A/N: FFFFINALLY AN UPDATE.
I can hear you shouting this from my little black hole underground xD;
Sorry for the long wait.... I wrote a longer chapter for compensation? Heheh... Heh.... Hehhhh.
The next five days (possibly longer but I can't be sure) went much the same in the way of events playing out. Alfred would be dragged from the cell despite my efforts to cling to him (often being kicked away) as the younger would stare at me with wide eyes, begging me to help him with those haunting cerulean blues. It hurt far deeper than anything Ivan could say or do to me to see him in such a state. Somehow, I felt a dark pit of something deep within, telling me that I was a failure and that I should somehow just give in.
Normally, Ivan gave us a half-loaf of bread for the day coupled with a warm mug to melt the snow that drifted in from the small, barred window near the top of our room. Within the past week, Alfred had slowly become more and more reserved with me, and our conversation become increasingly minimal. My mind has been whirring, my body increasingly jumpy with every sound and cringing when seeing a hand near. The past two days there has only been crusts left of bread, Alfred refusing to give me anything less than half of his.
Out of either pity, or selfishness, possibly both, I had taken the crusts for myself. Please understand that I do not focus on food for a want of the stuff; but because something has happened that both astounds and terrifies me. As I said, the past days Alfred had become increasingly quiet and unresponsive. His eyes had quite possibly become duller from behind his broken glasses and his ever-present cocky grin was no longer even in existence. The sunny, positive countenance he had once held had long since broken, and he hid himself further and further in his head and away from me.
The previous day (Or was it today? Oh, how my mind fogs…), I had pulled him close to me and kissed him out of desperation. He slowly blinked and a shadow of him returned, kissing back ever so lightly and breathing my name. "Why…?"
I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I murmured, "To find you…"
It was entirely disheartening to see him so far gone. The response I had gotten was a simple blink as he turned away, leaving me to brood alone on the left side of the stone bench. Loud, slow and deliberate footfalls echoed through the hallways and I had closed my eyes, praying (for the first time in centuries) for Ivan to have mercy. Trembles ran down my spine and showed in my extremities as the footfalls stopped in front of the heavy oak door, the sound of a padlock being unlatched echoing all too dismally through the darkened room. Slowly, the door had swung open and I pulled our blanket further around me as the massive silhouette of the Russian holding us captive came into view, beckoning slowly.
I watched as Alfred stood willingly, limping towards the hulking figure in the doorway as he looked almost hopefully up at him. Slowly the Russian put his hands forward, holding what appeared to be a potato soup in his hands. My mouth fell open in astonishment as he offered it to Alfred whom had promptly fallen to his knees, a smile stretched widely across his bruised face. "Comrade… Th-thank you, Comrade…"
I cringed at the word before looking away, knowing the soup was only meant for the American. It astonished me, yet somehow I knew that it was all part of Ivan's tricks… After all, the younger had been there for a few days longer than I and wasn't seasoned to this treatment in the slightest, proving much easier to break than I ever could. It had been weeks that we had weathered the storm, and while I had yet to shipwreck, it was hardly the case for my former charge.
It could easily be seen that the American had been thrown so deep into his head to avoid the pain that he had actually begun to care for our captor, and that thought terrified me more than anything I ever had faced or most likely ever will. It made me tremble as I sat leaning against the chains, staring listlessly at the scene unfolding as if in a trance. The only thing that broke me out of it was the cold voice of the Russian hitting my ears with a malevolent undertone, his voice carrying my name across the room. "Arthur…."
I glared up, face twisting into the darkest grimace I could muster. He simply smiled, a cruel gesture to the chill that sent shivers through my frozen body. "Be ready in ten minutes."
With that, the heavy door swung closed, and the quiet slurps coming from Alfred mingled and flirted with the heavy footfalls of military boots slowly fading away. Shortly after the footfalls could no longer be heard, Alfred stood and skittered over to me, offering the bowl. As tempting as it was, I shook my head. "It's yours, enjoy it…"
Alfred shook his head before looking at the door nervously, murmuring in a slightly broken way, "Please…. Take it…. You need it, comrade… I could… Get in trouble for…"
Sighing at his obvious distress, I took the bowl against my better judgment. "You're a saint, Alfred Jones."
He sighed softly, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. Desperate to hold on to the conversation, I cleared my throat and offered a bit of the blanket, noticing the lack of shuddering and yet all the same I asked, "Aren't you cold?"
He shrugged in response, studying his fingernails. "Don't realize it, really…"
I blinked slowly, looking down at the soup before resigning my determination and drinking the warm broth. I closed my eyes as I drank, reveling in the pleasure the first warm meal I'd had in at least a month had brought me. The little bit of soup calmed my turbulent stomach and distracted me from Alfred's odd behaviour, sending tingling warmth through my bones and heating my frozen limbs. I drank from the bowl until there was not a drop left, whimpering as I licked a bit at the bottom of the bowl. I silently cursed myself for becoming so depraved as the bowl was quickly wrenched from my hands.
I hadn't noticed the military boots echoing down the hall in my savoring of the soup, and shortly after Alfred had taken the bowl (pretending to tip it back and finish it desperately) the oak door had swung open and Ivan's silhouette re-appeared. "Comrade Arthur…"
I stood and limped over willingly, pushing past him with a grunt and walking down the hallway. I would never give him the satisfaction of dragging me, especially as my legs still worked.
***
As I lay on the floor, the darkened room seemed almost a comfort. I was faced away from the mirrors and Ivan had finished 'toying' with me, as one could put it. Maybe out of some twisted form of kindness, he was keeping me here as he stared at the blood spatters on the concrete, and similarly I felt a twisted form of gratitude as I reveled in the warmth of the Mirror Room. Somehow I hated myself for sinking so low.
We had been here for an hour without any movement, other than the occasional scuffle of military boots against the floor. He stood and muttered "Get up."
Obliging for once, I struggled to my feet and he smiled cruelly at every wince that contorted my face. "Still want to walk, da?"
I glared, crossing my arms across my chest and wincing as it caused a fire to spread through my chest. "Naturally."
It made him laugh, his hulking figure standing up before opening the door. "Then, walk."
Now, understand that escape was very possible at this point. He was tempting me with it, dangling it in front of my face much like holding sweets in front of a child's nose. Gritting my teeth, I pushed past him and limped a few feet, panting and holding in my pained groans as I did so. It wounded my pride so much more that the stairs were in front of me and yet, there was no possible way I could leave Alfred behind- and the Russian bastard knew it.
Slowly I walked, leaning against the wall every few feet and ignoring the dark chuckles behind me, laughing every time I stumbled or closed my eyes. I would not give up. I would not cave in, at least not until I was out of his sights. It didn't help that my lungs were alight in my chest with the effort to not make sounds at every movement coupled with the pain of having my chest stomped a few times under those heavy, black boots. It felt like ages that I had taken with every step, frowning a bit with every weakness I showed and every falter in my stoic appearance. I was the British fucking Empire and I didn't show weakness.
The walk back to the holding cell was long, slow, and torturous. It felt like hours that I had been walking down that cold, stone-paved floor, though I knew it must not have been more than twenty minutes. By the time we had gotten to the oak door and he swung the accursed thing open, I barely had any strength to stand. His eyes were already focused on Alfred as I was pushed inside the door, not bothering to catch myself as I stumbled. Alfred stood, stepping quietly around me as if I were a loose stone in the floor.
The pangs in my heart at that action hurt far worse than the physical pangs from my chest. It was little known to me that I would not see him again for a long while, even as the oak door closed I had not the faintest inkling going through my exhausted, tired mind. My breaths were in short gasps and somehow, I felt as if I couldn't move. It hurt too much, and I was too far gone, to do much more than lay and pant in the middle of the frozen stone floor.
I lay there for two, maybe three hours, staring at the flecks of snow drifting in through the bar windows as I wheezed, finding it incredibly difficult to breathe. Eventually I had found the strength in myself to crawl over to the stone bench, leaning against the wall and staring at the one opposite me in the semi-darkness. Waves danced in front of my eyes as I fought sleep, because I feared that if I allowed the bittersweet dark to claim me I wouldn't wake.
With stunning resilience, a thought struck me hard in the frontal lobe as I blinked at the idea. The mobile, beneath the bench- I had forgotten I had hid it there and then still that I had the lifeline in the first place. It made my heart soar in hope, and I leaned forward (wheezing in pain as I did so), grabbing the small green and black machine and desperately fumbling with it to turn it on.
Nothing was on my mind other than calling my one and only lifeline- because I couldn't lose hope in this situation. I knew that, if I did, I would be good as dead (let alone Alfred, and I could not let that happen). Taking a shuddery breath, I punched in the numbers and prayed for an answer.
