Tom didn't sleep at all last night. He spent his time ransacking the room in a fit of anxious rage - desperate to escape his prison and subsequent fate. He toppled over furniture, tried to break down the door several times to no avail, and kept barreling into walls until he was beaten tired. He was surprised nobody came in to shut him up with all the noise he was making.
He tore up his outfit – he didn't care if it was made just for him in mind, or how expensive it might've been. The fancy clothes felt constraining along with everything else in this damned hell hole, and he needed them gone! Panting, his body sore from running himself ragged and his throat hurt from screaming, Tom sat on the ground in front of the door, arms over his knees as he lowered his head. Here he was a grown adult and yet he felt more like a scolded child on time-out.
His thoughts turned to his friends. They must be so scared… How dare Commie do this to them? Just to get to me no less? I hope they are okay… wherever they are right now…
Exhaustion and boredom made it hard to stay awake but Tom fought through the fatigue. Also, he had no idea what time it was. No clock or windows in the room made it hard to tell whether it was close to morning. Feeling defeated, Tom struggled with his ripped, torn apart outfit in favor of adorning his usual hoodie and sweatpants that were much more comfortable and provided him a small sense of familiarity in this abnormal scenario.
He slumped against the far wall and sat down. His tired hollow eyes flitted about the room briefly before he buried his head between his arms and knees and sighed warily.
He closed his eyes for what must've been only a couple of seconds when he heard footsteps echoing outside his room. Tom opened his eyes as the door unlocked and he lifted his head when the door creaked open.
"Good morning, Tom!" Tord greeted cheerfully, a wide grin on his face as he stood near the doorway. Tom didn't say a word. "Hope you had a pleasant night."
Tom scowled. "I didn't sleep. Just so you know."
"Ah, so you are speaking to me. Excellent!" Tord's eye gleamed. Taking note of the state of the room and the dark bags under his betrothed's eyes, Tord tutted in disapproval. "Honestly, Thomas, what did you hope to achieve with this?"
"I can do whatever I want." Tom ground out. "Just let me go."
Pretending he didn't hear him, Tord sidestepped and motioned for Tom to follow. "Come, beloved. We have a lot of work to do."
"Don't call me that!" Tom spat. "And I refuse to go anywhere with you! Just let me go damnit."
"That's a shame…" Tord hummed with mock contemplation. "I figured a trip in the city would be great for you. Some fresh air away from this dingy, stuffy room of yours…"
That caught Tom off guard. Leave the ship? This could be his only chance to get away. But what about Edd and Matt? They'll understand. He thought, his stomach churning. If they were in my shoes they would flee and get help.
"But I guess if you rather stay here instead, who am I to object?" Tord moved to close the door.
"No!" Tom barged past him. He whipped around, squaring his shoulders. "I'll go."
Tord smirked. "Splendid!" He offered his hand for Tom to take. Not surprisingly, Tom scoffed and walked away without a second glance.
"Why are you here?" Tom asked, grouchy.
"This is my ship." Tord stated matter of factly, a smug grin on his face as he fell in step with the Brit.
Tom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get that. But where's Patrick?"
"Ah. I have allowed him a small break from his duties for the foreseeable future." Tord explained, leaning closer to Tom. "I believe Paul and him are frolicking around the city sightseeing as we speak."
"How generous of you." Tom said, his voice clipped.
"Indeed." Tord smiled with all his teeth. "I wanted to spend some time alone with you with no disruptions."
Figures. Tom's frown deepened and he hurried his step, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the Commie as possible.
They disembarked the ship to a sunny, stone dock. Seagulls flew overhead cawing to each other, and people mingled around the place selling goods in their propped up stalls while others wandered the streets. The smell of fish and salt drifted in the breeze. The weather wasn't too hot nor too cold, just right. If this was a vacation trip with his friends, Tom would've enjoyed taking his time walking down the dock.
"Alright, we're all set to go now." Tord's voice spoke close to his ear, spooking him. Tom whipped around, his eyes widening as he saw the group of soldiers trailing behind them.
"What's this?"
"Protection." Tord smiled innocently. "As Red Leader it is important to have good security around at all times. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Not that I'm complaining," Tom began dryly. "But this seems contradictory to your goal."
Tord chuckled, his eye sparking with mirth. "You'll hardly even notice them." He locked arms with Tom and started pulling him down the street. "Now come along! We have a lot to see here."
Like everything as of late in his life, Tom had no choice but to walk arm in arm with Tord as they looked around the street. Tom grit his teeth, highly uncomfortable. It was obvious Tord was trying to force him into a casual… romantic setting; like they are some sort of loving couple on vacation touring the town for the very first time. It made for an even more obnoxious setting when Tord dared to lean his head on his shoulder.
Can this day get any worse? Tom shuddered.
They walked into a textile shop run by a friendly old lady. Tord pulled away from Tom to talk to her rapidly in a different language Tom couldn't comprehend. Not that he cared. He was just glad to take a break from Tord for a moment.
Surveying the old shop, Tom stepped gradually closer to the exit as Tord was otherwise preoccupied talking to the owner. The old lady spoke fervently, clapping her hands excitedly as she went around the back and brought out a couple of different coloured textiles to showcase. Seeing Tord was busy looking at the options, Tom seized this opportunity to try and escape.
He opened the door only to barge face first into an absolute wall of a man. The Red Army soldier glared at him and promptly turned Tom around and shoved him back into the shop.
"Ah, Tom!" Tord looked at him eagerly. "You appeared just in time. What color do you prefer? White or blue?" He held up the two different textiles in each hand and waited for his input.
"Uhh… Blue?"
Tord spoke to the old woman, who nodded with approval, and started ringing him up.
This went on for several hours.
Up next, they went to a flower shop. A big greenhouse-like structure with a wide myriad of plants at their disposal. While Tord busied himself with looking around the shop, the store owner eagerly showing him around and demonstrating the best flowers he had, Tom planned another escape attempt. He managed to unscrew the flap over the air vent, and he ducked inside - army crawling his way to freedom through the tight space.
The structure creaked beneath his weight, and next thing he knew Tom was sent spiraling down the vent and landing unceremoniously on top of a shelf of flower pots.
Without batting an eye at the destruction, Tord gently picked him up to show him the flower arrangement he bought, much to Tom's increasing chagrin. It didn't help when Tord idly brushed his hair back away from his eyes and handed him a blue rose. Tom was not amused to say the least.
Afterwards, they went to a local restaurant that was famous around the region for its traditional cuisine. While Tord spoke to the head chef and owner of the establishment, Tom tried to appear disinterested and casual as he shuffled closer and closer to the back exit but the bodyguards kept their vigilant eyes on him at all times and made it hard to get away.
He turned around only to be surprise spoon fed by Tord. Tom nearly gagged and choked, not expecting the action whatsoever but he quickly recovered. Upon further investigation it wasn't poison or God forbid a love potion in his mouth. It was creamy and sugary, some type of dessert? Tom swallowed and licked his lips of the leftover frosting.
"Thomas, come take a look at the menu." Tord handed him the clipboard, looking over his shoulder. "There are a lot of options here. I'm not sure whether we should have a self-service with an open bar type deal, or something a bit fancier like a six course meal for every guest."
Tom furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you on about now?"
"The dinner service?" Tord reminded kindly. When his words did nothing to bring recognition to his betrothed's eyes he reiterated. "For our wedding?"
And then it hit him as though he'd been run over by a semi-truck. Tom's eyes widened and he pulled away from Tord. "You're insane if you think I'm going to willingly help you plan out this sham of a wedding!" He exclaimed furiously. "God! This whole time you've been pulling me around town… just to prepare for a wedding that's not going to happen? What's wrong with you?"
"Ah, but it is going to happen. One way or another." Tord said calmly. "I figured you would appreciate having a bit of control over your own wedding. I didn't need to bring you along, you know? I could have picked out everything by myself, and let you rot in your bedroom for the duration of the day. But I want to be a good husband, and as such I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. It's your wedding, too, after all. You deserve to have a say in this."
"Is that so? Then you might as well cancel this wedding because I won't marry you."
"Your… willingness is not mandatory. You will marry me, and we will rule the world. That's already been decided." Tord stated. He leaned closer and draped his robotic arm around Tom's shoulders. "But! Your happiness solely depends on how much you fight me. If you keep being stubborn, I'm afraid you'll only hurt yourself. Play along and I will grant you certain privileges… and freedom." He spun Tom around and took his left hand in his right one, and Tom felt the cold, unyielding metal against his palm. "I assure you won't be unhappy in our marriage for long, but as long as you keep making yourself feel miserable you should at least take charge over the little control I am willingly handing to you. Things can go very smoothly for you from here on out if you give in. Now… What's it gonna be? Fish soup or crab meat bruschetta's for the first course?"
Tom frowned, mulling over his thoughts for several seconds. "... I like crab better."
Beaming, Tord nodded and pulled him into a hug, nuzzling him.
"Just tell me this," Tom murmured through gritted teeth, stiff in Tord's embrace and refusing to reciprocate. "Is it going to be a dry wedding?"
Tord chuckled fondly. "No! Of course not!"
"Oh thank god."