#difficulty breathing

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Myrie knows something awful is coming when her captors allow her to feel healthy again.

Sometimes they leave so little time between torments that Myrie is barely recovered, her body whole but weak and sensitive, her dreams still haunted by whatever she endured.

Other times they do not wait at all. They have beaten her while she recovered from poisoning, starved her for days before dropping her into a cage with a cat, forced to carry a heavy yoke across the room after being foot-whipped. No, her captors are never hesitant to pile torture upon torture until the fairy is so utterly broken that she couldn't answer their questions if she tried.

But if she is left alone, allowed to rest, eat and drink and, best of all, be doted on by Sir Owynn, it is never an act of mercy. Whatever comes next, it is going to hurt.

Myrie even puts up a fight this time, strong enough to squirm free of Sir Gavyn's grip once and make a run for it - as if there is anywhere to go. The commander catches her easily and pins her down onto her back on the table's surface. A second knight, whose name she does not know, helps bind each of her wrists and ankles with twine. One man takes the strings around her wrist, the other the strings around her ankles, and they stretch her limbs out into an X shape. The stretch is not quite enough to hurt, but once they fasten the ends of the twine onto nails, the position allows almost no freedom of movement.

"Catch your breath, princess." Ecker's voice is like a bitter cold wind, sending a chill down Myrie's spine. "You're going to need it."

To her surprise, all three men step away, actually allowing her a moment to calm her racing heart. Not mercy, not compassion, only cruelly calculated glimpses of reprieve before she is beset with some new horror.

Myrie closes her eyes and takes slow breaths, trying her best to relax. For all that she has weakened in body and spirit over her imprisonment, the princess has also discovered inner strength she did not know she possessed. She remains steadfast in the one thing that matters: not telling them how to find the Faelands. The more she endures, the more she is certain that these vile men should never be allowed into her home. They will ruin it as they have ruined her.

Something settles onto Myrie's body; she fearfully opens her eyes to find a flat piece of wood lying across her torso. Though uncomfortable, it doesn't hurt.

Ecker's silhouette looms over her, framed by red-orange firelight. He looks as much a monster as anything out of childhood stories.

There is a quiet thump and the pressure on the fairy's body increases slightly. Startled, Myrie gasps, expecting pain that never comes, only more discomfort. She takes deeper breaths. The board, and whatever sits atop it, move up and down with each heave of her chest.

Not long passes before there is a second thump accompanied by more pressure. Myrie exhales sharply, the breath knocked from her lungs. She manages a deep inhale, but not without effort. Above her, Ecker is already lowering a third weight.

"St - sto - hah - w-wait - stop."

He stops. "Do you have something you'd like to tell us, princess?"

Panting, Myrie lets her head fall back. "Yes," she whispers.

Three silhouettes lean in. Myrie half-laughs, half sobs.

"Go fuck yourselves." A handy human phrase she learned from Owynn, but not, perhaps, the right one for this moment.

It does not matter. I am doomed no matter what I say.

Ecker practically giggles, the other knight says nothing, but Sir Gavyn has been growing impatient for some time now. The King expects results and every day he must report no progress, a frustration he regularly takes out on Myrie. While Ecker's methods are maddeningly slow, wearing her down over days and weeks, Sir Gavyn's violence is swift and brutal.

He takes the third weight from Ecker and drops it heavily onto the growing pile. The impact dispels what little breath Myrie has left. At the same time, pain bursts in her chest and ripples down her sides. She wheezes, tiny hands clenched into fists as she fights to draw in air.

"I think that's enough," Ecker says to the knight, then adds, "for now," to the princess.

But the threat goes unheard. Myrie is lightheaded, dizzy, half-conscious. It hurts to breathe. She soon passes out.

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Owynn is only supposed to give her water, but when he enters and sees Myrie pinned and barely breathing, he cannot help the swell of worry in his chest. He fears one day they will either kill her, or break her beyond repair. He isn't sure which is worse.

He carefully lifts the bronze merchant's weights from the board, and then removes the board itself. Though she doesn't wake, Myrie takes in her first full breath in hours, her whole body shuddering with the force of it. Each following breath is labored, with soft rasping sounds that turn into broken moans.

She is in pain, Owynn notes. Not just discomfort, but pain.Concerned, he pulls away her paltry clothing to find deep, terrible bruising painting her chest and ribs. Even with his limited knowledge, he is sure some are broken.

"Princess?" he softly touches her cheek with the back of one finger.

Myrie flinches and mumbles something that sounds like 'no more'. Owynn leaves his hand there until she knows it won't hurt her. After a moment she leans into the touch.

"Help," she whispers.

Owynn glances to the twine that binds her wrists and ankles. To untie her would be a step further than he could explain away if caught. He tamps down the urge to do so and instead carefully props her head up and gives her water. The fairy drinks, eager and a little too fast. She chokes and begins to feebly cough, painfully jostling her broken ribs.

"Hush," Owynn says quietly, at a loss. He cups both hands on either side of her, trying to calm her without doing further harm. He tenderly strokes tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Be still. Breathe. I am with you."

He remains that way, soothing Myrie with gentle words and gentler touches, until she manages to fall asleep. The board and weights seem to stare at him, daring him to put them back on the hurting princess, when she has only just caught her breath again.

He can't do it.

Letting out a slow sigh, I slipped from the medbay cot – it was far from comfortable, but the limited sleeping quarters in the transport granted few options. Wrapping the gray blanket snugly around my shoulders, I tread quietly down the center isle, eyes wandering fondly over the sleeping figures: Tech’s ankles were crossed, arm draping over his chest where it had clearly landed when he’d fallen asleep, datapad still glowing from beneath his loose grip. Echo lay slightly on his side in his hammock, scomp draping over his waist, lips just parted in rhythmic breathes. Crosshair was nestled against the very corner of his bed, back flush against the wall, and Wrecker was sprawled out on his stomach, one arm curled beneath his head while the other hung thoughtlessly over the edge, a clear line of drool already glistening at the corner of his mouth and soaking into his pillow.

I wasn’t surprised to see Hunter’s rack untouched, certain I’d find him monitoring the automated systems as an excuse to appreciate the rare, relative quiet of space travel. Snatching his meticulously folded blanket thoughtlessly as I crept past the sleeping soldiers, I made my way unhurried toward the cockpit.

“You should be asleep.” He chided, but there was no heat in his calm voice as I descended the ladder.

“You’re one to talk.” I shot back with a small smile. He was still facing forward, legs stretched leisurely out before him as he leaned back in the blocky pilot’s chair, elbow just visible on the arm rest. Without waiting for him to turn toward me, I snapped his blanket out, practically throwing it over him. He startled only slightly at the sudden movement, but quickly stilled, eyebrow cocking as he shot me a sideways glance.

“Doc… you realize we were created for this, right?” Paying no mine to his gentle mocking, I sat heavily in the copilot’s chair, knees tucking against my chest to wrap my own blanket more snugly around me.

“Mmhmm.” I merely hummed in response, earning a quiet chuckle, but my lips pulled into a small smile as he repositioned the thick fabric slightly if only to humor me.

“Do you ever think about what’s after this?” I felt his gaze turn more pointedly toward me as the quiet words fluttered over my lips, eyes staring blindly at the dancing glow of hyperspace before us. Allowing my question to settle back into the silence, he finally let out a small huff before leaning into the worn padding once more.

“Pretty sure there’ll always be a demand for medics, so I doubt you have much need to worry.” He offered. Only then did I finally turn to face him, brows just hinting at a frown.

“I don’t mean for me, Hunter.” I stated, waiting him out until he finally let his head fall, chin just resting against his chest, and I loathed that troubled worry that settled heavily over the powerful features of his face.

“Don’t know.” He finally answered. “Clones don’t exactly have a place out there that doesn’t involve a battlefield.” My eyes followed the absent motion of his hand as he waved vaguely toward the viewport.

“Yet.” I offered quietly. He didn’t humor me with even the echo of a smirk, jaw shifting stiffly forward. “What if you could choose?” I pressed, question falling lightly from a kind smile. “Say we reach Kamino and find out the war is over and clones have been granted full citizenship in a show of gratitude for your service: true freedom for you and your brothers,” His eyes closed slightly, and I could see his mind beginning to wander; to want, “What then?” He let himself think for just a moment longer before releasing a dismissive breath of laughter that threatened to break my heart.

“Master of small talk tonight.” He teased, some of his usually weariness returning to those umber eyes. I merely waited expectantly as he let his attention return to the swirling blues and blacks of space. “Guess I don’t really care where we wind up,” he started, voice quiet, “so long as I can keep us all together; keep us safe… Maybe somewhere quiet.” Finally, he let himself begin to truly entertain the idea; to dream. “It would be hard to find a life that would keep them all happy, but… maybe we could find some remote planet – become settlers and just… live.” I didn’t notice the smile spreading over my face until he glanced at me with a pointed smirk, but I didn’t withdraw, beaming at him with pure glee.

“The great settlers of Clone Force 99, braving unknown worlds and taming alien wilds.” I murmured brightly, heart soaring at the earnest chuckle that shook almost silently through his chest.

“What about you, Doc?” He asked, tilting his head back towards me, “What’s next for you once you’ve had your fill of all th-” That elation of far-off hopes and desires went cold in an instant as he went still, attention shifting pointedly toward the hallway behind us. “Echo.” He stated simply, sympathy robbing him of that brief moment of weightlessness.

“I’ll go.” I said, already raising to my feet. He started to object, jaw shifting beneath those relentlessly exhausted eyes, but I settled my hand comfortingly over his shoulder, meeting his gaze in a silence that said everything words simply couldn’t. He reluctantly deflated beneath my touch, a deep gratitude stealing over him as he looked up at me. With a final smile, I quickly moved toward the ladder, hopping up the rungs to reach the bunk room that much faster.

Beneath Wrecker’s still oblivious snores, I could just catch the occasional huff of a too-sharp breath, noted the way that red hammock rocked ever so slightly despite the smoothness of our flight. Quickening my pace, I trotted the last few steps, heart twisting at the pinched crease between his brows, the tension balling overtop his jaws.

“Echo.” I barely breathed his name, one hand resting over the top lip of crimson fabric while the other reached tentatively toward him. His head jerked slightly to the side, teeth just flashing in a brief scowl. Fingers brushing tenderly over his shoulder, I called him again. “Echo… Echo, sweetie, you’re dreaming.” His chest quivered with a frantic, broken gasp, body flinching away from me. “Echo.” Voice raising ever so slightly, I reached down to carefully hold his cheeks between my palms, thumb sweeping over taut muscle. Finally, his eyes snapped open, jaw parting amidst a violent gasp as his arm swept out before him in a panic.

“Shh-shh.” The comforting sound shushed quickly from my lips, letting my touch shift against him just enough to try to draw his attention to me. “Look at me, Echo – it’s alright.” Wide eyes darted blindly around us, only resting on mine for a fleeting second before continuing their desperate search for some ancient danger.

“You’re on the Marauder, Echo. You’re okay.” His hand abandoned its defensive flailing and latched sharply around my arm, frantically shifting gaze beginning to fall on me more frequently. “Easy,” I murmured softly, “You’re safe, Echo. Look at me,” I gently pulled his face back toward me, breathing a gentle, “good” when those golden eyes lingered on mine.

“I want you to breathe with me, okay?” His hold resettled almost neurotically around my upper arm, and I didn’t doubt the bruises I’d find later, but I’d let him break the damn thing before pulling away. Lips softening into a gentle smile, I made a show of drawing in a slow, leisure breath, held it for a moment, and then, with that same unrushed ease, let my shoulders sink as I exhaled. His attention remained locked on me, but the wild terror in the dilated pools of his pupils offered no signs of understanding.

“Come on, soldier, I gave you an order.” I teased, thumb again brushing over his cheeks. Brows furrowing further over haunted eyes, he almost belated grasped some fleeting understanding of my words, and, when I began to inhale once more, his teeth ground beneath the strain of fighting to obey me. “Good. You’re doing great, Echo.” Softly spoken words settled quietly in the air between us. The terrible depth of his fear continued to rend him into a trembling mess of tense muscles and shuttered breaths, but the entirety of his focus now seemed locked on me.

“Again.” I whispered, smile growing encouragingly. His hand shifted with his next tense inhale, darting up briefly to my shoulder before clasping around the back of my neck, arm tensing to pull himself closer, and I nearly broke beneath the violent need in those pleading eyes. “Okay.” I murmured quickly, leaning down to rest my forehead against his. “Okay, Echo; I’m right here.” He was still for only a few rushed breaths, trying and failing to match my calm pace before giving into his fear once more, arm jerking up to lock around me, nearly tumbling from the hammock in his fight to hide against me, legs kicking restlessly atop the too pliant fabric.

“Shh; alright-alright.” My gentle attempts to quiet him fell on deaf ears, struggling to keep him from falling as I eagerly returned the desperate embrace. The moment my feet finally slipped off the floor as I tumbled forward on top of him barely registered in the face of his utter surrender, clinging to me even with his scomp, the augmented limb looping tightly around my lower back. Forehead tucked up into my neck, he merely held me as he trembled.

I continued pressing the soothing words and gentle promises into the fleeting breadth of air between us, carefully shifting a hand up his neck to let my fingers card through the short curls of hair just beginning to regrow around the metal nodes. Slowly, that horrid tremble began to still, breath steadying enough to match mine, but his hold never lessened, arms clutching me tightly against him even as he started to fade. Vaguely, I worried over how my weight might feel pressing against the nodes lining his chest and torso, but, if it caused him any discomfort, he seemed not to notice, nor, surprisingly, did they dig painfully into me.

Unlike the others, Echo was almost always cold. He rarely spoke of it, but I’d seen it in the way his mood fell in poor weather, felt it in the chill of his flesh during the occasional shared touch. Now, however, with the two of us nestled together in the snug cocoon of his hammock, the cool air was a distant thought, warmth quickly pooling between us.

I didn’t noticed my own weariness sneak up on me, overcome with my own relief that the man still hidden against my neck was finally free of that terrible panic, and there was no thought to leaving him, balking at even the risk of waking him. Just a short while longer… I’d stay for just a bit longer, just in case the nightmares returned.

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The choked sound and sudden tensing of muscle beneath me brought me back to a reluctant awareness, brows drawing wearily together as I glanced toward the noise, frown deepening slightly in confusion to find Echo staring at me mid gasp, horror and embarrassment sending a painfully hot flush blooming over pale cheeks, arms carefully held away from my body.

“Right…” I sighed, rolling my shoulders slightly to test the stability of the hammock. “Sorry – didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I’d shifted onto my side at some point in the night, arms still coiled loosely around his head.

“S-I… um…” I had to quickly bury my teeth into my cheek to silence the giggle at how painfully flustered he was.

“You had a pretty bad nightmare. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I kinda couldn’t… um… leave.” I tried to explain, pulling my arm from under his head to lean onto, easing at least partially off of him.

“Maker, no-no. Kriff, Doc; I’m sorry…I-” I waved away his words dismissively.

“It’s fine, Echo; really.” I assured him once more, head twisting to glance at the edge of the hammock. “Don’t supposed there’s an easy way out of this thing?” I asked lightly, again trying not to laugh at the lingering panic in those comically wide eyes.

“Oh! Ah, um, not-not really.” He stammered apologetically, jaw opening in silence a moment as his torso started to tense before catching himself and freezing once more. “Your, uh… your legs.” His gaze turned pointedly to lock onto the wall of red fabric beside him, lips stumbling slightly over the words. “Swing your legs over first.”

With a sympathetic smile, I elected against drawing it out any longer, steadying myself with one hand on his chest while the other gripped the hammock itself before slowly craning a leg over the edge, arms tensing against how the bed rocked beneath us from the movement. His fingers flared, torn between reaching out to help me and panicking at the mere thought of initiating further contact, but I managed to touch my foot to the smooth flooring and was able to free the rest of my body with relative ease, shooting him a victorious smile that, even in the frenzy of embarrassment, gleaned a tiny huff of laughter from him.

“Yuh know, I actually haven’t slept that well in a while.” I groaned, arms stretching above my head. Without lingering for a response, I started unhurriedly from the bunk room, lured away by the faint scent of caf.

Hunter was still in his bunk, feigning sleep even as he fought to bite back his own grin, but the others were already dispersed throughout the ship. How we’d slept through Wrecker getting up was beyond me, but I was grateful they’d left us to rest - Echo certainly needed it.

Crosshair was the only one in the tiny kitchenette, lithe body stretching lavishly between two chairs, head absently tilted back with a still steaming mug cradled between his hands. He didn’t open his eyes as I entered, but those thin lips began to curl. I merely readied myself in silence for whatever clever quip he’d surely been waiting all morning to deliver, busying myself with the automated movements of preparing my own cup of caf.

“That a service you’re offering to the whole squad, now, sweetie?” The taunt dripped from that haughty smirk, sharp eyes slitting open to locked onto me in search of a bloom of embarrassment or stutter of shame. Unphased, I merely cocked an eyebrow and, voice sweetly innocent, answered calmly with a question of my own.

“Are you asking me to sleep with you, Crosshair?” The quickness with which that smirk fled his lips, heat seeping up his neck in a flush of red, nearly broke my careful façade of control, jaw tensed against the bark of laughter begging to escape, but I managed to reign it back as I casually walked toward him. Eyes wide, caught, he sat frozen as I approached, but, when I reached down to muse his hair with my hand, that spell broke, head jerking away from me with a deep snarl. Laughing softly, I said nothing more as I continued out of the room.

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            Cool morning air filled his lungs, so crisp and refreshing that his heart wanted to sing. He could see the sky again without a windowpane separating him from it. The sun hadn’t quite crested the horizon yet, but it was marching along. And the grass… God, he never thought he’d miss seeing grass.

            The image was ripped away far too quickly though. There was no warning, just an instantaneous action– an unseen hand grabbed his ankle and yanked, violently jerking him back through the window frame. In a frenzy he grasped for anything he could find, but there was nothing around him large enough to latch onto.

            Darius crashed to the basement floor with a howl of pain as he landed on his right leg. It cushioned him a little bit, but it was not a short distance to fall. He couldn’t even process what had just happened before his captor was behind him seizing his arms and holding them securely behind his back.

            “THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!” he demanded.

            Darius was aghast as he was pulled to his feet.

            “Get off of me!” he threw his whole body to try to wriggle free of the man’s grasp, but that only caused him to be drawn in tighter and held against his captor’s chest.

            A strong hand wrapped itself around his throat and applied pressure, not enough to choke, but enough to send a warning.

            “STOP!” Darius shouted, tossing his head, but he was suddenly quite scared.

            “How the fuck did you get free?!” the man squeezed his throat a little tighter and Darius stilled for his own safety, swallowing hard. He pulled in a few shallow gasps as he thought about his answer, his heart pounding.

            “Dull tool… sharp wit…” he croaked. A small cocky smile pulled at the edge of his lips. It wasn’t the time for sass, but snark made him feel better.

            “Real explanation, boy.” the grip tightened, so much so that Darius could no longer answer him.

            Darius strained until the man’s hand loosened, allowing him to suck in deep breaths again. Unfortunately, there was virtually no time to recover before he was pushed toward the storeroom. He planted his feet, but his captor just swiveled him around and dragged him backwards. Darius growled and flailed again.

            He was furious, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think this wouldn’t be a possibility. It had taken him a long time after Tristan had left to work through the strap. It truly was just a matter of time before his captor woke up and came to check on them. The odds of Darius being caught were pretty high. Still, he had that stupid little glimmer of hope in his mind once he was free. The second he stuck his front out the window and smelled the dew on the leaves… heard the birds chirping their morning melodies…

            Darius grit his teeth, snarling, kicking, and thrashing against the man’s grasp. His intention wasn’t exactly to get away—though he would try to run again if he got the chance—he just wanted to slow the bastard down a bit and make it harder to pull him back into the storeroom… Anything to buy Tristan more time to find help.

            Why not poke the hornet’s nest a bit while he was at it, too?

            “Mad you got outsmarted?” Darius taunted. “Yeah, I bet so, you piece of shit. I almost got away with it, too. You’re lucky I went for the window and not for your throat. I’ll get through both next time.”

            A heavy fist collided with his skull and momentarily stunned him, but he quickly shook off the feeling with a smirk.

            “Getting to you, hm? Can dish out taunts, but can’t take them? You’re pathetic.”

            He was punched again, harder this time. It took him a little longer to bounce back from that one, but he laughed, a little weaker than before.

            “It’s almost over for you and you have no idea. We won, bitch.”

            His captor was probably about to indulge him by asking what he was talking about when they reached the storeroom. He took one look over his shoulder to navigate inside, however, and saw that both mattresses were empty. His nails dug into Darius’ arms.

            “WHERE IS HE?!” the man bellowed.

            Darius lifted his head, staring his captor right in the eyes as he flashed him a smug, shit-eating grin.    

            “Gone.”

            The man roared and ripped something off of the wall- another set of thick leather cuffs. Darius was swung around and thrown to the floor where his wrists were swiftly shackled behind him. Still, he kept up his goading smile.

            “Tie me up again, sure. You’re a one-trick pony. It doesn’t matter either way; I’m not scared, and you’re too late. Help’s on its way.”

            A sharp kick connected with his ribs and Darius yipped, then groaned out a swear as he curled in on himself. It was the only thing that gave him pause.

            “Shut up you fucking brat! Where did he go?!” his captor flipped Darius over to face him, and Darius, battered but still combative, pressed his lips together and shook his head.

            He was slapped across the face. Darius might not have been scared in the moment, but the man apparently was.

            Darius felt something dribble from the side of his mouth, and he licked at it. Blood. Huh. Imagine that.

            “WHERE. DID. HE. GO?” another slap, but Darius stared defiantly back up at him.

            “Get fucked.”

            He only made a small gasp when the man’s hands were back on his neck, progressively constricting it tighter and tighter.

            “You won’t… kill me…” Darius challenged, and he knew it was true. The whole point of his stay here was to be ransomed. His parents would have no reason to pay this asshole if he was dead.

            The grip became more intense.

            “Last chance, boy. Where. Is. He?”

            Darius sputtered and quivered, his body fighting on its own to breathe. His thoughts were growing fuzzy, the need for air slowly beginning to overtake his loyalties.

            “I don’t… know… He ran…” he choked out.

            But the hands didn’t leave his throat… they only pressed tighter. Panic flashed in Darius’ eyes; He thought he’d be released after giving up some information. It was intentionally vague, but it was the truth. The threat had worked, at least a little bit.

            Black dots danced before his eyes, and he gave another desperate shudder, frantically trying to suck in a breath to plead for his life. The links on his cuffs rattled angrily as he struggled and shook. The world was falling away.

            No… It couldn’t end like this…

            His vision tunneled, darkness encroaching on all sides.

            ‘Tris… I need you… please…’

            Then there was nothing.

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Day 14!

If you're clicking through these and wondering why you just jumped from day 5 to day 14, it's because I decided to post these in the order that made the most sense for my story chronologically. This whole escape scenario kind of blossomed far beyond what I expected it to and wound up becoming its own mini story, so here we are! I couldn't wrestle the prompt days in order to fit the story I wanted to tell, so that's why they're hopping around a bit. Sorry!

Entries for the other days are coming. To see the entries in event prompt day order, please see my event participation masterpost (coming soon, will be linked here when it's up).

If you have any questions, you can always ask me, but hopefully you can find everything I've written for this event in whichever order suits your fancy from the links up above!

Thanks for reading!

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