Another long day of interrogation had taken its toll on Richard. The men who were sent in to speak to him were becoming increasingly violent, and he could tell it was only a matter of time before they gave up and had him executed, unless he was beaten to death first. He honestly didn't think he would mind that. After all, it certainly was better than the alternative of spending the rest of his life locked into his tiny room.

Despite the intense pain from his injuries and the increasing concern that some of his wounds were becoming infected, he concentrated on the pattern of his breathing and eventually slipped into a deep sleep. Deep enough that he didn't hear the masked man enter his room, and breathe out his name with a combination of sadness and relief.

What awoke him was the feeling of someone releasing the restraints on his feet. He lashed out as best he could, but the man held his legs in place with a gentle hand.

"Relax," he said, "I'm here to help you."

Richard thought the voice sounded familiar, but the ski mask over the man's face prevented him from seeing anything but his eyes, which were too hidden in shadows to see properly. He noticed the man's hands were shaking badly.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy from that day's abuse.

"I'll tell you after I get you out of here," the man replied.

He ran his hand gently over Richard's brow before turning his attention to the restraints on his wrists and chest. Somehow Richard felt comforted by the gesture, even though he was still suspicious of the man's motives. Plenty of people had been sent in before to "help" him, and none of them were to be trusted. He didn't know why this man should be any different.

The man helped him sit up after he was released, and he sat rubbing at his wrists.

"No clothes?" the man asked, glancing around.

"No. They took away my sheets and blankets, too."

He shed his own jacket, and tucked it around Richard's waist. He had finely toned arms, and guns secured to his torso with a shoulder holster. There was definitely something about him that seemed familiar, but Richard couldn't place exactly what it was.

"Can you walk?" the man asked.

"I don't think so. I'm too weak, and I think there's something wrong with my left ankle."

The man knelt down before him and examined it, shifting his foot back and forth until Richard cried out in pain.
"Broken, probably. Or fractured, at least. I'll just carry you, ok? Come on," he said, reaching out to lift him bridal style, "We need to get out of here."

If he felt any hesitation, it was quashed by his relief of finally being able to get out of the room. There wasn't much this man could do that hadn't already been done to him, anyway. The man lifted him easily, and Richard adjusted the coat around his waist before curling his arms protectively around himself, resting his head tentatively upon the man's shoulder.

He glanced around excitedly as they went through the door, processing his new surroundings. The hallway wasn't especially interesting, but any change of scenery was welcome in Richard's mind. Mostly it just seemed like a maze of unmarked doors and unlit corridors.

The man carrying him walked cautiously, pausing at every intersection of hallways to make sure no one was waiting around the corner. The building seemed suspiciously quiet, and it set Richard's nerves on edge.

"Where is everyone?" he whispered.

The man glanced down at him and shifted him in his arms.

"The building is minimally staffed on the weekends," he whispered back, "I only came across two guards on my way in, and I took care of both of them."

"Took care?"

"Killed," the man said, glancing down at Richard as if to gauge his reaction.

He simply shrugged and settled his head against the man's shoulder again. Anyone who worked in that godawful place deserved whatever they got.

Eventually they reached a set of doors that led them outside. Richard lifted his head and breathed in fresh air for the first time in three years. It made his head spin, but the light breeze felt good on his skin, and though the only thing to be seen from where they were was a few military vehicles and a large black car, he felt almost giddy to behold them. He took in the sights before them, and then glanced back at the large brick building from which they had emerged. It seemed innocuous enough, if one ignored the heavy iron bars across all the windows. Desperate to push the last three years of his life out of his mind, Richard turned his attention to the sky. He figured they must be somewhere out in the country, because there was little light pollution, and he had a good view of the stars as he tilted his head back. He spotted several constellations he knew, though he wasn't even sure how or why he could identify them. He just knew them, like he knew that grass was green, even though he couldn't recall ever seeing it. He blinked back tears as he gazed at the sky, smiling as if he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years. The man who carried him made a soft sound that Richard couldn't quite identify as they approached the black car.

"You always did like astronomy," he said thickly.

"Did I?"

The man simply nodded, and shifted his grip on Richard until he was able to open the car door. He settled down in the back seat, with his arms still securely around Richard, who he placed on his lap.

"Go," he said to the driver, who also had a ski mask over his face. The driver sped away without hesitation, zipping past a security booth that had a dead guard slumped against the window, which was splattered with blood.

The man who'd saved him seemed to be trying to ignore Richard, but also seemed to be unwilling to remove his arms from around his waist. When Richard reached up to pull his mask off, he stopped him, holding his wrists in a firm but gentle grip, until they were a few miles away from the facility. Then he pulled the mask off himself.

"Sebastian," Richard breathed, and leaned up to press their lips together.