A/N - At last, the long-awaited chapter is here. Arthur's rescue, part 1. Touch wood it won't be too dire.
I have to warn you, this chapter is pretty… Bad. I actually hated writing this chapter and it's a bit jerkier than usual because of it. So yeah, it's a bit shit.
Concerning RusAme, there were mixed feelings about the pairing, with some people keen on it and others not so much. So I've decided to leave things open to interpretation on that front. (There's no Russia-America interaction here, though.)
Since the key Arthur's imprisonment had settled into a kind of cycle, a routine that balanced attritional monotony, humiliation, and pain with a finesse that detachedly Arthur almost admired. Braginski had truly turned torture into an art form.
There was the rattle of the lock and then Braginski crouched in front of where Arthur sat, slumped against the wall. "привет, Arthur." He smiled. "How are you feeling today?"
"I've felt better," Arthur croaked.
"And you'll feel worse," Braginski promised, stroking Arthur's cheek with a thumb. He straightened up. "Vlad, Grigory, help him stand. Bring him to the usual place."
Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet. Arthur was taken to a cramped room with a single guttering lamp; Braginski's iron pipe waited, leaning against the far wall. It fit well in Braginski's hand.
Braginski raised the pipe with a sweet smile. "Brace yourself, Arthur…"
By now, Arthur didn't even bother.
Braginski's ship was docked at one of the tiny islands that were scattered across the ocean like the stars of so many constellations. It had been nigh impossible to find. Braginski was unpredictable even for a pirate.
By the time they arrived, Francis was terrified it was too late already. He wanted to attack at once, but Antonio and Gil dissuaded him.
"We don't have a strategy, we don't know what exactly we're up against – we don't even know how many of them there are!"
"N'importe, Antoine. I can't leave him to that sadist! Strategy can go to hell, he's been alone far too long already."
"Tonio's right, Bonfoy. We need to get Artie out of there. But this guy…" Gil shuddered. "It won't be easy, and it's not something we can rush."
Antonio nodded, relieved to have an ally. "Exactly. It won't help Arthur if you run in and let yourself get killed."
"But –" Francis started.
"At least wait until nightfall. A few more hours can't hurt," Antonio reasoned.
Gil nodded in agreement. "Meantime I'm gonna try an' scout the place out." He rushed off, and Antonio turned to Francis.
"Tu as eu raison," Francis said wearily. He passed a hand over his face."Je ne comprends pas comment tu peux blairer cet émotion, c'est trop doloreux."
Antonio sighed. "Quelquefois, je suis d'accord. Mais cela en vaut la peine."*
As he waited for nightfall, all Francis could do was hope Antonio was right.
When it was over, Braginski looked down at Arthur with a half-moon smile.
"Polish my boots, Kirkland."
Arthur tried to speak, failed, coughed, tried again. "Yes, sir."
One of Braginski's thugs snickered. Arthur crawled forward and jerked his sleeve across the toe of the boot.
Braginski tutted. Shifting, he ground his heel into Arthur's still-healing hand; he gasped in pain. "Not with your sleeve, Kirkland. You've been living in that shithole, you'll just make it dirtier. Use your tongue."
"Yes, sir." Another laugh.
When Arthur had finished, Braginski kicked him back across the floor. One of the thugs yanked him to his feet and pulled their faces close together. "I've got something else you can use that pretty mouth on," he leered. The other men laughed.
"Nyet!" Braginski barked. There was silence. "That one is mine. None of you are to touch him!"
He put his arm around Arthur's shoulders and pulled him to the door. He paused in the doorframe. "At least, none of you are to touch him for now."
Dimly Arthur registered a flicker of some emotion; he forced it back before it could take hold. Everything was easier now.
Braginski led him back to his cell and lowered him gently to a sitting position. Before he left, he turned Arthur's face towards him and looked into his eyes, examining his expression carefully.
Seemingly content with what he saw, Braginski nodded once and left.
They boarded the ship easily enough, as there were surprisingly few guards; clearly Braginski wanted only the loyallest of the loyal to know where he went to lie low. Francis' crew easily overpowered them – though Braginski himself was nowhere to be seen.
Gil led the way through the maze-like structure of the ship. "I don't forget a place easy, 'specially not a one like this."
When they reached the lower rooms, they stopped. "You take the keys for that corridor, I'll check down there. Yell if you find him, yeah?"
Francis nodded and took the proffered bunch of keys.
After several empty rooms, Francis stood before an inconspicuous oak door. He fitted the key and the door swung open.
Slumped against the wall was Arthur.
Francis' heart wrenched at the state of him. Arthur had lost weight, bones sharply defined in his frail form. His face was tattooed with blue bruises and encrusted dirt; a streak of blood traced his cheekbone. One hand was bound tightly with rags and he cradled it against his chest. But it was his expression that terrified Francis.
Because when Arthur raised his emerald-green eyes to see Francis, they didn't even flicker with recognition. He stared at Francis with dull impassivity, and then his gaze slid back to the floor.
"Arthur?" Francis said tentatively. His mind was racing, but he couldn't move. What had Ivan done to him?
Somewhere in the ship, a door clicked shut, stirring Francis into action. He crossed the tiny room and knelt down in front of Arthur.
"Arthur, mon cher, we have to go now. Can you stand?"
Arthur glanced at him, disbelief flickering briefly through his eyes before that same blank expression returned.
Another door opened and there was the soft clack of polished black boots. Arthur bent his head to the sound, eyes widening fractionally.
"Arthur," Francis whispered urgently, touching Arthur's shoulder to get his attention.
Arthur flinched away, pressing back into the wall.
Suddenly the footprints stopped, and there was a soft laugh from the doorway. "You see, comrade? I told you, to break a person you need to show them pain."
Francis clenched his teeth. "What did you do to him," he ground out.
Ivan ignored him. He reached out as if to touch Arthur; Francis raised his gun and he stepped back. "Look at his expression now, Francis." He smiled proudly. "I've done what you couldn't; I've broken him."
In one smooth motion, Francis levelled his gun and clicked off the safety.
Gil slammed what felt like the hundredth door and sped back along the corridor, frustrated. In the labyrinthine passages of Braginski's ship, it could take forever to find Arthur. He stopped for a moment, trying to think.
That's when he heard it; the murmur of voices, somewhere nearby.
Straight away he hurried off in the direction of the noise. A few twists, a couple of turns, and Gil skidded to a halt in front of an open door. Standing in the doorway, tall and imposing as Gil remembered (how could he ever forget?) stood Ivan Braginski.
"…what you couldn't; I've broken him."
Gil tried to catch a glimpse of Arthur, stomach lurching hollowly. Could Braginski have done it? Arthur was strong, but…
No; he couldn't think like that. He had to believe in Arthur. I won't lose another friend.
Gil was snapped out of his thoughts by the click of a gun being taken off safety and it was like his legs moved of their own accord. Before he knew what was happening, he had darted round and stood in front of Braginski. Protecting his torturer.
Francis frowned. "Move out of the way, Gil."
Gil opened his mouth to agree, tried to stir himself into movement. What happened instead was nothing – nothing but the word, "No."
"Move out of the way, or I'll shoot you both."
And, "You're bluffing," Gil said. He tried to sound matter-of-fact, but his knees were shaking and several of his organs were looping in fear.
Francis lowered the gun. Gil exhaled in silent relief.
He looked at Braginski, and then back at Gil. "Why?"
It was at that moment that Gil realised why he'd protected Braginski. He smiled slightly, straightened up. Suddenly he was no longer trembling.
"Because I've been in the exact same position as Arthur, and I want nothing more than revenge."
Translations:
Tu as eu raison - You were right
Je ne comprends pas comment tu peux blairer cet émotion, c'est trop doloreux - I don't understand how you can stand this emotion, it's too painful
Quelquefois, je suis d'accord. Mais cela en vaut la peine. - Sometimes, I agree. But it's worth the pain.
*insert plea for reviews here* :)