Cheesecake 16, Rum Raisin 3, & Sea Salt 10
Author: Casey
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, Post NIEE
Challenges: Cheesecake 16 (One more disaster I can add to my generous supply? - My Treat: Mal feeling defeated), Butter Rum 3 (swab the deck) & Sea Salt 10 (ice)
Toppings & Extras: Caramel, Sprinkles, Malt (Summer Challenge Bunnies 66: if I could turn back time), Fresh Pineapple (Dinner at Eight by Rufus Wainwright)
Word Count: 2338
Rating: PG-13 (death, mental/physical abuse)
Summary: Malcolm Rees has a very, very bad day. Probably the worst of his life.
Notes: Harkens back to this piece involving Mal and Victor. Takes place 6-8 months after that.
Malcolm Rees stared up at the uneven stone ceiling, listening to the guard clomp down the stairs. “Up, all of you! Time to get your assignments for the day.”
There were none of the grumbles usually associated with an early morning, instead, the remaining men sat up quietly, some rubbing eyes and others stretching. Mal silently got to his feet, not happy to see the morning guard was Ralphie, his least favorite of them all. Ralphie grinned at him. “Want to go first, Captain Rees?” Before Mal could respond, he barreled on, “you’re in the main hall, cleaning the floor today.”
“Yes, sir,” Mal said automatically as Ralphie unlocked the cell containing Mal and three of the other prisoners.
Ralphie allowed him to slip past as he trudged over to the supply closet and pulled out a mop and bucket, knowing the main hall was likely to be a complete mess with the slush and mud being tracked in from outside. It was late winter and the ground was just thawed enough to be at its worst. He trekked upstairs, filling the bucket from the tub they left for that reason, and set to work on the floor. A good portion of the rest of his men passed him on their way to their various tasks - Mal knew they varied from polishing swords to cleaning other parts of the compound to kowtowing to the guards. He supposed, in an absent sort of way, that his job for the day could have been worse. That was one of the few concrete thoughts he let pass through his head, trying to keep his entire focus on the cleaning. He knew well that there would be hell to pay if the floor was not spotless by the end of the day - and it was likely to continue to get dirty throughout the day as people passed in and out.
He had been at it for an hour or so when something abruptly slammed into him from behind. Mal stumbled, tripping over his bucket, sending dirty water sloshing across the floor, which he then slipped in, falling face first into the mess. He closed his eyes for a moment without moving, feeling the cold water seep into his clothes. He knew exactly what had just happened.
A foot nudged him sharply in the side and Mal carefully stood up and glanced quickly at his assailant, not surprised to discover it was Ralphie. “I’m waiting for my apology.”
Mal stared as he slowly dripped onto the floor. “Sir?” he said finally, figuring that was the safest possible response, since he did not feel particularly inclined to actually apologize.
“You bumped into me,” Ralphie said, smirking. “So I want an apology.”
He was not sure whether he wanted to roll his eyes or slug the guard more. He kept his hands studiously relaxed, though, and took a deep breath. Anger did nothing except cause more pain here. “I’m sorry for running into you.”
Immediately, Ralphie backhanded him across the face. “For running into you…?” he prompted.
“I’m sorry for running into you, sir,” Mal said wearily, knowing in the back of his mind that only six months earlier, he might have fought back harder. Or not been caught so off guard that he fell in the first place.
“That’s better. Oh, look at that, you have a bigger mess than you started. Better get moving or else you’ll never be done by inspection. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Ralphie asked, smug satisfaction just radiating off him.
Mal twitched but held himself back. “No, sir.”
“Good. See you later, Rees.” With that, the guard sauntered off towards the kitchen. Mal glared after him, using the driest part of his sleeve to dry his face. Then he brushed off what dirt and water he could and began sponging up the spill. He was still soggy, but done with the cleanup and on to a fresh pail of water, when he became aware of a new presence. Warily, he looked up, meeting the sharp gaze of the prison’s leader or warden or whatever Victor’s technical title was. For a second, he panicked, attempting to figure out the days. Mal was certain that his usual weekly date with Victor - in which the man kept in shape by beating him senseless, unless Mal could manage to break free of the two guards holding him, in which case he was allowed to try and fight back - could not be for another two days. The man was nothing if not as regular as clockwork when he wanted to be.
“You’re looking rather damp today, Malcolm.”
“I slipped, sir,” Mal muttered, keeping to work, trying to block out the images that always accompanied Victor’s actual presence in his life - especially that of an arm pressing against his throat as darkness overtook him. He shivered and hoped Victor would attribute it to the chill in the room and his wet clothes rather than a very real fear of him.
“I see.”
Mal kept working diligently as Victor fell silent, although he could feel the other man’s eyes on him.
“How long have you been in charge, Malcolm?”
“Since just after midwinter, sir. About three months.” Two months and twenty-three days, to be exact.
“And did Thurnstrom or any of the others talk to you about their responsibilities as leader?”
Mal paused, wondering what he could possibly mean and deciding instantly that, no matter what, he probably would not like it. “No, sir,” he said slowly.
“Malcolm, I like you to look at me when we’re talking.”
Well, I don’t like to look at you. It gives me nightmares, Mal thought instead of responding. Victor stepped right up to him and grabbed his chin, bringing it up so they were eye to eye.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Victor’s gaze bore into his for a long couple silent minutes. “Come along, Malcolm, we have some business.”
“I’m not done here, sir,” Mal blurted, panic surging freshly. He did not particularly want to disobey Victor - he had done that enough to know the consequences were steep - but he also did not want to be caught with his assigned job unfinished at the end of the day, because the punishment for that would not be much lighter.
“That’s okay. I’m absolving from your other duties to allow you to act as captain,” Victor said with a negligent wave of his hand. “Come.” He finally let go of Mal’s chin and turned, heading across the entry hall to a smaller corridor that Mal had never been down. He hesitated before setting down his mop and moving his bucket out of the way before following. They reached a small door at the end of the hall. Victor knocked and it swung open. Before Mal could really see in, Victor placed a hand on the small of his back and shoved him inside. He stumbled in and blinked in bright room.
It took a moment for Mal to really focus and understand what he was seeing, but once he did, it sent fresh chills down his spine. There were two guards, one of them Ralphie, who had the largest smug grin Mal had yet to see on his face, standing in either corner of the small room, facing him. Between them, tied down into a kneeling position, arms secured behind his back, was one of Mal’s remaining thirty-one men, one of the older men named Warren. Mal knew that Warren had a wife and two-year-old son back home. The little boy had been only three months old when they had shipped north. Warren’s head was down and Mal was not sure if he was conscious.
Mal spun on Victor desperately, already knowing the answer to his question but wanting so badly for his instinct to be wrong. “What the hell is this?”
Ralphie stepped forward and cuffed him hard in the side of the head. “Watch your mouth, Rees.”
Mal ignored him, fully engaged in the situation for the first time in a depressingly long time. “Tell me.”
“You know what it is,” Victor said, that impeccable calm unbothered by Mal’s outburst.
“I won’t do it.”
“Warren attempted to escape this morning after assignments. As you well know, the punishment for attempted escape is death.”
Mal ground his teeth together. “And you expect me to do it. This is what’s broken everyone who has come before me. Thurnstrom, Jameson, all of them.”
Victor inclined his head in agreement.
“I won’t do it. I refuse. I will not kill one of my men.”
“Very well. Ralphie, please go find Lieutenant Marks and bring him here.” He turned to Mal as Ralphie moved towards the door. “Let’s start with the good lieutenant and work our way down then, shall we?”
Mal stared at him in utter horror, suddenly realizing his choice. It was not kill Warren or not, it was kill Warren or watch all the others be slaughtered in front of him. It was a choice he was not sure he could make, but understood - and understood why the others had chosen what they had. Later, he could not even say he had consciously made the decision to make his next move.
As Ralphie brushed past him, Mal grabbed him by the shoulder and, using his forward momentum, threw him into Victor. Before the second guard could react, he jumped them both, fury bubbling over. Not surprisingly, Victor reacted quickly. Although he was side-swiped by Ralphie’s unscheduled flailing, he managed to step around most of it. He caught Mal’s fist and twisted his arm sharply. Mal managed to disengage before Victor snapped it in half but it lost him that split second time advantage. The second guard grabbed him from behind and pulled him back hard, throwing him that way. Mal flew back, smashing into Warren with a grunt and falling to the ground. His head was already spinning, even after just the short altercation, a legacy of the consistent lack of food and generally hard labor.
Mal started to struggle back to his feet, but Warren’s gravelly voice stopped him. “Mal, don’t.”
He turned his head, surprised that Warren was awake. “I can’t just…”
“Yes, you can. Just…just promise me that you’ll get the others out safe and when you do, that you’ll explain to my wife and son how hard I tried to get home.”
“Warren…”
“I’m just sorry you have to do this. If I had known…”
Whatever else Warren might have said was cut off as Mal found himself hauled to his feet and shoved to face Victor. “That was not your smartest move ever, Malcolm.” Mal stared back at him, chin thrust out defiantly. To his surprise, Victor smiled. “But I do appreciate it. I thought you had wimped out on me. It seems I am further from breaking you than I thought when I saw you today. Since you did no real harm, I will give you one more chance, Malcolm. Either you kill Warren or I start killing the others.”
Mal glanced back at Warren and swallowed hard. “I’ll do it,” he said, shoulders slumping even as he forced the words out. “I’ll kill him.”
Victor positively beamed and Mal had to look away, feeling sick. “I thought you might say that!” A moment later, something smooth was pressed into his hand. He glanced down at the knife and closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “Now, Malcolm.”
Mal turned back to Warren, hand holding the knife shaking so hard he was not sure he would be able to follow through. “I’m sorry, Mal,” Warren said, holding his gaze for a moment. “You know…?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mal whispered. “Me too, Warren.”
The other man nodded and then lifted his chin. Mal took a deep breath, steeled himself and then finished the job quickly, trying to make it as painless for Warren as possible and as quick as possible so he could not possibly chicken out. When it was done, he stood without moving for a minute, eyes staring at the blood, at the way Warren slumped in his restraints, the life gone, hand clutching the knife, tempted to plunge it into his own heart. Before he could follow through on that, Ralphie grabbed the knife. When Mal did not immediately relinquish the knife, Ralphie twisted his wrist until the pressure forced his fingers apart.
“The question is,” Victor’s voice sounded in his ear, but Mal did not even jump, everything feeling muffled and distance, “how many more times can you do that until I get the pleasure of seeing you snap.”
Mal turned deadened eyes towards him, waiting for the second shoe to drop. He somehow instinctively knew that he would not be getting away with the earlier attack attempt without punishment.
“What should I do with you, Malcolm,” Victor said easily. He beckoned the two guards over. “Find Malcolm something for his feet. I don’t want to deal with frostbite. Then take him outside and hang him on the whipping post for the rest of the day. Go get him when it gets dark.”
“With pleasure, Boss,” Ralphie said, grabbing Mal by the elbow and pulling him from the room. Halfway to the door, almost to his mop and bucket, Mal dropped to his knees, retching up every last bit of food he had left in his system. Ralphie let him finish before dragging him back up. They paused only to grab him a pair of boots, shove them roughly on his feet before manhandling him outside. Malcolm did not fight them, too numb at what he had just done. They led him out. He automatically held his arms up, letting them latch it in the manacles. Mal dropped his head onto the wooden pole, barely feeling the early spring chill.
He did not move until the two guards had disappeared back in the building. Then, for the first time since their capture, almost two years prior, Malcolm Rees cried.
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, Post NIEE
Challenges: Cheesecake 16 (One more disaster I can add to my generous supply? - My Treat: Mal feeling defeated), Butter Rum 3 (swab the deck) & Sea Salt 10 (ice)
Toppings & Extras: Caramel, Sprinkles, Malt (Summer Challenge Bunnies 66: if I could turn back time), Fresh Pineapple (Dinner at Eight by Rufus Wainwright)
Word Count: 2338
Rating: PG-13 (death, mental/physical abuse)
Summary: Malcolm Rees has a very, very bad day. Probably the worst of his life.
Notes: Harkens back to this piece involving Mal and Victor. Takes place 6-8 months after that.
Malcolm Rees stared up at the uneven stone ceiling, listening to the guard clomp down the stairs. “Up, all of you! Time to get your assignments for the day.”
There were none of the grumbles usually associated with an early morning, instead, the remaining men sat up quietly, some rubbing eyes and others stretching. Mal silently got to his feet, not happy to see the morning guard was Ralphie, his least favorite of them all. Ralphie grinned at him. “Want to go first, Captain Rees?” Before Mal could respond, he barreled on, “you’re in the main hall, cleaning the floor today.”
“Yes, sir,” Mal said automatically as Ralphie unlocked the cell containing Mal and three of the other prisoners.
Ralphie allowed him to slip past as he trudged over to the supply closet and pulled out a mop and bucket, knowing the main hall was likely to be a complete mess with the slush and mud being tracked in from outside. It was late winter and the ground was just thawed enough to be at its worst. He trekked upstairs, filling the bucket from the tub they left for that reason, and set to work on the floor. A good portion of the rest of his men passed him on their way to their various tasks - Mal knew they varied from polishing swords to cleaning other parts of the compound to kowtowing to the guards. He supposed, in an absent sort of way, that his job for the day could have been worse. That was one of the few concrete thoughts he let pass through his head, trying to keep his entire focus on the cleaning. He knew well that there would be hell to pay if the floor was not spotless by the end of the day - and it was likely to continue to get dirty throughout the day as people passed in and out.
He had been at it for an hour or so when something abruptly slammed into him from behind. Mal stumbled, tripping over his bucket, sending dirty water sloshing across the floor, which he then slipped in, falling face first into the mess. He closed his eyes for a moment without moving, feeling the cold water seep into his clothes. He knew exactly what had just happened.
A foot nudged him sharply in the side and Mal carefully stood up and glanced quickly at his assailant, not surprised to discover it was Ralphie. “I’m waiting for my apology.”
Mal stared as he slowly dripped onto the floor. “Sir?” he said finally, figuring that was the safest possible response, since he did not feel particularly inclined to actually apologize.
“You bumped into me,” Ralphie said, smirking. “So I want an apology.”
He was not sure whether he wanted to roll his eyes or slug the guard more. He kept his hands studiously relaxed, though, and took a deep breath. Anger did nothing except cause more pain here. “I’m sorry for running into you.”
Immediately, Ralphie backhanded him across the face. “For running into you…?” he prompted.
“I’m sorry for running into you, sir,” Mal said wearily, knowing in the back of his mind that only six months earlier, he might have fought back harder. Or not been caught so off guard that he fell in the first place.
“That’s better. Oh, look at that, you have a bigger mess than you started. Better get moving or else you’ll never be done by inspection. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Ralphie asked, smug satisfaction just radiating off him.
Mal twitched but held himself back. “No, sir.”
“Good. See you later, Rees.” With that, the guard sauntered off towards the kitchen. Mal glared after him, using the driest part of his sleeve to dry his face. Then he brushed off what dirt and water he could and began sponging up the spill. He was still soggy, but done with the cleanup and on to a fresh pail of water, when he became aware of a new presence. Warily, he looked up, meeting the sharp gaze of the prison’s leader or warden or whatever Victor’s technical title was. For a second, he panicked, attempting to figure out the days. Mal was certain that his usual weekly date with Victor - in which the man kept in shape by beating him senseless, unless Mal could manage to break free of the two guards holding him, in which case he was allowed to try and fight back - could not be for another two days. The man was nothing if not as regular as clockwork when he wanted to be.
“You’re looking rather damp today, Malcolm.”
“I slipped, sir,” Mal muttered, keeping to work, trying to block out the images that always accompanied Victor’s actual presence in his life - especially that of an arm pressing against his throat as darkness overtook him. He shivered and hoped Victor would attribute it to the chill in the room and his wet clothes rather than a very real fear of him.
“I see.”
Mal kept working diligently as Victor fell silent, although he could feel the other man’s eyes on him.
“How long have you been in charge, Malcolm?”
“Since just after midwinter, sir. About three months.” Two months and twenty-three days, to be exact.
“And did Thurnstrom or any of the others talk to you about their responsibilities as leader?”
Mal paused, wondering what he could possibly mean and deciding instantly that, no matter what, he probably would not like it. “No, sir,” he said slowly.
“Malcolm, I like you to look at me when we’re talking.”
Well, I don’t like to look at you. It gives me nightmares, Mal thought instead of responding. Victor stepped right up to him and grabbed his chin, bringing it up so they were eye to eye.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Victor’s gaze bore into his for a long couple silent minutes. “Come along, Malcolm, we have some business.”
“I’m not done here, sir,” Mal blurted, panic surging freshly. He did not particularly want to disobey Victor - he had done that enough to know the consequences were steep - but he also did not want to be caught with his assigned job unfinished at the end of the day, because the punishment for that would not be much lighter.
“That’s okay. I’m absolving from your other duties to allow you to act as captain,” Victor said with a negligent wave of his hand. “Come.” He finally let go of Mal’s chin and turned, heading across the entry hall to a smaller corridor that Mal had never been down. He hesitated before setting down his mop and moving his bucket out of the way before following. They reached a small door at the end of the hall. Victor knocked and it swung open. Before Mal could really see in, Victor placed a hand on the small of his back and shoved him inside. He stumbled in and blinked in bright room.
It took a moment for Mal to really focus and understand what he was seeing, but once he did, it sent fresh chills down his spine. There were two guards, one of them Ralphie, who had the largest smug grin Mal had yet to see on his face, standing in either corner of the small room, facing him. Between them, tied down into a kneeling position, arms secured behind his back, was one of Mal’s remaining thirty-one men, one of the older men named Warren. Mal knew that Warren had a wife and two-year-old son back home. The little boy had been only three months old when they had shipped north. Warren’s head was down and Mal was not sure if he was conscious.
Mal spun on Victor desperately, already knowing the answer to his question but wanting so badly for his instinct to be wrong. “What the hell is this?”
Ralphie stepped forward and cuffed him hard in the side of the head. “Watch your mouth, Rees.”
Mal ignored him, fully engaged in the situation for the first time in a depressingly long time. “Tell me.”
“You know what it is,” Victor said, that impeccable calm unbothered by Mal’s outburst.
“I won’t do it.”
“Warren attempted to escape this morning after assignments. As you well know, the punishment for attempted escape is death.”
Mal ground his teeth together. “And you expect me to do it. This is what’s broken everyone who has come before me. Thurnstrom, Jameson, all of them.”
Victor inclined his head in agreement.
“I won’t do it. I refuse. I will not kill one of my men.”
“Very well. Ralphie, please go find Lieutenant Marks and bring him here.” He turned to Mal as Ralphie moved towards the door. “Let’s start with the good lieutenant and work our way down then, shall we?”
Mal stared at him in utter horror, suddenly realizing his choice. It was not kill Warren or not, it was kill Warren or watch all the others be slaughtered in front of him. It was a choice he was not sure he could make, but understood - and understood why the others had chosen what they had. Later, he could not even say he had consciously made the decision to make his next move.
As Ralphie brushed past him, Mal grabbed him by the shoulder and, using his forward momentum, threw him into Victor. Before the second guard could react, he jumped them both, fury bubbling over. Not surprisingly, Victor reacted quickly. Although he was side-swiped by Ralphie’s unscheduled flailing, he managed to step around most of it. He caught Mal’s fist and twisted his arm sharply. Mal managed to disengage before Victor snapped it in half but it lost him that split second time advantage. The second guard grabbed him from behind and pulled him back hard, throwing him that way. Mal flew back, smashing into Warren with a grunt and falling to the ground. His head was already spinning, even after just the short altercation, a legacy of the consistent lack of food and generally hard labor.
Mal started to struggle back to his feet, but Warren’s gravelly voice stopped him. “Mal, don’t.”
He turned his head, surprised that Warren was awake. “I can’t just…”
“Yes, you can. Just…just promise me that you’ll get the others out safe and when you do, that you’ll explain to my wife and son how hard I tried to get home.”
“Warren…”
“I’m just sorry you have to do this. If I had known…”
Whatever else Warren might have said was cut off as Mal found himself hauled to his feet and shoved to face Victor. “That was not your smartest move ever, Malcolm.” Mal stared back at him, chin thrust out defiantly. To his surprise, Victor smiled. “But I do appreciate it. I thought you had wimped out on me. It seems I am further from breaking you than I thought when I saw you today. Since you did no real harm, I will give you one more chance, Malcolm. Either you kill Warren or I start killing the others.”
Mal glanced back at Warren and swallowed hard. “I’ll do it,” he said, shoulders slumping even as he forced the words out. “I’ll kill him.”
Victor positively beamed and Mal had to look away, feeling sick. “I thought you might say that!” A moment later, something smooth was pressed into his hand. He glanced down at the knife and closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “Now, Malcolm.”
Mal turned back to Warren, hand holding the knife shaking so hard he was not sure he would be able to follow through. “I’m sorry, Mal,” Warren said, holding his gaze for a moment. “You know…?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mal whispered. “Me too, Warren.”
The other man nodded and then lifted his chin. Mal took a deep breath, steeled himself and then finished the job quickly, trying to make it as painless for Warren as possible and as quick as possible so he could not possibly chicken out. When it was done, he stood without moving for a minute, eyes staring at the blood, at the way Warren slumped in his restraints, the life gone, hand clutching the knife, tempted to plunge it into his own heart. Before he could follow through on that, Ralphie grabbed the knife. When Mal did not immediately relinquish the knife, Ralphie twisted his wrist until the pressure forced his fingers apart.
“The question is,” Victor’s voice sounded in his ear, but Mal did not even jump, everything feeling muffled and distance, “how many more times can you do that until I get the pleasure of seeing you snap.”
Mal turned deadened eyes towards him, waiting for the second shoe to drop. He somehow instinctively knew that he would not be getting away with the earlier attack attempt without punishment.
“What should I do with you, Malcolm,” Victor said easily. He beckoned the two guards over. “Find Malcolm something for his feet. I don’t want to deal with frostbite. Then take him outside and hang him on the whipping post for the rest of the day. Go get him when it gets dark.”
“With pleasure, Boss,” Ralphie said, grabbing Mal by the elbow and pulling him from the room. Halfway to the door, almost to his mop and bucket, Mal dropped to his knees, retching up every last bit of food he had left in his system. Ralphie let him finish before dragging him back up. They paused only to grab him a pair of boots, shove them roughly on his feet before manhandling him outside. Malcolm did not fight them, too numb at what he had just done. They led him out. He automatically held his arms up, letting them latch it in the manacles. Mal dropped his head onto the wooden pole, barely feeling the early spring chill.
He did not move until the two guards had disappeared back in the building. Then, for the first time since their capture, almost two years prior, Malcolm Rees cried.