applesaucedream | [closed] When all turns out to be unjust, then I'll turn back and help you out

The supervisor remains quiet as he flips through a few pages. "Doesn't say much. But at least one of our employees was badly hurt, almost didn't survive." He unclips the first page and hands it over to Daniel.

Name: Jackson, Seth
Inmate number: J-19-5-20-8
Age upon commitment: 28
Date of commitment: November 12th, 2012

Further down the page, there's a section for comments on his behavior and health. In addition to what the supervisor has already spoken it, it also mentions suicidal and self-destructive behavior, resisting treatment, paranoia, aggression.

Most of the rest of the information on the page is either not relevant to Seth himself, or it covers things the supervisor has already said. That is, until the bottom, where under background it mentions he originates from Manchester and London, 2012, in a very similar universe. That he's the only child of a working class single mother, and that he never graduated and got his A levels. That he's a drug dealer.

Basically, Seth's subconscious is just tossing private information about his past at Daniel.

Daniel gets as far as the health and behavior records before his careful mask of neutrality cracks, noticeably, as he blanches and swallows hard in an effort to contain it. Going through the extra information on Seth's background feels invasive. Daniel wishes to god he hadn't obtained it this way, intruding and reading those secrets laid bare without consent.

He reaches the end of the form and has to take a surreptitious, steadying breath.

God.

He doesn't know what to do with any of this. He just wishes - god, he wishes he could unlearn all of it; he's just trespassed on something incredibly private, more or less tripped and fell into Seth's personal backyard cemetery of all the things he probably never wanted Daniel to know, least of all like this.

With meticulous care, he hands the sheet back to the supervisor. Some of the words, most prominently the ones delineating Seth as suicidal and self-destructive and a drug dealer, stick fast behind his eyelids as he shuts his eyes, rubs a thumb against the bridge of his nose, and works to regain his composure.

They can call it what they like: forced cooperation, enhanced interrogation, pressured collaborative efforts, whatever deceptive lexicon of euphemisms they choose. It's torture, and Seth's had to endure it for months without even the basic right to his own name.

Daniel swallows again, working against the reverse gravitational weight of the knot that's somehow formed in his esophagus.

"What are you going to do with him?" he asks quietly, desperately trying not to let any of that tamped down emotion leak through. "You're not going to keep him here indefinitely." The question mark hovers just past the range of the statement, low-pitched with disbelief.

The supervisor doesn't seem to notice Daniel's emotions whatsoever, because the supervisor is not the outlet and physicalisation of Seth's emotions. But the fluorescent lights in the interrogation room flickers, and everything seems a bit darker.

"Well, that rather depends on him, doesn't it?" he answers blankly. "You seem to have a particular interest in this one. Would you like to speak to him?"

"I think that might be a good idea," Daniel replies slowly, remaining ever circumspect. "Perhaps there's a chance I could," he pauses to wet his lips, working out the best way to phrase it, "discuss some of his options. Possibly find a way to make his...correspondence with you less, ah, forceful."

Daniel isn't typically one to speak so delicately about something like this, but fortunately circumlocution is one of his finer areas. And, more importantly, if it'll allow him a window to communicate with Seth, it's worth it. He doesn't think he can physically stand to keep watching this.

"By all means, if you think you can make him more manageable, you're welcome to try," the supervisor answers, spreading his hands out. "I'll take you to his room. Though he'll likely be tired now."

The man leads the way out of the room and down some hallways, into a different and pretty high-security section, though it seems to take them no time at all to get there.

"I've got things to attend to, but I'm sure you'll manage on your own." Not like J-19 is much a threat in his current condition, especially to someone like Daniel. "Just call for a guard when you want out," he says, and lets Daniel into the room.

It's pretty large, but it's still quite obviously a cell. Heavy metal door, brick walls, chilly stone floor, the air heavy and stale. There's not really any furniture apart from the toilet in the corner and the bed Seth is lying on, staring up at the ceiling. There's a stack of books next to him, but not really much else. He doesn't move when Daniel enters, not yet.

It's a surprise that someone's here already, though. Why would he be taken back to his room if someone wanted to speak to him immediately after? Perhaps the interrogation room was about to be used by someone else. He doesn't really care. He assumes the man Seth hasn't turned to look at yet is here to get the power Seth just took from the girl.

He has to suppress yet another shudder as they move deeper into the facility, taking stock of the steady increase of security with a sinking heart. He'd been nursing the fragile hope that he could try to get Seth out now but it's not looking favorable.

Of course, that's no guarantee that Daniel won't try regardless.

He enters the cell after only a minute of hesitation. The interior of this place is, if possible, even unfriendlier than that of the interrogation area. Somehow the minimal effort they applied to make it more personal simply backfired; the stack of books doubtless meant to serve as his sole form of entertainment are just a perverse reminder of how little power Seth has here. It's all engineered submission.

Daniel sucks in a tight breath as the weighted door slams shut behind him - for maximal security purposes he guesses, but it still triggers a prickle of unease. Whether that's for Seth's sake or his own is unclear. He sucks in a preparative breath, the air chilled and painful in his lungs, takes in the spartan accommodations in one flick of his eyes, and jabs his hands into his pockets in a pointless attempt to warm them.

"Hi," he says unnecessarily, and it strikes him that there's a very real possibility that this room is being monitored. Whatever he says to Seth, it has to be discreet. Daniel is not excellent at discreet.

"J-19," he tries again, hating that he has to say it, working to keep his tone light and conversational. As far as anyone here knows, they don't know each other and Daniel should continue acting as such. "Your file said your name is 'Seth'. Can I call you Seth?"

Which is a perfectly normal thing to ask. Familiarizing oneself with an individual in an interrogative situation is a perfectly natural tactic. It creates an emotional bond to make negotiations easier. The people here should know that.

It's not until the voice says his name that there's a twinge of familiarity there. Seth looks over, and his chest seems to constrict, like someone just put a boulder on it.

The memories of Daniel seem very distant, like it's been years, and Seth's not sure how to feel. Hopeful? Betrayed?

His mind is working too sluggishly for him to decide. It would not be the first time someone he considered a friend has been used against him. What's Daniel even doing here? Is he working for them now? He does his best to strangle the glimmer of hope that seems to have flared up inside him. The sound of Daniel's voice saying Seth's designation seems to ring through his mind.

He slowly swings his legs out of bed and sits up, hands gripping the side of his bed. Daniel looks all wrong in here. So stiff and proper and... Not cold, exactly, no. Perhaps it just feels like he should be. Distant and untouchable. Although possibly Seth is just imagining that.

"Okay.." he answers finally, not having to speak very loudly to be heard over the empty silence of the room.

He looks even worse up close. Pale and fragile from months of rough treatment, looking at Daniel guardedly, but he sees the flicker of recognition just beneath. The betrayal.

Daniel forces himself to continue meeting Seth's eyes even if they're hollow and sunken and dismal, straining to communicate I'm here to help without words. He thinks he sees the barest flicker of hope cross Seth's expression but it fades before he can be sure.

He's walking on very, very thin ice. He doesn't know how to tell him and be subtle about it.

"I regret your situation." God, it sounds so flat and stony and horrible when he has to put it that way, lifeless and without admitting responsibility. "And I regret the circumstances that placed you in it." Indirectly blaming Seth for something beyond his control, how nice and considerate of him, but he can't arouse suspicion and he can't make himself obvious.

No, god no he can't do this. Not if Seth still has a modicum of hope that he can escape.

"I think it would be beneficial," he continues, the words have to be calculated and patient and without inflection and he hates it, "if we worked to change it."

All the while Daniel keeps looking at him, facing away from the door and hoping no one but Seth can see his expression, how much he is trying to non-verbally convey that he is going to get him out of here. He is going to at the very least try.

Seth can feel himself harden against Daniel's words, and it becomes very difficult to look at him.

It also becomes very quickly apparent that Daniel doesn't have much power to help him. Nor can he be a friend to him. Strictly professional and distant. Seth feels bitter and angry, because that's much easier, less painful than hoping against hope, than opening himself up to someone who might be able to help.

He smirks, sardonically and without any humour, and reaches out a hand towards Daniel. "Wanna be on fire?"

Then he scoffs and drops the hand, pushing himself backwards on the bed to lean against the wall, legs pulled up and resting his arms on his knees. Not looking at Daniel.

He has to bite back the automatic apology because Seth just radiates weary, practiced hostility, either not picking up on the signals Daniel's desperately trying to send or not caring enough to interpret them. He's not sure which is worse.

No, yes he is.

The latter. Definitely.

I'm sorry, he wants to mouth wordlessly but there's no way to know if anyone will see. He hates this. He loathes this.

Seth's offer of the hand and the caustic remark that follows is somehow worse than anything Daniel had to watch him endure in the other room. This is - this is intentional. This is aware.

How does he alert Seth to any of it? How does he - no, don't turn to look over one shoulder and check if anyone's watching because that's the surest way to raise suspicions and doom them both. He can't act on any of the instincts for compassion, understanding, whatever else he'd ordinarily utilize here. He can't afford to be anything but distant.

"It might change sooner than you think," he says again, and shit that could just as easily be taken as a subtle threat. No, no no no no that's not what he means. "It could be beneficial." No, god that sounds even worse, like he's alluding to some warped form of bribery for comfort or something.

"I can help you." But in context of what he's just said it still sounds like a warning. No, fuck, Daniel's just not very good at this at all, is he?

Seth looks up. If it had been anyone else, it definitely would've sounded ominous. But there's something about the familiar badly-hidden awkwardness at saying the wrong thing. Seth licks his lips a bit, considering.

"What makes you think I want your help?" he answers coldly, then suddenly gets to his feet, squaring his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his fists. Rather than come at Daniel though, he starts pacing the length of the room.

"I've had enough promises about 'beneficial' changes, ta very much," he continues loudly, not looking at Daniel. "And you can take your regret and shove it."

Definitely the wrong thing to say. Daniel doesn't mean to flinch when Seth rises but he does, a horrible reflexive motion mirroring the other man's thoroughly unfriendly disposition. It doesn't help that Seth won't even look at him, just prowls the room while violently discharging his pent-up aggression at the only person present to listen.

It's also rapidly becoming more obvious that however ragged a condition Seth might be in physically, it's probably nothing like the graveyard his mental state must be by now. There's anxiety, animosity, barely contained frustration in each movement, and it's all aimed directly at Daniel.

Daniel, who wants to help but has no idea how, who can only stand there with restless hands and useless sympathy, stripped of his words and his compassion and his fucking pointless understanding, the only weapons he can wield with any accuracy.

"Consider that this might not be a conventional offer," he says, a little too quickly and tersely and desperately and trying not to let any of it leak through.

This is tortuous to watch. And Daniel is so close to just saying fuck it to all of it and -

He can't.

Edited 2014-10-19 00:49 (UTC)

Seth shoots Daniel a warning glare at his words, Seth's own back to the camera now.

"Just--" Seth gestures jerkily, and turns to the wall next to the door, then kicks it out of frustration, breathing heavily. He presses his hands against the wall and leans his head against it wearily for a moment. Then he turns and leans against the wall in the corner, sinking to the floor.

"Just leave me alone," he says clearly, voice rough, but now it's his turn for the words not to match the expression, aggression giving way to desperation, only hoping Daniel won't be too surprised and give him away. He glances pointedly upwards at the camera in the corner above him. This is the only place in the room where they can't properly see him.

Easy enough to fake a tantrum - not like he doesn't actually feel all those things. Hands close to his chest, he gestures carefully for Daniel to come closer, to pretend to check on Seth.

Seeing him actually lash out is even worse than the bottled-down rage from before, but then Seth draws himself into the corner and his expression opens and he looks up at the camera and -

Oh.

Oh.

Daniel tracks the line of Seth's gaze partway but doesn't dare look back at it. He's trusting Seth's reasoning and knowledge of the place here, so he moves toward him with all the righteous authority and purpose of someone about to engage in forcefully corrective behavior. He drops into a slow crouch in front of him, lifting his eyes to stare back at Seth in bare and skittish relief but he's not sure he can vocalize just now. His breaths are shallow, heart thudding in the shock of realization.

His lungs don't feel muzzled in cotton any longer and the room temperature isn't as oppressively glacial and he can actually breathe without the tearing in his throat because he knows now, he's done it, he's gotten through, Seth knows and none of what he said before matters, none of it.

"I'm sorry." Daniel mouths it silently, as diminished and surreptitious as he can. That doesn't even begin to cover what he needs to communicate to Seth right now and it's not even a suitable starting point, but - fuck, it's something. And it's not the arctic distance and detachment he's been forced to display so far. At least.

Edited 2014-10-19 01:40 (UTC)

Seth tenses up when Daniel comes at him, and shit fuck he's made a mistake, he's fucked up. It was just a trick to make Seth reveal what weaknesses he's discovered in their system, and now he's going to pay, at a former friend's hand.

But then when Daniel crouches, there is just no way to fake the look on his face, and Seth breathes a shaking sigh of relief. It's amazing, to see a friendly, kind face.

He wants to reach out and grab Daniel, just hold onto him for a little bit, some physicality to reassure himself, but he resists. He's not sure just how much is hidden from the camera here. Instead he rubs at his knuckles, hands trembling a little.

"They can't hear us if we whisper," he answers in a low hiss. "Especially after I shouted."

It's almost worse seeing him now, with none of the empty defiance or hostility, just Seth and his tremoring, palpable terror and anxiety and panic. There's no reservation here, no barriers or avoidance or fronts for anyone's benefit, just naked dread and paranoia.

And relief. That's the important thing.

"I'm sorry," Daniel can say it aloud, whispered and horrified. "God, I - I'm gonna try and get you out, I promise, I, I don't even know how I - god, I'm so sorry."

He has to fight to keep it at a whisper, but even if his voice breaks by the second apology the volume never peaks. There is no way to transcribe all of it into words, even a linguist can recognize the limitations of human speech, and there wouldn't be enough time regardless. Going on like this in a futile attempt to console him verbally won't help, so he falls silent and reaches out with a discreet hand to grasp at one of Seth's, masking the motion as he shifts his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet. He just - needs for Seth to have tactility that isn't forced power transferals or blunt force trauma or whatever else he's been subjected to here.

Seth swallows at the apology, and his eyes are stinging. It's so good to find out that someone is trying to help him, but he also hates for Daniel to see him like this, and how upsetting it is for him, and paradoxically he wants to comfort Daniel.

He grabs onto Daniel's hand tightly, pressing it to his chest, as if he wants to keep it there, and he smiles weakly.

"Books," he says, whispered voice wavering. "If you lend me books, you can put messages in them."

He'll even behave, so they won't take them away as punishment. And so they'll think it's Daniel's doing that he's behaving too, so they will trust Daniel more. He knows they can't pull off a conversation like this more than once, maybe twice. Perhaps Daniel can find some other way for them to talk, but at least they'll still have a way to communicate until then.

Daniel nods fractionally, understanding. They have no time for extended discussion here but that doesn't mean they don't have a plan. As much as two sentences, one of which was a single word, can be defined as a "plan," anyhow. But it's something, and they can work with that.

The strength of Seth's grip just works to further augment Daniel's resolve. He returns the smile, pained and fleeting, and briefly increases the pressure of his fingers around Seth's hand.

"I'll get you out," he hisses, ironclad conviction punched into each syllable, the final word closed off with the satisfying snap of teeth as he rises, pulls roughly out of Seth's grasp to move away, all the while keeping his back to the camera.

"I'm sure there's something we can do," he says icily, clearly, acting for the camera, "to get your full cooperation. Without any of this."

He bites his lip briefly - he probably overplayed that - but hastily rearranges his expression into something more detached.

Even with the assurance that Daniel will get him out, it still hurts to have him pull away and speak to him so coldly, and Seth wipes at the sudden wetness on his face with his sleeve.

"Yeah," he answers, not bothering to hide how upset he sounds. It works in his favour. "I'm sure we'll be great friends," he says sarcastically. It's remarkably easy to slip right back into the guarded, hostile demeanor he's used to.

Edited 2014-10-19 05:03 (UTC)

It's a week and a half (he can keep track of the days but he realizes with a sickening twist in his gut that Seth has no such luxury) before Daniel can negotiate for Seth to get more books in his cell, employing the emotional sorts of arguments about how if one treats prisoners with humanity they will respond in kind. He's even able to get a message into one of them, something poorly hidden (he is not a cryptographer), by underlining certain letters.

He gets to deliver them by hand - another courtesy extracted through moral debate with a side of strategy after he explained that if he could form a bond with J-19, it might make him more receptive. Not complete bullshit according to most criminal psychologists, but Daniel doubts that sort of thing would work on Seth in actuality.

He spends the entire time expecting something to go wrong at every turn.

But the guard lets him into Seth's cell without a fuss so Daniel can stand awkwardly holding a very short stack of books, one thumb rubbing absently at the cover of the topmost one.

"Morning," says Daniel, glancing down at the books in hand and back up at Seth. "I brought you these. To, um, improve conditions."

It seems to both take forever and no time at all before he gets to see Daniel again. It's not as bad now he's got that little glimmer of hope. Something to look forward to, even if he doesn't know when the time he's waiting for will come. But he can focus on it, he can remind himself when things get bad, and he can keep his head down and do as he's told, even when it's horrible. And less acting out means less punishment.

He sits up quickly when the door opens, and he has restrain himself not to show the happiness and relief at seeing Daniel again.

"Is it morning?" he asks, doing his best to sound detached and unconcerned.

"Technically." His tone is light but not friendly as he moves to carefully put the books on top of those already present. "It's a quarter to noon."

Daniel has to work to keep his steps unhurried as he moves away, back to the door and hands in pockets. He's supposed to be the person in power here, and it takes an astronomical effort to keep everything from body language to facial expression as dispassionate and controlled as everyone else here.

"Have you given any thought," he asks after an indecisive pause, "to the possible advantages of your full cooperation?" Is he getting better at this? Should he be worried that he's getting better at this? Should he be worried that he's been able to play this part for so long?

It wouldn't matter, in any case; right now he's primarily worried about Seth.

Funny how time seems to lose all meaning when you can't see the sun and they always leave the light on.

He glances down at the books, taking a deep breath to keep his hands steady as he reaches to pick them up, under the guise of simply checking out which titles he's gotten. Not overly interesting, but he'll read them anyway - even if he weren't expecting secret messages.

"To be fair," he answers slowly. "I can't say I've been uncooperative lately. Soo..." Still treading the line between sarcastic bastard and willing subject. Well, alright, he still leans more towards sarcastic bastard, but it's still true that he's cooperated.

"I'm happy to hear that."

Daniel doesn't look at him directly but stays focused on a more distant point, specifically the section of gray wall just beyond Seth's left shoulder. He's afraid of what he might inadvertently communicate to Seth's captors if he meets the other man's eyes and can't tamp down the automatic emotional response quickly enough. He has to stay detached. He has to stay detached.

He has to stay detached.

"I think you should start weighing your options. You've been here for a while." Like Seth needs reminding. But he needs to work in his point - "There's no reading between the lines here."

Daniel's composure slips as he says it, barely. He folds and his eyes dart to lock with Seth's and then back again, but the words are dull and patient and spoken without inflection, the model of obedience. And the mother of all subtle signals. All right, so it was a poor job, but it doesn't matter if Daniel got the message across.

"Right..." he answers slowly. It's hard to miss the meaning of the words, when he's focusing so completely on Daniel. He gives a small nod, his grip tightening a little on the books. He can tell Daniel is just playing a part here, same as him, but it's still uncomfortable.

"I will. ...I am," he answers, intentionally letting the hostility drop for the moment. As an admission that he's going to cooperate. Even if there's nothing he'd like to do less. But if he makes it seem like Daniel is making progress with him in the way the rebels want him to, then surely Daniel will have more leeway.

Seth wonders how Daniel got here. Did he only join to get Seth out and it's all for his benefit, or does Daniel really think they're going good works? Is Seth just the exception, or is Daniel trying to improve things for all of them, whoever else is locked up in here? When Daniel says he'll get him out, what does he mean by that? Free to go anywhere in Manhattan perhaps, as long as Seth still works for them, like it used to be? Or will he be able to leave for good?

He looks down at the books, unable to look at Daniel anymore, his chest tightening.

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