They were side to side, chained to a damn wall. Nashville had always heard the Covenant didn't take prisoners. Not like you'd think. Not like you'd hope.
They weren't prisoners. They were meatsuits. Hunks of flesh that bled at the whims of monsters.
The Covenant did not torture. They brutalized.
He did not know how many others had survived the battle. He and Concord had been thrown into a cell that was barely more than a cave, chained to the wall, and left. For days, maybe? A week?
It was getting hard to keep track. To know day from night.
Concord was strong. Of course he was. The guy was practically carved out of military spirit. He'd said the first moment they'd been alone, in that calm, steady gravel of a voice, that the waiting would be the hard part. The Covenant had figured out how humans reacted to dark and damp and endless hours of nothing.
Far more effective, to soften the humans up ahead of time.
One thing Nash would say for the bastards. They learned.
There had been the sound of screaming, distant and unrelenting. The stink of blood and piss and fear. And Nashville knew. He just... knew.Â
Today was the day. They were coming.
Somewhere along the line, Nashville had realized that he and Concord were holding hands. He highly doubted it was for Concord's benefit. No, it had probably started when Nashville had been sure he'd heard Richmond screaming.
Or maybe when the noise had stopped.
When Concord spoke, Nashville was pulled from his very important work of watching the door. The cold of the ground had seeped into his legs and back, his muscles clenched and painful. Blood was streaked across Concord's face, his arm held awkwardly at one side; Nashville had set it the best he could, but he wasn't a medic. And they sure as hell didn't have supplies.
He breathed out a laugh, the sound barely making it past his lips. "No, you don't," Nashville murmured.
One corner of Concord's mouth barely turned upwards. "No," he admitted. "But if I'm going to have last words, I've been thinking that maybe I want them to be something other than barking orders."
Studying his face, Nash shifted, turning towards him. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, free hand going out to lightly touch Concord's jaw. He tugged Concord to look towards him, giving the man a slow, broken smile.
"My name is Noah," he whispered.
Something softened in Concord's expression, just barely. "Jonathan."
Nashville -Â Noah, he was Noah, still, that hadn't been taken from him - leaned forward, brushing his lips across Concord's.
"It is really nice to meet you, Jonathan."
If he was going to die - and he was, Nashville had no hope for anything different - he wanted to feel one last warmth of closeness. He wanted to give that to someone else.
There was the tramp of footsteps, coming closer. This was it. There would be pain, unimaginable pain. And then it would be over.
"I wish I'd been braver," Noah whispered.
Jonathan shook his head, frowning. "You fought well--"
Cutting him off with another light kiss, Noah murmured, "That's not what I mean. Fighting is easy. It's obvious. I wish I'd been braver with you. I wish I'd figured out a way to know you, Jonathan."
The hard noise of footsteps stopped outside the door. And Noah smiled.
"I'll see you on the other side."
