For the bonus prompt: Trapped under a collapsed building. Though it fills the original prompt for Day 1: Headwound as well.

Thanks to Cym and guelphbeegirl for looking this over and giving suggestions. You've been a great help. I would still be staring myself blind on this if it hadn't been for you!

Given the sensitive topics Febuwhump touches, I'll be posting a list of themes and possible triggers in the endnotes for anyone who doesn't want to jump head-first into the whump. There shouldn't be anything more graphic than canon though.

If anyone has any questions about this or anything else, you're welcome to leave a comment or send a PM.


*4*

Alex woke up coughing and spluttering, dust clogging his mouth. He tried to bend over, only to realise he was stuck, and panic rose in his throat and breathing got even harder. Opening his eyes made no difference. Everything was dark.

Heart pounding, Alex tried to get a better picture of where he was. Something smooth and cold pressed against his hips and back, and he couldn't move his right arm at all. The air around him was warm and stale, like when he was younger and covered under his blanket with a flashlight after bedtime. It smelled of dirt and rust.

He was trapped in a very tight space by large pieces of concrete and metal.

Did a building collapse on him? He wouldn't be surprised if this was the case. With all the explosions he had been involved in, he was honestly more surprised it hadn't happened earlier.

He couldn't remember how he got here, or even where here was – a slight throbbing at his left temple gave him a hint as to why – but this was not his main concern. His first task was ensuring he stayed alive until a rescue team arrived who could dig him out.

Alex suppressed the stray thought that if he had been on a mission at some remote location, rescue might never arrive. Panic would only make his situation worse.

Calm down. He closed his eyes – there was nothing for him to see anyway, and it made it easier to focus on calming his breathing – and went through Ian's lessons. While Ian had intended them to help Alex in case of a cave-in while potholing in Yorkshire, they might save his life here instead.

First, he needed to clear the space around his head to make sure he had air to breathe.

While his right arm was useless at the moment, he managed to wriggle his left one in front of him. Swiping it from side to side, he removed small pieces of debris and a lot of dirt, triggering another coughing fit and a few tears. As soon as he could breathe again, he searched further and was relieved not to feel anything in front of him. At least he wouldn't choke – if he could keep the dust out of his lungs

This would be the time to try to call for help; but until Alex could remember what had led up to this situation, he didn't dare. Whoever found him might want to put a bullet through his head. For now, he was on his own.

The next task was assessing himself for injuries and see if he could crawl out from wherever he was stuck. The first part was easy; his head was throbbing, and his left temple felt a little sticky, but other than his trapped arm and what was probably an impressive collection of scrapes and bruises, he was fine. Probably nothing life-threatening.

The blocks of concrete squeezing him on both sides were too heavy to move. Wriggling around, careful not to dislodge anything which could potentially crush him further, Alex quickly figured out that while the space was narrow, only his arm was stuck. He could move the hand and fingers, but something was pinning his elbow in place.

Going by feel alone, he found what he thought was a round piece of wood, maybe as thick as his arm. Pressing against it, he managed to make it budge a little and gasped when it made pain shoot from his elbow all the way to his shoulder. Stopping to catch his breath – was he imagining things or was it getting harder to breathe? – he started mapping out the area around the arm.

The piece trapping his arm was splintered at one end, yet it still connected to a large flat piece of wood. A table? That would mean the piece pinning his arm in place was a table leg.

Alex squeezed his fingers in between the table leg and his arm; however, the leg refused to give enough for him to slip his arm free. He tried wriggling and pressing several ways, stopping several times to catch his breath while sweat gathered on his brow.

He just needed to squeeze a little more… There.

Alex successfully bent the broken table leg, splintering it further, so he had the extra inch to pull his arm out in one hard tug. He hissed in pain as the splinters tore at his arm, leaving bleeding gashes behind. He had worse problems than a burning arm though.

Squeezing out of the small space where he had been stuck was difficult, even with both of his arms free. His right arm refused to take much weight, but in the end, he managed to turn on his side and drag himself out.

Collapsing halfway out of the hole, Alex laid down and gasped for breath, coughing like crazy. His struggles had stirred up the dust and dirt again, and Alex was already sick of it. He couldn't stop coughing. His throat was raw, and he tasted a slight tang of metal. What he wouldn't give for a sip of water …

Finally, the dust settled, and the air became a little more breathable.

Carefully, Alex tested the range of motion of his right arm. It hurt, but as he had suspected; it was only sprained and not broken. He doubted he would be able to rest it properly while he was stuck in the building, but he would have to do his best, so it didn't get worse.

Alex took stock of his new space. It felt larger than where he had been stuck, with nothing blocking his immediate reach, though in the darkness he didn't dare to explore quite yet. Injuries could mean the difference between life and death; so, while he wanted to get away as soon as possible, he would have to be patient. Not his strong suit.

Then Alex noticed he could make out the silhouette of his hand. Was it lighter here because he had crawled closer to the surface? Or was it the beginnings of daylight?

His limbs were heavy, and both his head and right arm throbbed in pain. Maybe taking a short break before he started looking for an escape wasn't a bad idea.

Alex settled with his back against the table that had trapped his arm and rested while he waited.

He hadn't heard sounds from potential rescuers. Was he buried too deep to hear them, or was no one there to look? It wouldn't be the first time he was completely on his own.

*11*

Alex must have dozed off for some time because when he woke again it was light. Well, lighter. Enough to see what was going on around him anyway.

His new space was around the size of his room in Chelsea, and tall enough that he could stand up with his neck bent at the lowest spot. It looked like the ceiling had collapsed after the walls had given out, which meant instead of flattening the floor – and Alex – it rested on top of large pieces of white-painted concrete.

He found glass shards and printer paper strewn around the space he had been stuck in, and a splintered oak door a little further to the side. Had he been trapped in an office building? The likeliness that this had happened on a mission just skyrocketed.

To his right, the collapsed wall slanted up and had caught the roof at an angle, creating a slight opening. He tested the piece with one leg. It didn't budge, and he deemed it safe enough for him to crawl to the top.

Alex couldn't see much through the hole, only more debris; however, it looked like clear space was on the other side. He stopped to listen for a moment to listen for any sign of life, but no sound reached him.

The hole was only just large enough for Alex to squeeze through and earned him a few more scrapes on his hands and chin and nearly skewered his hand on a sharp piece of metal when he tumbled out on the other side.

While the new space had a taller ceiling, it was also narrow like a corridor, and Alex had to manoeuvre around a lot of debris to move around. He got about twenty steps away from the opening when a stench assaulted his nose. Alex had never stumbled upon a rotting corpse, but he didn't doubt that was what he smelled. He staggered into the debris and covered his nose with his bad arm, yet he kept moving.

A pair of legs stuck out from under a section of the collapsed roof, and Alex nearly threw up on the spot. He wanted to turn around, get away, but he couldn't.

His mouth was drier than his principal's humour, and his stomach had given up gnawing at itself and instead made him queasy. He needed food. And more importantly, he needed water.

And as much as he hated the thought, looting dead people gave him a better chance.

He couldn't search the first body, but call it luck or not, they had not been the only one caught in the area. Around the next corner, a woman wearing what once had been a professional green dress and headscarf – Indian? Bengalis? Was that where he was? – and a man in a dusty blue dress shirt and rumpled black tie laid half on top of each other, and the debris hadn't buried them completely like the first person.

Alex refused to look at their faces as he futile checked for a pulse, before searching them for anything edible. The whole situation felt so wrong and disrespectful, yet he couldn't think of an alternative.

The search was in vain. Neither had anything useful on them – and why would they? They looked like normal office workers.

Alex searched every corner of the accessible area. The world played a cruel joke on him when he found what had once been a bathroom, but now only had the doorway with the sign left; the rest had ended up on the floor below, taking the chance of water with it.

After what felt like hours, Alex gave up and sat down on some rubble far out of sight of the bodies. He had found neither food nor water, not even a moist spot of dirt. Just more dust, debris, and dea–

Alex shook his head and tried to focus on something else. His right arm hung limply at his side, as he had no energy left to keep it raised. It didn't matter. The arid smell of rot clogged his nose and made his eyes water.

Yet, as he sat, defeated, his eyes caught something half-buried under the rubble across for him.

Before he even properly registered the thought, he had lunged across, ignoring his screaming body.

He held up his find: a shoulder strap from a backpack. It was white with dust, which was probably why had missed it during his first sweep.

Alex pulled with what little strength he had left.

Stuck.

No. He would not give up this close to what could very well end up being his salvation. If he didn't get this, he might as well lay down to die. With no space left to explore and no possible exits he could see; this might be the only chance he would have to find something to drink – as small as it was.

He looked around, desperately, for something that could help him remove the rubble. Nothing. He thought back to the table that had nearly amputated his arm.

Maybe.

*13*

Breaking the table leg off the table took considerable time, mostly because Alex had to take several breaks.

Getting it back to the backpack took longer.

In the end, he was shaking with exhaustion. He didn't know how long he had gone without water, but it had to be at least a day, and while it wasn't boiling inside the collapsed building, it was far from cold. Walking around, removing rubble, had left him sweating and far past mild dehydration.

His head pounded and not only from the wound of his temple, and he lost track of time more than once. Forgot what he was doing for a moment until he looked at the table leg clutched in his hands like an overly large baseball bat.

He wedged the table leg under the rubble covering the backpack, and with the help of a smaller piece of debris, used the basic principle of the lever to lift the first piece of rubble away.

Repeating the process another two times, Alex could finally remove the last, smaller pieces by hand, and get to the backpack. It didn't look too smashed considering where it had been.

Heart pounding, this time mostly from anticipation, Alex fought the broken zipper until he could rip into the bag.

He fumbled, fingers refusing to cooperate as his hands shook, and he spilt the content on the ground. A thin stack of paper, a portfolio, a smashed laptop and charger ...

Not deterred, Alex went for the smaller pockets: a leaking ballpoint pen and three sweets, and… jackpot! A protein bar.

No water though.

His stomach growled at the sight of the meagre food which might as well have been a buffet. Alex had to try three times before he managed to unwrap one of the sweets and he accidentally dropped it in the dust. Barely taking the time to half-heartedly rub the worst of it off in his equally dirty shirt, Alex popped it into his mouth and closed his eyes in bliss. Dust and sugar mixed on his tongue, together with a synthetic taste of cherry.

It might have been the best thing he had ever tasted.

With little to no spit left in his mouth, it was hard to swallow; so, he let it melt slowly on his tongue, savouring it.

Alex had to force himself not to wolf down the rest. His stomach hurt and growled for more. He ignored it and used his newfound energy to stumble back to his small hide-out. He wanted to get as far away from the bodies as possible.

The smell of rot followed him, clinging to his clothes, but it was less overwhelming here and Alex took a large breath in relief.

He found a dirty coffee cup that, apart from missing its handle, was mostly intact. He placed the remaining two sweets and the protein bar inside, hiding it inside the small alcove he had woken up in.

Funny how something as fragile as porcelain could survive a building collapsing on it mostly intact, while three people had been crushed not three steps away.

*29*

Hours passed in a blur. Water was Alex's first priority. However, with nothing drinkable in the building – at least nothing he could reach – the next best thing was to ration whatever was left in his body. Judging by his chapped lips and scorched throat, it wasn't much. It must be at least a day since the collapse, and Alex had still not heard any signs of anyone else in the area. Friend or foe.

He had settled back against the table and decided to rest. The place heated up and cooled again as night settled once more. The air became a little too hot in the building when the sun was up, though luckily not enough that he was sweating so long as he stayed still. Hopefully, it would give him the few extra hours he needed before an evacuation team found him.

A small voice in the back of his mind questioned if anyone was even searching, but he quashed it. Losing hope was one sure way to die. He had to cling to whatever positivity he could find, even in this hell. He made a mental list:

1: He hadn't been squashed when the building collapsed.

2: He was relatively unhurt, disregarding a minor concussion and a sprained arm.

3: He had enough space to both breathe comfortably and move around.

4: He had food.

Given the circumstances; Alex had been extremely lucky. Reassured, he relaxed against his impromptu backrest and closed his eyes.

He might as well get a little more rest and save his strength for later.

*35*

That night another miracle happened.

Alex had spent the rest of the day resting, trying to conserve whatever water was left in his body.

Honestly, he wasn't aware most of the time, drifting in and out of exhausted sleep. It was during one of those small fits of consciousness that he heard a dull roar of noise.

Confused, Alex sat up and looked around. It was dark again and he couldn't make out anything clearly. It took him a few moments to connect the sound with anything, then it hit him.

Rain.

Alex jumped up, stumbled, and had to grab onto the table as his head swam. He was a little more careful when he knelt to pick up the broken cup and empty it beside the table, where he hoped he would be able to find the remaining food later. Right now, water took priority.

He listened carefully, hand clutching the cup. The rain drumming on the roof nearly drowned out everything, but slowly Alex could make out the faint sound of water drops hitting wood. It was close, but not close enough to be the table. Somewhere to his left…

Alex stumbled around blindingly, trying to locate the water while desperately picturing the space in his head and holding out his arms in front of him, so he wouldn't impale himself on one of the numerous exposed iron rods sticking out of the construction.

Something wet hit his hand, and Alex gave a hoarse croak of happiness. His eyes burned. Had he had any water left for tears, he would have cried.

Shaking worse than before, he cupped his hand and, not wasting another second, he brought the precious drops to his mouth.

He barely had enough to wet his chapped lips and it tasted bitter and metallic. Alex didn't care. With shaking hands, he thrust the cup under the water and held his bad hand underneath to catch whatever drops managed to escape.

The trickle was more a string of drops, so it took a long time before his cup got filled. Debris blocked him standing straight underneath the trickle, and he had to reach over awkwardly to catch the drops.

When the cup was finally filled most of the way, he carefully carried it to a plain piece of concrete that he could use as a table, while he went straight back to the water.

He didn't know how long the trickle would last, so he didn't dare try to refill the cup. Instead, he reached out with both hands cupped and impatiently waited for enough water to gather for him to sip it. His back and legs cramped, yet he kept his limbs locked and ignored it.

The process was tediously slow, and in a way, this might have been a good thing: it forced him to take small sips instead of gulping the precious liquid down as he wanted and risk throwing up.

When the trickle slowed to a stop, Alex wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, scooping water; but for the first time since he had woken in this nightmare, he felt properly hydrated.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to stay here long enough to get this dehydrated again.

Or for him to get sick because he drank dirty water.

Alex couldn't get himself to feel anything other than joy. A strange feeling in such a claustrophobic space. He laughed properly for what felt like the first time in weeks. The sound felt loud in the silence left over after the rain shower, and everything felt a little less bleak.

He recovered his cup and slowly made his way back, taking extra care not to stumble and spill even a single drop.

*36*

It was strange how a miracle that saved your life could end up nearly claiming it not an hour later.

Alex had barely settled back against his table when the structure to the left of him started to groan and creak loudly. He froze and tried to strain his eyes to do the impossible and make out anything in the darkness. For a long moment, there was nothing.

The structure groaned again, longer this time, and Alex squeezed into his old hideout, remembering at the last moment to stop before he hit the cup of water he had hidden inside – now equipped with a makeshift lid made by a flat piece of concrete to lessen the amount of water evaporating – and protected his head with his arms.

The lean-on had saved him once. Alex was betting his life it would again.

The structure groaned a third time, and this time something gave, and everything came crashing down. Something shattered nearby. Alex tightened his arms around his head, trying to block out the rumble threatening to deafen him.

A scream cut through the noise.

At first, Alex was convinced the voice was inside his head, echoing his thoughts – but no. Even when the last pieces had settled, he could still hear someone crying out.

Alex stuck his head out of his hiding space. The air was thick with dust, but luckily the way out was free. He forgot all thoughts of keeping a low profile.

"Hey!" Alex shouted and broke down coughing. He tried again only for it to come out as a croak.

Did the cries get a little louder?

A small sip of water, Alex thought. Just to speak clearly. He turned around, stuck his head back inside the lean-on, and fumbled in the dark to locate the precious cup. Removing the debris acting as a lid, he took a small sip and ignored his still scratchy throat begging for more.

"Hey!" he shouted again when he got back outside. No one replied, and the cries didn't stop. Had they not heard him? Alex tried calling out a few more times until his voice died completely, and he was forced to settle back against the table, defeated.

Either the other person couldn't hear him, or they refused to. Either way, Alex couldn't reach them, and he was forced to listen, to the horrible sound of someone in unimaginable pain, unable to help.

It hurt far more than his injuries.

*42*

Whoever had survived the initial collapse with him didn't last long after the second crash. The cries got quieter as the hours passed by, and while it was morbid, Alex silently begged for them to stop until they finally did.

Whoever they had been, Alex hadn't known them. Hadn't even known what they looked like. For all he knew, they could have been the person behind this whole thing. Or an innocent office worker. Alex couldn't muster any feelings besides relief that they had gone quiet.

Shouldn't he feel guilty, thinking like this? A person was dying, maybe dead, and he couldn't dig out even a sliver of sympathy for a fellow human being.

He felt empty.

*47*

Alex wasn't sure how many hours he sat in silence after the cries stopped, staring at nothing. However, the whole experience had left him hollow inside. The smell of rot had seeped into his small sanctuary, and he was sure he would never get it out of his nose again.

No one was coming.

Why was he surprised by this? When had anyone ever come for him when he needed it? This time MI6 had not pretended to give him a way out; he had no hidden panic buttons and no clever trackers smuggled into the building in the soles of his shoes. Alex had checked.

There had been no signs of anyone digging around, trying to find survivors. Either no one had bothered, or they had already given up. How long had it been? It felt like weeks, though Alex knew it couldn't be more than a few days considering how many times it had become dark.

No, if he wanted out of this, he would need to get himself out. As usual.

Alex dragged himself to his feet and felt surprised at how hard this simple action was. He swayed on his feet, dizzy. It couldn't have been a day since he had something to drink, yet his mouth was as dry as before the rain.

He crawled back inside and took two small sips from his cup. The water was lukewarm and still tasted horrible, but it soothed his parched throat.

Alex gave himself a minute to clear his head before he staggered to the right.

After the rain, the wall of debris to the left had become unstable, and he didn't dare try anything in that area and risk being buried for real. The right side of the structure looked stable enough though, and the small area at the top where the debris was smaller looked promising.

Climbing the pile was exhausting, though it was barely taller than him. He cut his hands more than once, and he was certain if dehydration didn't get him, sepsis would, because he had no means to clean the corroded metal and dirt out of the wounds.

He reached the top and started digging, though more cautiously than the term would suggest, as he carefully selected each piece and threw them far away from his lean-on, where they could do no harm.

As time dragged on though, sweat gathered on his brow and he gasped for breath. He would have to climb down soon and take a few more sips of water.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe he had gotten too careless in face of his apparent success.

When he began climbing down, his foot hit a loose piece of concrete and sent it sliding down. Like an avalanche, the piece dragged more debris with it until it all collided with the lean-on. Alex barely kept his grip.

His climb down was slow. Now that some of the debris had gotten lost, the whole side had become unstable. Alex wasn't sure he would be able to climb up on this side again; he would have to start from scratch somewhere else. Maybe in the other room.

Alex reached the ground, a little put down. That had been a little too close. He turned to the lean-on that had been his 'home' since the collapse and froze.

The structure was still standing; however, a few large pieces of concrete had rolled inside, enough that they blocked his way. Dread filled him as he methodically cleared them away, yet he refused to let it overwhelm him. Instead, he focused all of his remaining energy to clear the path.

His injured arm acted up again. When he finally finished, it was throbbing once more, and his hands were shaking.

Slowly, Alex reached inside his small hide-out, like he had multiple times before; but this time, the cup wasn't where he had left it. Crawling a little further inside, until he could feel the walls squeezing him on both sides, he reached in further, desperately hoping he had overlooked it.

His hand met something sharp. Shards?

No.

Now even more desperate, Alex reached out with both hands, and his worst fears were confirmed: the cup was shattered. Whether from the falling debris or from Alex' own movements, it didn't make a difference.

The ground still felt a little moist, and it nearly felt like a mockery. It was too late. If any of the priceless drops had stuck to the shards instead of splattering on the ground, the dry dust in the air had already absorbed them.

His water was gone. His last chance of survival had disappeared into the aether as fast as the liquid.

Tears slipped past his closed eyes, and if he had had the energy, Alex would have kicked himself for losing any more of the precious drops.

He licked them off his fingers instead. They tasted salty.

Alex let them wet his tongue and cried harder.

*61*

Leaning back against the table, Alex stared at what remained of the ceiling. It was a mix of white and grey, with a few pieces of metal and something that looked like broken wiring. He was studying the cracks, following their tracks as long as he could until he was certain they had been printed unto the back of his eyelids.

Thirty-two cracks were visible from his current spot; he had counted them fourteen times.

Entertainment was in short supply.

Earlier he had spent some time throwing small pieces of debris at whatever other piece of debris annoyed him the most at the moment. It had passed the time – at least until he had run out of ammunition within reach. After that, he had been forced to go back to daydreaming and counting cracks in the place that was slowly turning into his tomb.

He wasn't sure he could stand again, even if he had had the will to try. Lifting his arm seemed like an impossible task.

I wish I could see the sky from here, Alex thought. Anything other than grey. It reminded him of Ian's funeral, though the weather had been ironically sunny on that day. Maybe because Blunt had been there, and anything close to Blunt automatically got their colours sucked out of them.

What would Ian say, if he was here?

Would he be sad if he knew Alex had died of thirst, buried alive under a building far away from home? Would he be proud Alex died for his country as he and John had? Or would he be angry Alex had given up at the end?

Alex couldn't get himself to care anymore.

Ian was long dead, and Alex was stuck here, wherever here was, dying a slow death of dehydration.

*67*

Sorry Jack, Alex thought. I won't be coming home this time.

He imagined how her face would crumble when she got the news. Alex hoped MI6 would tell her the truth this time. She deserved some closure at least.

His head pounded in time with his heart – from dehydration, or his concussion, or maybe both. It hurt worse than the time he had accidentally train-surfed on an ironing board and collided with a wire fence at Point Blank.

Alex burned from the inside, and yet the air felt cool enough to make him shudder.

I'm sorry.

*71*

Alex was barely aware of time passing.

He woke briefly to darkness, blinked, and it was day again.

Giving up on keeping track of time, he let himself drift.

*74*

*78*

*81*

*85*

*88*

Something was different. A sound? Alex wasn't sure. It had woken him from the semi-awareness he had been stuck in as he drifted in and out of sleep. He kept his eyes close, eyelids too heavy for him to bother trying to open them.

He had no strength left, and just the act of turning his head made it swim and threatened to send him back to unconsciousness.

No, there it was it again. Someone was talking?

Alex frowned. That couldn't be true. He must be imagining it, hallucinating. No one was coming, he knew this. Had accepted this.

It was a nice hallucination though.

Did you call it a hallucination when it was a sound and not something you were seeing?

Alex cracked one eye open.

Nope, nothing besides the rubble. No 'sight-hallucinations' in well… sight.

Alex drifted for a moment, before blinking back to awareness. What had he been doing again?

Ah, right, the not-sound.

Should he do something about it?

It couldn't hurt to play into the hallucination, right? It wasn't like anyone was here to call him crazy, so might as well give himself a little hope.

"H-" The word got stuck in his throat, and another coughing fit shook his frame until he was certain they would shake his limbs apart. When they finally ceased, Alex was gasping for breath and feeling even more exhausted. Something kept him going though. A small voice in the back of his head whispered that if he slept now, it would be over.

His voice refused to work.

Then, his right hand touched a small rock beside him. Hadn't he cleared all the debris away from this spot? Why had he missed this piece?

Lifting the piece was the achievement of his life. Climbing Mount Everest couldn't be half as hard as fighting gravity long enough to lift the stone and throw it in the general direction of the sound.

The stone didn't fly far – barely a meter – but luck was with him one last time and it hit a large piece of metal with a clang. Alex doubted the sound could be heard outside his small space, even if people had been outside – it had been too low.

Still, he felt satisfied. One last feat of strength before he rested. His eyes fluttered and threatened to drift shut again, the world around him turned fuzzy.

Someone shouted something in a foreign language not far away.

Alex tore his eyes open. No way he had imagined that.

His gaze flickered to his left, where he had thrown a rock, and there, at the same spot the water had come down from so long ago, two dark eyes stared back at him.

*91*

Alex floated. The waves were rough and loud, and he was thrown from one side to the other and then back again; and yet he didn't fall off. Something tight was around his chest. Had someone strapped him in place? He was so certain he had been alone.

No, someone else had been nearby, screaming …

He had to help them, right?

Alex lost his train of thought. A deep voice said something incomprehensible to Alex right, and he got dragged back to semi awareness.

He forced his heavy eyelids apart and got a brief glimpse of blue. Voices washed over him, yet Alex couldn't understand them, and he didn't care anyway, focused on figuring out what he was seeing.

The ocean?

No, a lighter blue.

The sky.

Alex closed his eyes and smiled.


Themes: minor claustrophobia, dehydration, non-graphic descriptions of dead bodies