#xaul

Taga was shaking, and crying a little, too overcome with his own fear to pay any mind to the new man.

Ham’s eyes were wide, his expression stunned and far away.

Xaul looked primarily angry, his face flushed.

Jemboc looked defeated, sorrowful. There was no fear in his eyes, only the weariness of a man who felt he had failed in some fundamental way.

“I’m sorry, Keef,” he mumbled sympathetically as he passed Cassian, resting a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment.

Cassian just felt numb, and like he was going to be sick to his stomach, but a distant part of him felt a deep appreciation for Jemboc’s kindness. He thought of Clem for a moment and couldn’t breathe.

Ulaf staggered past him next, looking as sick as Cassian felt. Cassian braced himself to catch the old man if he fell over, although, he realized, he’d more likely end up falling to the floor with him.

Last was Melshi. The man who had reminded the others of the name Cassian had told them. He hadn’t expected that. Melshi seemed to Cassian like the kind of person whose actions he would never be able to fully predict.

They had spoken very few words to each other since Cassian had arrived on the floor, but each moment of eye contact between them (and strangely, there had been several) felt entirely new and unpredictable. Cassian didn’t know why he looked at Melshi, or why Melshi looked back at him; all he knew was that there was something in this man’s eyes that drew him in.

Kindness, and deep sorrow, and something incendiary, maybe.

As Melshi passed him on his way to the box, Cassian saw a version of his own terror in his eyes, but most of all he looked tired.

Suddenly, all the rest of table 5 were standing in the box, awaiting their punishment, and Cassian - Keef - was still rooted to the spot.

“Keef,” the floor manager was speaking to him, his gruff voice somewhat softened, though not to excess. “I need you to get in the box with your table. No exceptions for new men, I’m afraid.”

Cassian looked at him. Kino. It was like looking into the headlights of an oncoming speeder; this man was set in a direction, and he wouldn’t change course now, not for Keef. But there was pain in Kino’s expression. Sympathy and ruthlessness fought for dominance behind his eyes. Sadness won.

“Please,” Kino said in a hushed tone, with an edge of desperation, taking a step in Cassian’s direction. “I don’t want to force you. It’s better for you, for all of us, if you comply.”

Cassian looked into the headlights, and opened his mouth, but it was dry and no words came out.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to say, I didn’t do anything!

It’s not my fault our table was last, I just got here!

I went out for peezos and milk and now I’m here.

I just want to go home.

But home, he knew, was nowhere he could reach.

So he said none of those things, and instead willed his feet to move him to the appointed place.

He arrived, and stood next to Melshi. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed. They stood behind Jemboc and Ulaf, who stood behind Taga, Ham, and Xaul.

It felt like a second and an eternity before the floor was activated.

Then it turned on, and his whole body was alight with pain. His screams were indistinguishable from those of the men around him. 

The agony began in the soles of his feet, like a million tiny whips lashing every inch of his skin, and swiftly rose up through his calves, exploding through the rest of his body.

Then all at once, it was over, and his body hit the metal floor. For a moment, he could hardly see or hear through the pain still wracking his limbs, and he lay curled on his side, trembling. He could feel a bruise blooming on his ribs where he had fallen and hit steel.

Sight and sound returned to him, and still he lay curled on the floor, hardly breathing from shock. For a moment, he thought it would be like before, that the shock would pass and he would pick himself up, in horrendous pain, but with his nerve not entirely lost.

This time, though, the crushing weight of this place and the pain and his grief and the horror of all of it was too much to bear.

Cassian burst into tears.

He couldn’t tell how far around the room his sobs carried, but there was only a very small part of him that cared about that right now. He was in too much pain, and he had rarely felt so out of control of his own body, and so alone.

“Keef,” said a soft, pained voice that he was still learning to recognize. “It’s over. You’ll be alright. I know, it hurts. Hey, look at me, you’re going to be okay.”

Cassian took a gulp of air that devolved into another little sob, but he opened his eyes, and wiped them with trembling, tingling hands.

Melshi, still laying on his stomach the way he had fallen, had dragged himself closer to Cassian to try and bring him some comfort. Cassian hadn’t expected this. He realized that, though he was still learning to pick Melshi’s voice out from the crowd, he knew he would recognize his eyes anywhere.

“Breathe,” Melshi told him, a well-practiced reminder, whether from saying it so often to himself or others Cassian wasn’t sure. Cassian tried to take a deep breath, and his exhale came out shuddering. “Can I touch you?”

Cassian nodded despite himself, he wasn’t in the habit of letting people he’d just met touch him, but he needed comfort and he was beginning to trust this man to give it.

Tentatively, Melshi wrapped an arm around Cassian’s back, rubbing him softly in slow, soothing circles. With his other hand, which Cassian noticed was trembling, he took one of Cassian’s hands in his, and dug his thumb firmly but gently into his palm in an attempt to bring sensation back to the frayed nerves there.

He encouraged Cassian to take more deep breaths, and Cassian tried his best, through his sniffles and the tears still leaking from his eyes. Around them, he saw that the others were similarly gathering themselves. Jemboc was helping Ulaf stand, and Xaul had an arm wrapped around Taga’s shoulders.

“We don’t have much time. They’ll be sending us back to our cells soon,” Melshi said gently. “Can you stand?”

It sounded like a monumental endeavor. Cassian’s feet were burning and he could almost feel the painful blisters erupting on his skin, but he nodded his head.

“Okay, here we go,” Melshi said quietly, half to himself.

He still kept one hand on Cassian’s back and the other he offered for Cassian to cling to, which he did, with both hands. Melshi’s legs shook a little as he stood up while supporting Cassian in doing the same, but he let Cassian lean his weight on him, his head pressed against the taller man’s chest as he helped him up.

Then they were standing, and Melshi still held him close, still let him clutch his arm like a drowning man, as his last few sobs hiccuped out of him.

The blaring sound of the klaxon made Cassian jump, and Melshi held him tighter.

The Voice delivered its booming proclamation. Cassian only caught a few words of it, trying to calm his breathing and staunch his tears by focusing on the feeling Melshi’s uniform against his face, the smell of his sweat and the feeling of his arm around his back and his hand in his.

But he knew that the Voice said something about a cellblock, skyway, proceed, on program.

“On program!” Kino echoed, when the Voice had finished its pronouncement.

Gently, but urgently, Melshi peeled Cassian off of him, and inclined his head, speaking to him.

“Can you walk? Put your hands behind your head?”

Cassian nodded, wiped the remainders of his tears and snot on his sleeve, and raised his hands behind his head.

Melshi’s hand still rested at the small of his back, as though he were worried that Cassian might fall over at any moment, which was probably a realistic concern.

“Thank you,” Cassian croaked, his voice and composure still wavering, but steadier than they had been a minute ago.

Melshi’s only response was a small squeeze of his hand against Cassian’s back, before Kino’s eyes fell on Melshi and his distinct lack of program. Cassian watched as Kino’s eyes flicked between them, a brief flash of pity in his gaze when he looked at the new man, shaking and ruined by his ordeal. Kino made some inner calculation and settled on a warning glance at Melshi, rather than a barked order.

The warmth of Melshi’s hand left Cassian’s back, and he was on program: hands behind his head, eyes front, feet down on the deadly floor. There was nothing else to do, and sadly, nowhere else to be.

Cassian’s tears had dried up, but he still felt panic running wild in his chest and every nerve and muscle in his body felt as though it was screaming at him.

Soon they were all filing in a long line out of the workroom, and Melshi drifted away from Cassian into the sea of orange and white uniforms, but not before meeting his eyes once more, as he put some distance between them.

His glance seemed to say: I’m sorry.

Wish you weren’t here.

I’m sorry you’re here.

And what a kindness it was, to feel that someone wished he was anywhere but here, in this prison.