left arm brought tears to his eyes, but it subsided. He struggled a little and moved closer to the backpack again, feeling awkwardly for the opening he had created earlier. When he found it, he started pulling things out of his backpack, his shoes, a clean t-shirt – he'd love to put it on right then and there, as the one he was wearing was drenched in his sweat and he probably didn't smell too good – and then some clean undergarments. All his electronics were gone, his cell phone, his i-pod and even his photo camera. Carnegie obviously didn't trust any of it. He wallet was still there though, and he let out a sigh in relief. It took only a moment to flip it open and retrieve the membership card.
"Got it," he said.
He moved the card between his fingers, carefully testing the edges. With his fingers being slightly numb from the tape around his wrists, it was no wonder he managed to cut himself before figuring out what the sharp edge of it was. He flipped it around in his hands and started to cut into the tape.
"Stop," Craig said, "Move away. Somebody's coming."
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