#familiarisation

Every day was exactly the same.

Jacob woke up tired. Exhausted. With a headache.

He woke up after a night of nightmares, kicking and yelling at thin air.

Breakfast was light.

He didn’t talk.

He was brought to the gym.

He ignored the others there.

He worked out. He sparred.

Lunch was light.

He was tasked with simple tasks and errands that required muscle more than brains or trustworthiness. He was also tasked with orders he hated executing, but Faulkner’s men in the back were watching as he lost a part of his soul with every second passing.

Back to the gym.

Dinner was always too loud and crowded.

More gym, or more tasks he tried not to think of.

Debrief. If he was lucky, good behaviour would earn him a reward.

At least that helped Jacob to fall asleep.

Every day was exactly the same, and he hated every second. Every minute. Every hour.

He’d learnt to hate himself even more.

But the alternative, to go back to *that* room, was out of the question, and he’d decided that a long time ago. At least it felt like it had been that long. It felt like a different life he could hardly remember. Or what had been before.

Three weeks since they’d let him out.

That couldn’t be right. But the calendar on the wall didn’t lie.

Three weeks in this new, strange place. Two weeks since they’d let him eat and be with the others.

But Jacob didn’t talk. He didn’t interact.

And nobody sat next to him anymore, after he’d broken a wrist wordlessly.

So he sat down at the long table, his muscles aching, his body sore. Counting the minutes until his daily debrief. He wasn’t sure anymore if he’d hated it more than he loved it. If he was beginning to look forward to it more than he feared it.

This place was slowly driving him crazy.

And Jacob couldn’t remember when he’d last seen the sun.

***

Four weeks since he'd heard what happened to Jacob. Faulkner hadn't ordered him to participate, thank the gods; otherwise he'd have told the man to fuck himself with a hot fire poker, and would have just ended up in the same boat with Jacob. And Faulkner probably knew that in the first place.

But he'd heard.

And it had… hit him hard.

He'd taken his time, watching Jacob as he'd slowly been allowed into the fold. Too hostile to approach, at first, but it wasn't fear that held Sebastian back. Just caution and self preservation - and yes, sympathy.

Because he knew.

His nightmares persisted, too.

So he'd watched and waited, considered and weighed the options, and he'd finally decided it was the right time when Jacob didn't seem to startle at thin air.

He'd slipped back to his quarters that morning and pulled out a few staples, making a double helping of pad kra pao and packing them up in two containers.

He hadn't said a word as he made his way back to the canteen when he knew Jacob would be there - same time every day for weeks now. Sebastian was more than used to sitting alone already, but he'd walked right up to the table in the corner where Jacob sat, sliding the still-hot container over to him silently as he sat diagonally across from him.

He didn't say a word. Didn't watch and wait to see if he'd open it. He simply sat, opened his own container, and took a bite in silence.

***

Jacob remembered every single face he had seen in *that* room. During those ten days and nights that had felt like an eternity. He remembered them all. Even the ones he hadn’t faced; the ones he’d only seen reflections. But he had made sure to commit them to memory.

They came back at night, in his nightmares.

They came back by day, too.

He’d seen them in men passing him in the hallway or the gym, he’d seen them in guards dragging him back to his room when Jacob couldn’t walk anymore. Or some assholes sitting down too close to him at this very table. They were everywhere.

This one… was not one of them.

He’d sensed the man approaching, but hadn’t looked up. His eyes were watching him from under the hair that fell into his face, warily and with caution. He squared his shoulders; ready to fight, ready to bolt. Whatever would be necessary.

But instead, a container slid over the table; and with a guttural growl, he stopped it with his hand. A shadow of himself as he might be now, Jacob’s reflexes had never been better.

“What?”

It wasn’t friendly. It was hostile.

It was the first thing he’d said today.

**

Deep blue eyes would look back at Jacob, regarding him with a steady calm. Not afraid. Not defensive. And not angry.

Sebastian was unphased by the open hostility. He knew it well, after all. But he'd seen, too, that this had… subsided, at least somewhat, over these weeks.

“Food. Thought you could use something different.”

Seb didn't speak much himself, especially not after Thailand. But he had held onto the soft Leicestershire accent, and it was there as he answered. Completely calm, quiet, and in an even tone.

He didn't ask Jacob's name, and he didn't offer his own.

**

For a long moment, Jacob didn’t move. He just stared back; eyes hard and unyielding, saying all the things his mouth didn’t.

If this was a game or a trap or a joke, he simply couldn’t tell. Maybe he would have, in a different life. Nowadays, he was too tired, and his mind too clouded. The whiskey bottle in his room wouldn’t help. Another gift from Faulkner. Jacob had earned it yesterday, by beating up a man he hadn’t even known. Always guarded, always watched.

The bottle was half empty already.

Jacob took another glimpse at the man at the other side of the table. No, he wasn’t one of the faces in his nightmares. He’d seen him before. They had sparred before. And he’d been one of Jacob’s guards, too, if he remembered correctly. But his memory failed him these days; more often than not.

“I *have* food.”

He poked at the food on his plate – whatever it was supposed to be. The food could differ vastly here, depending on who made it.

**

Sebastian could easily see the questions, the confusion, the hesitation. As much as the mental comparison made him grimace internally, Jacob's eyes looked like that of a street dog, beaten and starved and suspicious of anything that walked on two legs.

He'd seen it dozens of times before. To his surprise, Jacob spoke again. No less hostile, but it was still something. Sebastian's lips hinted at a tiny smile as he tilted his head, half-shrugging as if it didn't matter to him at all.

“Sure you do. But it's shit food.” He'd move his own food around with a spoon, knowing Jacob would be able to smell it even if he didn't open his own container, and took a bite after a moment.

“Eat. Take it back with you. Toss it in the bin. I don't care.”

***

Only a few weeks back, in that different life, when his soul had been still in one piece and his heart and spirit hadn’t been shattered, Jacob might have laughed.

*Why bring food to someone you don’t know and then tell them to toss it in the bin?*

Even through the haze, even through the indifference Jacob had forced upon himself, this didn’t make any sense.

But this one was right.

This *was* shit food.

That, and Jacob didn’t even care anymore if he’d be poisoned. Faulkner poisoned him a little every day. His soul. His heart. His body. At this point, Jacob could very well eat toxic waste and not care. It was all the same. He’d learnt that it was not up to him to make decisions anymore.

Cautiously, he pushed his tray away and dragged the container over the table with one hand until it was in front of him.

“Why?”

**

Sebastian would look at those haunted eyes for another long moment, inwardly relieved that he'd pulled the container closer.

*Progress. Very good.*

“Cause I thought you'd like it.”

And that was true.

Seb had watched. He'd paid attention, these several weeks. Out of the options they were given for food,  he had noticed that Jacob had chosen meats whenever possible, and had a heavy hand with the hot sauce at the table. It was safe to assume that this, at least, might hold some interest to him.

It would at least be different.

Every day, the exact same routine, the exact same time for meals,  the exact same seat in the canteen.

He had to be losing it.

But this might at least… give him something. If only for a little while.

**

Jacob didn’t answer and wouldn’t have known how.

Words didn’t come easy these days, and this was already more than he’d spoken in a week outside of Faulkner’s office.

And in there, it was easy. Maybe the easiest thing in this new life.

*Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.*

Jacob had learnt that quickly. It didn’t require thinking. And it didn’t sound like his own voice anymore, anyway. He could pretend this was someone different.

In just about an hour or two, he would go back there, and he didn’t want to think about it; and for fuck’s sake, he could just give this mystery food a try. Jacob would forget about it in just about an hour or two, anyway. He always did.

Casting another suspicious glance over the table, he opened the container carefully.

And wanted to close it immediately after.

The scent coming from its content was strong, and warm and… *familiar*.

A scent from a different life. From when he had been allowed a choice. When Jacob could have favourites. And this, certainly, had been one of them.

He could feel the tears burning in his eyes, but clenched his jaw shut until he was certain his teeth would shatter. It kept them at bay.

And instead of letting them fall where everyone could see them, he just grabbed his fork and took a first bite.

**

*Don't hold eye contact.*

It didn't surprise him that Jacob didn't answer. The man had been through hell, and Sebastian was a confusing, suspicious stranger,  for certain.

Seb sure as hell wasn't unused to people avoiding him, anyway. That was a given these days.

*Don't push. Just be.*

He'd looked down again,  focusing instead on his own food, now that Jacob had cautiously accepted his offer.

A dog accepting a treat.

He'd take another few bites of his own in silence,  taking his time,  keeping quiet and still. Unthreatening, but unafraid.

*Let him get used to you existing in the same space.*

**

The food was good. Really good. Possibly better than Jacob deserved for all the things he’d done on this day alone. On this day, and all the days before. Ever since Faulkner had given him a modicum of responsibility for *tasks*. Still watched, of course. Still guarded. He always was.

Like now.

He eyed the man in front of him with suspicious, even as he continued to eat; a meal that tasted just like it had smelled. Warming. Satisfying. Familiar.

With every bite, he watched. If only to make sure he wasn’t the one *being* watched. At least not at this table.

Maybe tomorrow, this same man would be walking him to Faulkner’s office or back to his room again. Hell, maybe he’d even do that tonight. Maybe he’d be the one to drag Jacob back to drop him onto the floor of his cell like a bag of potatoes. Maybe he’d be the one Jacob would fight tomorrow. Or he’d be the next one to lock Jacob up again.

None of this made sense. None of these people could be trusted.

**

No,  this wasn't indifferent. Far from it.

Sebastian wouldn't exactly call it friendly, either - he sure as fuck wasn't known for *that* - but it was an attempt at mutual understanding, at least. Words weren't needed so much, here.

He didn't bother with them as Jacob finished, just sitting comfortably in the silence. For him it wasn't anxious, though he could feel the tension rolling off Jacob in waves.

Sebastian knew very well what was coming for the man, too. He caught the glance at the clock, and with a gentle shake of his head, he spoke again.

“It’s me tonight. If you're ready, we can go now. Or wait here until it's time. Your choice.”

It might have been framed as a simple question, but he was very well aware that it was not. Choice didn't exist in Jacob's world, and even the suggestion of choice was likely, more often than not, a trap.

He was very well aware that Jacob was likely to be unable to choose at all. Suspicion and indecision were far more likely than a true answer.

Still, the question was genuine.

And Sebastian intended to make it a habit.

**

*It’s me tonight.*

He looked up, staring at the man in front of him. Every muscle in his sore body felt tense; every nerve firing. Three simple words. But they carried a weight that only Jacob understood. He was beginning to dread his debriefs as much as he was craving them.

In a different life, he might have nodded. He might have shrugged. He might have shown any form of reaction.

But for now, he simply looked down again.

The offer, however, made him lift his gaze again in confusion.

None of the guards had ever announced himself.

None of the guards had brought him food.

None of the guards had been giving Jacob the fraction of choice.

Not that it would make a difference, if he chose one way or another.

In a different life, he might have tried to keep his emotions from displaying so obviously. Here, in this new world, he didn’t bother. He’d learnt it made no difference whatsoever.

“What difference does it make?”

**

He could feel the eyes on him again, so he'd look up, sitting back casually, his posture completely relaxed.

No, it didn't make a difference,  really. And Sebastian had a feeling that it might not even matter for Jacob's comfort level - being in this loud cafeteria versus waiting outside Faulkner’s office; a much quieter option, but probably far more anxious.

He knew,  for himself,  he'd have preferred the quiet.

Away from prying, curious eyes.

Away from the possibility for unplanned violence.

Away from other men, period.

He'd breathe in deeply, taking in Jacob's facial features, half hidden under his hair. He had pretty eyes - drowned in guilt, shame, anger, sorrow, and exhaustion - but pretty.

Sebastian knew better than to comment on it.

“Not a big one. Just… where you'd prefer to wait.”

**

A choice.

Something as simple as that.

Something that, only weeks ago, had felt so natural that he had taken it for granted. Sleeping in after a long night of work. Picking out clothes for himself. Deciding on which coffee shop he wanted to go to on his way to his humble little business. Choosing between eating out or takeaway.

Simple, small choices. Every day.

Now, confronted with the smallest choice, he felt *overwhelmed*.

And Jacob could feel panic rise in his chest. A pressure deep inside that he couldn’t explain. Suddenly, this felt vital and banal at once. Urgent. Desperate. Excruciatingly difficult. Suddenly, this small fucking choice felt like it could be potentially life-changing. Like a chance, like a trap, like a dream, like a nightmare. Suddenly, something as simple and small felt like an impossible task.

He could feel the pressure in his body, muscles tensing under his skin.

“I don’t care,” he pressed out through clenched teeth.

At the end of the day, he would end up in the same room, anyway.

**

Sebastian waited patiently, watching every expression and micro-expression on Jacob's confused face.

He could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he almost buckled in on himself. This huge man seemingly trying to make himself small, unnoticed.

Yes, this was an impossible choice. And Sebastian felt it, too.

He'd tilt his head slightly as he heard the man's voice again through gritted teeth, holding back a smile at what was, once again, a modicum of progress.

“Would you like me to make the choice for you?”

Another choice, but perhaps a clearer, simpler one.

**

Oh, the *irony*.

A part of him could still recognized it. A part of Jacob that wasn’t indifferent. Wasn’t dead yet. Wasn’t tamed and broken and destroyed. The part that was the reason he still had guards, he figured. The part that Faulkner *feared*, but thinking about that was as pointless as thinking about impossible, inconsequential choices.

This was an order in disguise.

The man in charge of him was trying to make Jacob make irrelevant choices. Choices that would all have the same outcome, in the same room, the same way as every day. Bent over that goddamn fucking heavy desk or on his knees. Same difference. By the end of the day, though, he might not feel much anymore. If he was lucky.

So he just shrugged. He didn’t care.

“I don’t give a shit.”

**

The answer was both surprising and not, at the same time.

He had expected only a shrug, really. A glare, perhaps. Or silence, even. Seb knew very well what he was asking.

He hadn't truly expected a *verbal* non-answer.

That did in fact make him smile, and he'd nod quietly in response.

*Slip the lead around his neck and coax him up. Short distances, at first.*

“Alright. Up, then.”

The command is simple,  short, and not unkind in its tone. But it *is* a command,  all the same. He has no doubt that Jacob would move to follow him.

But instead of leading the man straight to Faulkner's office, Seb takes him in the opposite direction,  leisurely walking through the halls of the compound in no particular hurry.

**

Jacob sure where that smile came from, or what purpose it served; and he didn’t bother returning it. He couldn’t remember when he’d last smiled. He wasn’t sure if he still could. So much that he wasn’t sure of these days. The ground beneath his feet had been pulled away. His life as he knew it didn’t exist anymore.

But at least there were rules. And following them kept him out of trouble. Jacob had learnt that early.

There was no objection to the order. Only silent obedience as he put the mass of his body into motion. This, at least, he knew.

This wasn’t as confusing as food and choices and… conversation.

And for a moment, Jacob wondered. 

About choices.

Would he have preferred one option over the other? Was he really that far gone that it hadn’t really mattered, at all? Thinking about it didn’t make a difference, and it hadn’t when the question had been posed. It was inconsequential still, but it made him wonder if he still even had preferences. Or if it was really all the same.

He didn’t have an answer.

It took him a moment to realize that the hallway looked different. And as he trotted along, he lifted his head to observe his surroundings. Wary. Cautious. Afraid.

New environments rarely meant good news.

Not here.

**

*No need to force it.*

Sebastian let him contemplate in silence,  saying not a word through those first few minutes as they made their way into the halls,  away from the cafeteria and the noise.

Away from other people,  too, as much as possible.

Quiet, and without distractions.

*Take it slow. The more comfortable he gets, the more likely he is to heel.*

It wouldn't be a long walk,  for sure. Sebastian would still follow his own orders to the letter, and get Jacob to Faulkner's office on time. But he'd always pushed boundaries to a certain extent,  and no one had told him he had to follow an exact route. He was more than comfortable choosing his own.

No, not a long walk. They wouldn't have a lot of time.

But it was time enough.

“You can relax. I'm still taking you to his office. Just going the scenic route this time.”

**

There it was again, the suspicion gnawing at him.

The *why*.

This didn’t make sense.

He’d seen this guard before. Never had he spoken. Never had he taken the *scenic route*. Only one. The one Jacob knew. The one he had been forced to walk from that very first day they had let him out. Every day. There had to be a reason for this. If only to shake Jacob up, to throw him off a delicate balance that he was struggling to find.

Another mindfuck, maybe; but oh, he was growing so tired of them.

Jacob’s life was shattered, his soul slowly fading, but yes, at least there were rules in place that made navigating this new space easier. This new building. The new schedule. The new tasks and orders. His new self.

Any deviation was, in itself, unsettling. Potentially dangerous. And highly suspicious.

Every step was cautious and measured now. As if walking on thin ice. As if walking on the edge of a fucking razor. And one wrong move, just a hair’s breadth to the wrong side, just one ill-considered breath, and the consequences would be fatal.

The words did nothing to calm Jacob.

Nothing at all.

He *had* to ask; hostile, but obviously terrified.

“Why?”

**

Another surprise.

Still hostile, certainly. That one word practically rang with fear. And Jacob was obviously suspicious to his core.

But he was *speaking.*

Questioning, even.

And that was, to Sebastian,  exceptional.

He kept his voice even and calm as he answered, his posture steady and almost relaxed as they walked, though his eyes flicked constantly to every corner.

“Because it's different. And I choose to *be* different.”

**

A few weeks ago, when Jacob had still seen the sun, when he’d still had a choice and a soul, he might have laughed at that. At the very least, it would have earned his guard a dramatic roll of his eyes. No way in hell he would have left *that* uncommented.

But not now. Not here.

Not when Jacob was aware that every step brought him closer to Faulkner, every breath closer to pain and fear and bliss. Their little detour didn’t change that. He couldn’t decide on whether it made this dreadful walk to his debrief better or worse. It only lengthened the moment of anxiety.

So he chose to fall silent again, counting his steps with his head lowered.

The halls looked all the same, anyway.

**

He had counted on the silence.

Sebastian knew better than to try to lead the man outside, or near the exterior windows. Even if only for a few moments. Though he hoped, in time, that he could.

He knew these walls all looked the same. He had spent more than enough time within them himself, before and after his stint in the Marines.

But in the silence it was a different set of walls he thought of, a very particular window he saw in his mind. The rain had been terrible, but the nights had been less so. The stars had made all the difference,  even through the bars.

Yes, at some point, Sebastian would lead Jacob outside.

But the silence held, as he expected it would, until they had turned and found the familiar hallway, stopping outside Faulkner's office. He'd keep his voice a little lower, now.

“Five minutes to wait. Rather than twenty five. I'll ask the same question, next time.”

**

Every step a step closer to hell. A step closer to doom and revelation. They went hand in hand now.

Jacob kept counting his steps, listening to the hollow echo of their feet.

Now and then, though, he risked a glance at that strange man. Trying to read him. Trying to understand what was going on here. Trying to guess his agenda.

Nobody was ever just… friendly here.

Or whatever this was supposed to be.

He hadn’t seen mercy or pity or lenience in this place. Only the ghastly face of brutality and indifference.

The question wouldn’t make any difference next time, either. It would be just as pointless. Just as inconsequential. Just as impossible.  But he didn’t say that.

Jacob recognised the door even before he came to a halt. Five minutes to wait. Still too early. But it would be better than being late. Faulkner wouldn’t like that.

And before he knocked, before he was let in, he looked back at his guard.

*The food. It was good.*

He wanted to say it. For what reason, Jacob didn’t know. But the words got stuck in his throat the moment the door opened. It was Faulkner himself, surprisingly, smiling his awful, slippery smile.

“I thought I had heard you. You’re early.” A chuckle. “You couldn’t wait to see me, could you?” 

No, the words didn’t come, didn’t make it over his tongue. They, too, were inconsequential, in the end. So after just a glance, he sighed, and turned his face towards Faulkner.