(Untitled)

[beentodamascus]

The bookshelf was giving Adam more and more books written in Farsi, and he was taking it as an opportunity to practice; his Farsi had never been as fluent as his Arabic, and he'd always felt like he didn't have enough time to polish up. Time, time. All he had on his bloody hands now was time

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[thedescent_into]

Without truly realizing it, Sarah avoids the kitchen as much as possible. The whole building, really. If she's going to feel trapped, she'd rather box herself in someplace familiar, and even after a year the building is completely foreign to her. She comes in to shower and sometimes to eat, when fruit and fish and meat she's hunted herself aren't quite enough. She craves coffee today, even though she stopped needing the buzz a long time ago. Sometimes she craves something from home.

She fixes herself a cup and sits down beside him without a word. Fist closed tightly, his knuckles were blanched of color, thoughts thousands of miles away, and the empty look in his eyes was one she recognized. It was all too familiar.

[beentodamascus]

He knew that she was there. He knew that she was there, but it was like being wrapped in plastic, encased in glass. He knew that she was there, knew that he was in the room with her, and couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't response.

His hand had gone numb around the brooch, around Fiona's brooch.

He'd pinned it onto her nightshirt for her, and then they'd made love in rumpled sheets with the curtains open, before Wes woke up.

And it had been perfect, and then, a couple of hours later, everything had gone to shit.

[thedescent_into]

"Adam," she says finally, gentle but firmly. She's well aware of the danger of startling him, now or any time. You don't startle a man like Adam, just as you always tread carefully around a woman like Sarah.

[beentodamascus]

"Sarah," he said, and it came out weak, came out a whimper, and his head dropped a little, a breath slipping out of him. "Oh, Jesus, Sarah."

He couldn't move. Everything was wound too tight. He was wired together, wired closed.

[curiously_cora]

There was something in the room with her. Something moving in the shadows. She could hear it scuttling across the floor. Stumbling back Coraline ran from the room and ran straight into something.

"There, there. I'm here now, mother is here." Her mother said, papery hands stroking her hair. Coraline realising her mistake pulled away, screaming in fear. The other mother held out a pair of dark buttons. "This won't hurt a bit and then you won't be a problem daughter anymore."

"No, No, No!" Coraline woke, half terrified clinging to her blankets. Sobbing Coraline stumbled from her room where she had been sleeping after a tiring day with Lucy. Coraline was running, barefoot, to Adam's when she saw him in the kitchen. Coraline sniffed and tugged on his shirt. "Adam?"

[beentodamascus]

He heard her. He could hear her, but he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't focus. He remembered sitting in the dark and hearing Malcolm and Jo screaming at him. And he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Jesus, Adam. She needs you. Jesus.
Adam.

[curiously_cora]

"Adam?" Coraline asked again, wiping the tears from her face and looked at Adam properly. He was like a statue. Coraline looked around the room for her, in case she had done this to him- turned him into a statue. "Adam."

In the stories all a prince would have to do was kiss the princess, she didn't think it was quite the same here. Climbing onto his lap, Coraline wrapped her arms around him. It was like hugging warm stone. "Don't make him into a statue, please. I'll be good, I'll be a good daughter."

[beentodamascus]

He broke. Something inside him, some of the wires that had been holding him closed, something gave, something snapped and he sagged forward, against her, around her, his arms coming around and holding her more solidly in his lap.

"I've got you," he said, the words coming out strangled, barely there. She was so slight, so small, his hand, fingers spread, covered the small of her back almost entirely. His other hand stayed curled into a fist.

"I'm here."

[easiertohate]

Ros had a pattern to her days. Patterns kept you sane, she thought, not for the first time. Immediately she tried to remind herself this place wasn't a form of torture, that people enjoyed being here. Still, a pattern was what she had, her morning spent exercising herself til near exhaustion. Until the only thing you could think of was the next step, the next movement

[beentodamascus]

He heard her like she was a long way away, or he was. Like one of them was a long way away. Like Jo shouting at him through an earpiece. Like the monsters were coming, stalking down dark corridors.

Coming to eat him alive.

He couldn't move.
He couldn't breathe.

All that he could see was Fiona's face.

[easiertohate]

It was when he didn't react that she started to worry. Her eyes narrowed, the cup left to sit on the table abandoned as her hand reached for his.

"Adam. Adam," she said his name sharply, snapping it out, "Adam, what's going on?"

[beentodamascus]

He knew his name. He could hear it, and he knew who was saying it. The brooch was warm and heavy in his hand, which reminded him of it pinned to the front of Fiona's nightie as she'd let him lean over her in the bed. Oh, God. Oh, God.

[9mmshotglass]

Coffee was the first thing on her mind when she walked into the kitchen and then she stopped, stilling, and then all desire for it fled. She moved, her voice tight in her throat, urgent. She knew that look. She knew it. Shock and horror and memory.

"Adam."

Silence.

"Adam?"

There was no approximation, no English translation, of the phrase she uttered (it took away from the Farsi meaning, ground it into something that sounded stupid). He was gone, gone like Crews in one of those moments. Her fingers closed around his wrist, the pressure firm, there.

"Come back," she said throwing every ounce of firmness behind her voice. "Come back."

[beentodamascus]

He knew that she was there. He could hear her, dimly, as though coming from a long way away, and he could smell her, oddly, but he couldn't see her, the veil, whatever it was, drawn around him too tightly to even let him breathe. The sharp, broken edges of the brooch dug into the skin of his palm, drew drops of blood.

Dani's hand was warm around his wrist, but he couldn't really feel the weight of it.

He couldn't really feel anything at all.

[9mmshotglass]

Adam, oh, Adam.

She let him go and cupped his cheeks, murmuring his name gently before pulling him into her arms. The emptiness. Shock. Dani wasn't sure he could even hear her, but she kept talking.

"Breathe," she said, lips against his temple. "Can you do that one thing for me?" Dani really didn't care if he wanted to be touched, she simply held onto him with a gentle firmness. "Just breathe, Adam." Had to be something from home, something vicious, something...something.

Blood drops.

She shifted gently, reached to pull a chair up, and eased herself beside him without breaking her hold on him. She'd sit there as long as it took.

[beentodamascus]

He was breathing. He was trying, but he felt like he was swallowing razorblades. Every breath was a struggle, and he was winning, but barely. The world swum sickly. If you don't breathe, you're going to pass out.

The problem was that every time he drew in a deep breath, he caught the whiff of petrol, clinging in Fi's hair, dripping off her skin and soaked into her clothes.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, sweetheart.

[squint_artist]

Her arms were half full of fabrics piled one on top of the other, silks and cottons and wools in reds and blues and ivories. They made a soft rustling noise as she walked into the rec room, a noise which already had her smiling. She recognized the blond head through the doorway into the kitchen, and that made her smile a little more.

Depositing her booty on the table, she strolled into the kitchen, coming at Adam from behind. She couldn't see his face as she set her hands on his shoulders, but she could see his hand clenched tightly and the unnatural silence hanging around him.

"Adam?" she said softly, frowning now as she moved to his side, her hand trailing along his arm, not breaking contact with him. "Adam, what's wrong?" Gently setting one hand on his cheek, she tried to turn his face towards her.

[beentodamascus]

It felt like being strung together with wires. He knew that she was there, could feel the pressure of her hand on his cheek, but he couldn't, for the life of him, have turned to look at her. Not if it had been a gun pressed into his cheek instead of Angie's warm fingers.

He could see Fiona. He could see her face. He breathed petrol fumes. And it as agony. The whole thing hurt.

[squint_artist]

"Adam," she repeated with a little more strength to her voice this time. "Adam, wherever you are, it's not real. You've gotta wake up."

It scared her to see him like this, more than a little, but she tried to ignore it. Still, she pushed the table a little bit out of the way so she could be in front of him. It wasn't like she was going to move him or his chair. Both hands wrapped around his fist as she tried to catch his eyes again. "Come on, Adam."

[beentodamascus]

Nothing had changed; Angela smelt warm. She smelt like she had when he'd lain beside her with his nose pressed into the hair at the nape of her neck. He was holding onto the brooch so tight that it was drawing blood from the palm of his hand.

Every breath hurt. He dragged them in anyway, and felt his head spin sickly.

"Angie."