Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "No..." It was quiet and weak, desperate in a way he hadn't known he could be until then. Alex never wanted to hear himself sound like this ever again.

Author's Notes: Hope I'm not scaring readers away with this. I'm putting Alex through some serious shit here.

Rating: M

Warnings: Chapter spoilers! Attempted rape, character death, blood, gory descriptions

Date: Jan. 1st - 9 pm, between Grey and Mother Nature (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

Edited: 17.12.10

20. Fortitude

Alex had come to the conclusion that being blindfolded really sucked.

He knew that his still swollen right wrist was handcuffed to a radiator, that he was sitting on a freezingly cold concrete floor and that the room he was in was small to normal-sized, judging by the lack of echo. Beyond that, he was literally in the dark.

He didn't know where Yassen was. Hell, he didn't even know where he was. If it weren't for the fact that they still didn't seem to have found out about his involvement with MI6 and that he had experience with being handcuffed to something and then left alone for hours, he would have panicked.

As things stood the situation was bad, but he had gotten out of worse messes before. Sure, he didn't have any gadgets this time, but that only meant that he had to wait and take the first opportunity that arose. They were seriously underestimating him, thinking that he was just a kid.

He guessed that a few hours had passed since he had been left here once he finally heard the lock turn and someone entered the room.

"Good evening, Lloyd." There was a bit of rustling and a clank; it sounded like the man had put something down. "Or whatever your name might be. I wonder how much they offered to pay you for this?"

Definitely not enough, Alex thought to himself. He heard steps coming closer and stopping directly in front of him.

He cocked his head to the side and answered, "Sorry, I don't think you can match the price."

There was a low chuckle and the teen tensed up as he felt the man reach for him. His blindfold was tugged off and he blinked against the sudden light

"Yeah, I imagine people are willing to pay quite a bit for a pretty boy like you."

It was the man who had dragged Alex out of the bed. He looked to be in his twenties and aside from being muscular, nothing about him really stood out. Short dark hair, murky brown eyes, normal face, slight stubble. If he'd seen him on the street the teen would probably have forgotten him two seconds after walking past him.

"I don't do that kinda stuff," the young spy bit out in response to the man's insinuation.

"You sure?" The man grinned. "Because it sure looked like it from where I stood." He reached out again and tugged at the hem of Alex's - Yassen's - shirt. "His clothes comfy?"

The blond was mortified to feel his face grow hot, unable to come up with an answer.

The man's grin grew. "So how about a little bargain?" He gestured at the pile of stuff he had put down by the door. "See that?"

"No, I've suddenly gone blind," the teen mumbled crossly.

The guy only seemed more amused. "A blanket, food and something to drink. The nights get cold down here and the boss isn't going to deal with you until tomorrow at the earliest. So how about you're a little nice to me..."

A hand skimmed over his exposed neck and Alex jumped, pressing himself back against the radiator with wide eyes. What the-?

"And in return I'm a little nice to you?" The man gestured at the things he'd brought once more and smiled winningly.

The young spy felt his stomach turn. "Forget it," he snarled. "I told you, I don't do that kinda stuff." He backed away along the wall until the handcuff was taut, more freaked out than he was willing to admit.

But the guy followed undeterred, taking two steps and looming over the teen again. He seemed to be trying to turn his leer into a convincing smile. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm sure I could show you a good time."

"Have you talked to someone about your self-delusions yet? They can't be healthy for you," Alex snapped.

At that the smile turned into a scowl. "What, only Mihailov's allowed to touch you? Is that it?"

"What? No!" Alex exclaimed, flushing again. Yassen... touching him? The thought made him feel strange and not half as horrified as it probably should. No time to think about that though, what with that damn pervert crowding him against the wall. He involuntarily tried to shrink back, but the chain on his wrist stopped him. "Look, I'm not a whore and I'm not interested, so back off already!"

The man snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah, that's why we found you in his bed. Stop your little act, it's getting annoying."

"It's not-" The other grabbed at Alex's shoulder and the teen flinched, his free hand coming up to uselessly shove against the man's chest. "It's not an act! Get off!"

The guy laughed.

Alex was starting to panic. The man was considerably bigger and stronger than him, he could use both his hands and he wasn't backing off. This couldn't be happening. It just... couldn't. His breathing sped up and his gaze darted around, searching for something, anything to help him-

There. A hunting knife on the other's belt. Maybe he could-

His free wrist was seized and pinned against the wall before he could even form a vague plan. He yelped, twisting away, and then he was kicking, squirming, trying frantically to get away, crawl back to the radiator, get some leverage to throw the other off...

But it was all in vain. No matter how normal the man looked, he had all the advantages on his side and in short order Alex found himself trapped against the wall, his hands pinned by the handcuff and the other's grip, his legs held down by the larger body's weight. He tried one last time to buck the man off, then slumped down as it became clear that he was just wasting his strength. [Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.]

"That's it, boy. Stop fighting and I'll make sure you enjoy yourself too." Heavy hands were roving over the teen's chest, pawing at the hem of his too large shirt, and Alex's heart was pounding like mad, his breath coming in flat gasps. He could literally taste the adrenaline at the back of his throat.

"Please," he tried again, his mouth incredibly dry. "I've never- What you are doing is rape. You can't really want to-"

Whatever he wanted to say next, his words were cut off by the man's hand sliding over his mouth. "I told you to cut it out, didn't I? If you want to talk so badly, feel free to beg, but otherwise shut up." The hand left his mouth and slid under his shirt, tugging it up. The teen sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh, and..." The man looked up from where he had been staring at Alex's stomach, having the gall to grin at the young spy. "My name's Frank. Just so you know what name to moan."

The teen snarled, bucking his hips once more in an attempt to dislodge the other. "Fucking bastard! Get the HELL off me!"

As if in answer, Frank got off his legs and for one second Alex almost thought the other had decided to stop - then he yelped as as the man grabbed his hips and yanked him down so that he was flat on his back, his wrist straining painfully against the handcuff and his head knocking against the floor. He felt dizzy, his head throbbing, but he resumed his struggles, silently and doggedly working to throw the other off. He would not let this happen. He wouldn't.

After a few moments, the man seemed to become impatient and simply put his hands on the spy's hips to pin him to the ground with his full weight, so hard Alex thought he felt his bones creak. "Come on, boy, don't be so difficult now," was panted against the teen's ear and he grimaced, turning his head away, squirming against the hands moving over his stomach, his hips, his thighs.

"I liked you from the moment I saw you. I bet you're a screamer, aren't you?" That statement was accompanied by a mouth on his neck and Alex's face contorted in disgust, making him grit his teeth and resuming his struggles with even more determination. He kicked, yanked at the handcuffs, tried to twist to the side - would anyone hear him if he screamed? Would anyone care?

"What? No snarky answer?" There was low laughter, lips moving over his skin, sucking [oh god, gonna be sick], and how the fuck could this bastard be so goddamn heavy? "Fine. I'll just have to find out for myself then."

His legs were forced apart and his shirt was up around his shoulders, the floor achingly cold beneath his naked back. His left wrist felt bruised where Frank's weight was pushing down on it and his eyes were starting to burn traitorously, his vision wavering at the corners. [This can't be happening. Oh god, this can't be happening.]

"Don't worry, I'll make you like it," was murmured against his chest and he could feel the scratch of the man's beard against his skin. "You'll love it so much you'll be begging me to fuck you. Such a pretty little boy... bet your ass is tight as hell."

There was a hand tugging at the button of his pants and he lost it, really hyperventilating now. "NO! Get off! Fuck you, you son of a bitch! Get the HELL OFF! Bastard! Get your ha-"

Frank backhanded him across the face and his head banged against the floor, stars exploding behind his eyes.

"Will you shut up already! Here I am trying to be nice and that's what I get in return. Fucking brat!"

Alex felt sick and dazed, all his moves sluggish and delayed, black spots dancing in his vision. Half his face and the back of his head throbbed painfully and he struggled weakly, unable to do anything but watch as the man opened his pants and roughly tugged them as well as his underwear down.

"No..." It was quiet and weak, desperate in a way he hadn't known he could be until then. Alex never wanted to hear himself sound like this ever again.

Frank didn't even seem to hear his protests anymore, instead using both his hands to stroke over the naked skin of the teen's stomach and hips, lower-

Both his hands.

Alex clenched his [free] left hand.

It was no conscious idea, no plan, no decision. One second he was beneath the man, being forcibly undressed, the next his hand moved, grabbed the knife from the other's belt and rammed it into his throat.

They stared at each other in stunned silence.

Then Frank screamed, a horrible, wet, gurgling sound, his hands scrabbling at his neck, ripping the knife out...

Blood splashed over Alex's face, running down his cheek, hot and tangy on his lips, and he could feel it soak into his shirt. [I'm free.] Frank frantically tried to stumble to his feet, the knife clattering to the floor, and the teen slowly sat up, watching with wide eyes as more and more blood covered the concrete.

[Did it look like this when Barner died?]

He slid backwards until he felt the radiator at his back, staring at the fresh blood stains on his pants, concentrating hard on them, anything to blot out the sounds, helpless stumbles and wet, choking gasps. Then a shadow fell over him and Alex looked up, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of Frank looming over him, a crazed expression on his face, so much blood everywhere. The teen's stomach churned violently and the man fell to his knees, reaching for the young spy's neck - to strangle him? Get revenge?

It didn't matter either way because Frank fell over onto his side before he could reach the spy, a confused, a little frightened look coming into his eyes. Alex stared, frozen to the spot, a bitter taste at the back of his throat. The man was dying. His breathing was slowing down, his face paling more and more, and he just kept bleeding, so much, all over the floor.

And then he was dead. Just like that.

Alex took slow, shallow breaths, trying to ignore the thick, metallic scent cloying his nose. The blood on the floor was seeping into his pants, warm and sticky. He pressed himself tighter against the radiator and closed his eyes. He wanted to throw up.

Was this what killing felt like? Because he didn't feel anything. No guilt, no enjoyment, no remorse. Maybe a little relief and disgust.

He tried to stand up, but the handcuff stopped him short, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. The metal had torn the skin all around his wrist. He needed the key. Maybe Frank had it?

He was reluctant to touch the dead man, but there really was no way around it. If someone else found him here like this he'd be screwed. He had to twist his arm and stretch awkwardly to reach the body, but eventually he succeeded. The left pocket was empty. The right one contained a key chain with several keys. Alex saw two that looked like they could belong to the handcuffs, judging by their size.

He carefully scooted back over to the radiator and leaned against it, feeling that his sense of balance was rather precarious right now; the room was still a little fuzzy at the edges and his head was pounding. He only hoped that he didn't have a concussion.

Of the keys the second one fit and the handcuffs came free with a clatter. Alex gave a shaky sigh of relief and carefully flexed his hand, inspecting the damage. He hoped that the torn skin and smeared blood was making it look worse than it was, because yeah, it looked really bad.

Grimacing slightly, he looked around. Now what?

Using the radiator to brace himself, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, blanching as his trousers fell down to his ankles. Right, they were still open. Scowling and decidedly not acknowledging his shaking hands he brought his clothes in order, at least as far as that was possible. The button of his pants was torn off and the bottom half of them were pretty much soaked through, with splatters of blood liberally decorating the rest of his clothes as well. Fuck, he must look like he just walked off the set of a horror movie.

Shuddering in disgust, he used a clean part of the shirt to scrub at his face and hands, trying to get the worst of the blood off. He didn't know what was worse, seeing the red smears of another man's blood on his skin or feeling the fluid drying and cling to him all the more.

That done, he slowly and somewhat shakily made his way to the door, giving Frank's body a wide berth. He didn't want to have to look at it-him-it, another second. At the door, he picked up the water bottle, opening it with a clean patch of his shirt to avoid getting it bloody. He still had that thick taste of blood in his mouth, together with something acidic as if he were about to throw up.

He'd just rinsed most of the taste out and was carefully drinking in short sips, the pounding in his head abating a bit, when suddenly the door swung open and Alex found a gun pointed at his face.

He blinked slowly, wondering if this day was ever going to end. He really wanted a break.

Yassen stared at him, looking faintly surprised. Alex averted his eyes and took another sip of water, hoping that the man wouldn't ask any questions. And that he had a plan to get out of here, which, judging by the familiar bag hanging over his shoulder, he probably did. Someone must have picked it up after they'd been carted off. Figures that the Russian would fetch his stuff first and then come to get Alex.

There were several beats of silence and the teen could feel the other's gaze on him, taking in his appearance and the state of the room behind him. He squirmed uncomfortably, wishing Yassen would just say something already so that they could leave.

Finally, the assassin seemed to have come to a conclusion about what had happened and lowered his gun, catching Alex's eyes with his. "Are you hurt?"

The teen started shaking his head, then stopped quickly when the pounding in his head flared up again. "Could be that I have a concussion. I'm not sure."

The Russian gave him a measuring look, then nodded in the direction of the hallway. "We're leaving."

Alex nodded and followed.