FIC: Counting the Signs (1/1)

[nilchance]

Title: Counting the Signs
Author: nilchance
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Bit of Deathknell, set after Threw Away the Sun. Unbetaed.



They went to Alaska. Their temporary shelter was a Japanese outpost off of Juneau, a heavily guarded bunker that overlooked the Stephens Passage. None of them were allowed to know the specifics of their location; Jensen only knew the concrete walls and the deep, freezing water below their windows. There were soldiers stationed outside the VIP quarters, and a Japanese doctor who examined Jensen daily with brisk, cool hands.

There was food and water, a roof over their head. Jeff and Christian worked away on politics, but Jared was his quiet shadow. There was a data library on hand, but Christian brought other books for him to read, poetry and fiction. Jared would've been happy to talk, but Jensen didn't have any words. He knew his cover story. The truth stayed trapped behind his ribs.

He was cold all the time now. Too tired to sleep, his eyes burning from trying to read up on all the things he needed to know: Alaskan penal codes, the local history, conversational Japanese and Aleutian. He'd been dozing off on the carpet again when Jared caught him this morning, and ordered him to go do something "relaxing". That seemed to be Jared's way of telling him to get clean. Jensen didn't quite get their bizarre fixation on daily grooming. It wasn't like any of them were screwing him anyway.

Their quarters had a small, tight bathroom with a makeshift soaking tub. The tub was a new addition, which Jensen might've felt guilty for if he could've stood the thought of standing under a showerhead. Even the sound of flowing water near his face and mouth made him twitch. Too much like training with Nikki, the iron-tasting hosewater pouring and pouring over his nose and mouth until he choked on it.

So, the tub. It wasn't much better, but they wouldn't let him get by on a wet washcloth and no-wash shampoo. Besides, if Christian could shower, Jensen could damn well manage.

The gray water rippled around him as he shifted, the bones of his ass and spine grinding into the metal sides of the tub. Steam rose off his skin where he broke the surface, the bandages on his throat and arm beading up water and letting it roll harmlessly away. His body looked strange under the distorting liquid, pale as the ice on the Passage. Funny how he had never looked at himself before; the body was the enemy, the foreign country to be conquered and remade.

His ribs showed under the skin of his stomach like the bars of a cage. His stomach curved away from them and down, concave until the handlebars of his hips. Fine white fuzz had risen up on his arms and legs since the last time he noticed such things, which Jensen recognized as a sign of too little food for too long. Dr. McCoy had told him as much, along with how many calories a day he was supposed to eat.

Meals came on schedule. He ate. Most of the time, it stayed down. They all watched him, and not with the wary suspicion of the guards. No, it was genuine concern. Christian brought him books and touched him on the shoulder. Jared put the ends of his half-completed afghan over Jensen's feet and told him he looked cold. Even Jeff kept checking in to be sure Jensen was okay, whatever that meant when he was banned from three countries and had Bentley gunning for him.

It didn't make any sense. Worse, the more he thought about it, the less calm he could be. Anger kept rising up from his stomach into his throat, choking him, making him want to snarl or dig his fingernails into his arms. There wasn't enough room in their quarters to hold him. He wanted to pace, but they wouldn't let him, kept telling him to rest. Just close his eyes and die that way, comfortable and satisfied.

Not fair. Not even marginally. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and rocked himself in the cocoon of warm water until the chaos inside subsided.

"Still doing okay?" Jared's voice from outside the door. They'd compromised on Jared watching him bathe, so Jared just sat with his back against the doorframe and listened to be sure Jensen didn't slit his wrists.

Jensen wondered if Jared expected some kind of sound effect. The last time he'd slashed a man's throat, it had been a quiet death. "I'm fine, Jared."

"All right." The clicking of the needles paused. "Kane's here with lunch."

Christian had interrupted a strategy session to be sure Jensen ate. The anger twitched in its sleep; Jensen pressed against the rim of the tub until it ached, and that quieted the urge to snarl. He would be good. "I'll be out."

It only took a few minutes to scrub dry and dress, the new clothes still strange-feeling against his skin. Too supple, like he could forget he was dressed. He stepped out into the hallway and Christian was just there, a tray of food in his hands.

"Hey," Christian said shortly, and nudged him towards the doorway. When Jensen looked at Jared, Christian added, "Just you and me.C'mon, I need a change of scenery."

A change of scenery apparently meant going down the hall, but Jensen hadn't even gone that far in the last few days. The industrial door opened into lush, sweet-smelling green. A garden tucked in a bunker in an icy tundra; it made no sense, but it was nice anyway. Christian led him to a small, glossy table at floor-level, then put the tray down.

They ate in relative quiet. Christian didn't make small talk, using the provided chopsticks to eat the simple chicken, vegetables and rice. Morgan had trained Jensen (and apparently all of her slaves) how to eat with them, but they felt clumsy in his hand. Jensen eyed the broth and tofu chunks that had come with his food, and decided to ignore them for the moment. Maybe Christian would forget they were there.

Ha.

Without looking up from his meal, Christian said, "You look rested."

Jensen shrugged.

"You read that book the intake shrink recommended?"

Mindfulness Meditation for Liberated Individuals. Jensen finished it in under two hours, with plenty of notes. "Yeah."

Christian grinned. "It was as bad as it looked, huh."

Ducking his head, Jensen smiled back. "Pretty bad."

"Figured." Christian nudged free another piece of chicken and picked it up. "So how long are you going to do this song and dance?"

And so the point emerged. Jensen didn't sigh, though he felt like it. "Which song and dance?"

"The ideal rehabbing slave. The shrink even put that in your file. I'll give you credit, you're convincing."

"You think I'm doing something wrong?"

"No. I think you're doing everything right. It's perfect. I'm very impressed."

That shouldn't sting like being rebuked by Morgan. Jensen stabbed a piece of chicken and pushed it into the sauce. A few dozen responses rose to mind, from 'don't be mad at me' to 'you have no fucking right.' In the end, he said, "What do you want?"

Christian put his hands down on the table hard, rocking the plates and the tea cups. Jensen jerked upright before he remembered moving, holding the chopstick for a killing strike. With a glance at Jensen's hand, Christian said, "I want you to be angry, Jensen. I want you to throw things, and yell, and make stupid mistakes."

His throat felt tight and hot. "There's no room for mistakes."

"You're free. And that includes being free to screw up. Nobody's going to hurt you. Might get pissed right back and yell, but there's no whips up here, no brands. I know you're angry, I can see it. You should be angry."

"Thank you for your permission," Jensen shot back, then swallowed and looked down at the food. "I'm okay."

"You will be." There was quiet noise as Christian refilled his teacup and adjusted things back into serene perfection. "You try to hold that in and it'll kill you. I didn't find you just to watch you climb a clocktower somewhere."

"I found you," Jensen corrected. It didn't come out as calmly as he'd like.

"Mm. Is that the problem?" Christian nodded and refilled Jensen's cup, too. His motions were smooth, assured. There was muscle on his arms, not the skinny ropes over Jensen's bones. Lean, graceful muscle that could do real damage. "You're right, little brother. You found me. I've been looking for you, but you found me first."

I've been looking for you. Simple words, but Jensen felt his insides spilling out. He swallowed hard, then had to pick up the teacup and sip it. It was hard to drink, his throat locked up. It was just words, but... God. Christian didn't know how much Jensen had wanted to hear that. Or how much he didn't deserve to.

When he could talk, Jensen said, "Nikki's dead."

Christian didn't flinch. His expression was carved stone. "We got your message. Thank you."

Damn it, he didn't understand. It'd be so easy to let it go, to let Christian be nice to him and call him little brother. He twisted the cup on the table, endless circles. When Christian's hand covered his own, Jensen twitched and nearly upset the cup.

"What?" Christian murmured.

Jensen's eyes stung, stupidly. He exhaled, then said, "I was with her when she died."

"I figured." A shrug. "I didn't want her to be alone."

The laugh tore up Jensen's throat. He tried to pull away from Christian's hand, but Christian held firm. Jensen said, "I could've saved her."

"You were half-starved and beaten. You couldn't have. You'd have died."

"Better me than her."

"Jen," Christian said gently, "she'd kick you in the balls if she could hear you. It was only ever Edward's fault. And if you died, Jeff would be dead now. So shut up."

Some part of Jensen wanted to grind Christian's perfect calm into dust. He remembered the wet crunch of bone, Nikki's pain, the stench. He remembered that Edward had left her body out for the dogs, and that when he snuck out to bury her, the ruin of her face. He could hurt Christian, get him to go away and leave him alone. He could make them give up on him.

But Christian was Morgan's. He'd expect a strike now, right after reaching out. Hell, he was probably counting on one. It was the expected thing to do. Bad strategy.

Yeah. Like that was his only reason.

"She spat in his face before she died." Jensen looked at their twined hands, Christian's tan against his skin. Christian seemed so much more vivid, flesh against a ghost. "Nikki, I mean."

Christian made a sound that could've been a laugh. He looked down, hair concealing his face, but it didn't hide that the wound was still raw. "That's my girl."

A few moments passed. Christian bled warmth like a heater, and Jensen wanted to squirm away even as he wanted to curl up beside him and doze. Before he realized he was going to speak, he blurted, "I think she was trying to save me."

And there it was, the naked truth. He'd lived a life that wasn't worth her death. Christian had loved her. Jeff needed her now. All they had was Jensen, broken inside, infectious and corrupted.

With a last squeeze, Christian released Jensen's hand. He picked up his own cup and raised it, a toast over barracks food and tea with protein powder. Christian smiled, a real one that was like being punched in the stomach, and said, "Then you'd better live."

"That's helpful." Jensen sighed and raised his cup. "I'm trying, Christian."

"I know." The corners of Christian's eyes crinkled up as he tapped their cups together. "Baby steps. First? Drink your soup so Jared doesn't try to puppy-eyes you to death."

His own laugh took Jensen by surprise.