AN: Thanks so much for the reviews so far! They really mean a lot to me. :]
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Metal groaned and banged, then light so bright Murdock had to clench his eyes closed and bury his head in his arms; otherwise he would surely be blinded. Footsteps, harsh commands. Too loud. So bright. All of it was too much. Rough hands grabbing him up and dragging him out. They took him to the same room that he'd been in the first day he was here and hung him up again, at least it looked like the same room. His ribs hurt as they clanked the chains taunt but Murdock suppressed the moan as much as he could.
They started shouting at him in Arabic again. They wanted to know answers and they wanted them now. They knew his name, his rank, who he worked for, what he did, and where he had been.
CIA? Please, little old me? Are you kidding? No way!
At least that's the emotion he tried to convey. They knew he was somehow important. They beat the crap out of him again and he spat a mouth full of blood at one of them.
He has problems realizing the potential danger in a situation. Or so he's been told by several people who saw his complete disregard of personal safety and deemed him insane for his 'lack of self preservation'. He shrugs it off; it's not a big deal. There's just not much to preserve. He tells them that there's a thin line between insanity and genius. But he doesn't tell them that he doesn't know which side he's teetering on.
They had left him alone again but this time they had thrown a loaf of bread at him and a dried hunk of meat. They want to keep him alive. He wasn't sure if he was glad for it or not. Listening to the encroaching silence Murdock realized that the growling was gone. At least there was that, finally he didn't have to worry about getting rabies. He crawled to the bed and carefully lay down. He took a breath in, his ribs protested loudly, making Murdock groan and think that a few of them were broken for sure now. His face was a bloody mess and he wished that he had taken the time to rinse out the taste of copper before he had lay down, but he was too tired to get up again. With that he drifted away to a place with shimmering summer heat and tall grass fields.
He doesn't think about the consequences, he knows he should, but he can't. It's like the line that connects the dots don't match up in his head like they're suppose to. He sees something he wants and he runs for it. It's an admirable quality, though not the best tactic for a busy intersection. He needs someone to pull him back, but he wishes that he doesn't. It makes him feel like a complete basket case after he does something so incredibly dumb, a five year old would know better. But he can't help it.
There was half a loaf of bread and a quarter of the dried meat left. Had he eaten today? He remembered eating yesterday but…was that yesterday or was that today? He had gone to sleep but he was he going to nap or was he going to bed for the night?
Murdock rubbed his head in frustration, this was such a simple answer. Why couldn't he tell? He was hungry and his whole body felt slightly uncomfortable. There was just nothing to do other than to concentrate on the dull pain and the way his insides were eating its self.
He dreams of days gone and past. The last conversation he had with his father and the day his grandparents had seen him off when he had first joined the military. His fifteenth birthday party when he and Suzie Ann had stole a bottle of champagne and drank it in the back of the barn.
His waking hours blend in with his sleep. He's not sure anymore how much of anything he experienced actually happened. He had a dream that he was standing in the middle of the cell staring at his bed. There were bugs in it – stupid bed bugs - and they wanted a turn to sleep. So he had to wait, just stand there. That's what they want him to do. At least he thought it was a dream.
When he thinks of his mother, he remembers long golden locks of hair that twirled around a thin frame. A light scent of lavender which always followed her around, leaving even fainter traces that never seemed to disappear. Her hands were soft but firm from long hours of working the farm and keeping their house. He remembers her voice if he tries hard enough. It was slightly rough but always so warm.
He woke up in complete darkness, his gasping breaths so loud that they had to be heard around the world. It took a moment to remember that there was no light. After that he wasn't sure if he closed his eyes or not. He didn't know how much time passed since he crashed. It must have been a week at the least, a month at most. He was down to an inch of bread and a bite of meat. That must mean something, he had tried to make the food last as long as possible. He felt like he was constantly starving, at least the sink/urinal gave all the water he wanted. Even if the water tasted like rusted metal, it kept his stomach from complaining too much.
He doesn't have to try as hard to remember his father. Murdock had known the man until a little after his twelfth birthday. Looking at pictures, Murdock sees where he inherited his unruly hair and hazel eyes. In his mind, many of the physical attributes had faded with time. He forgot the way his dad's eyes would wrinkle up when he smiled and the way his hair was mixed in brown and gray. What he does remember are nights spent staring up at stars and talks about distant galaxies; dusty afternoons with a strong smell of hay clinging to the background as they worked on their old pickup, trying their best to coax a few more months out of it; and mornings when they woke up so early that most of the time they could pretend, if only for a few minutes, that a piece of their family wasn't missing.