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by: Liam O'Donnell
16 May 2012
Time: Approximately 10 a.m.
Azkaban, Cell Block F

White. Everything is white...
The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Everything so sterile and pure about this room. It felt nothing like his old prison cell, the foul stench of his own rot and waste mixed with the seaside air that blew in through the small slits of windows--if he was lucky. Liam had no idea where he was, except he did know he'd been here before. Was this still Azkaban? It looked too...clean. There was no way they took an alleged murderer and promoted him to better accommodations.

My face... He stretched everything, rolled his jaw, tilted his neck, flexed his shoulders and each joint and bone popped as if they hadn't locked into place. It'd been a few days since his blackout. That was a few days ago now, and they brought him here sometime in the night. But for what, and what the hell were those blackouts anyway?

He heard stirring somewhere behind him. This new cell...he wasn't alone.
It had been two hours since she had woken up sore and tired. Her bones had creaked and crunched as she had moved from the ground. Bridget wished she could remember what had happened before then. Every couple of weeks, or months, it was hard to tell anymore the passage of time they would take her out. They would take her out and walk her down the hall. She could close her eyes and count the paces in her head. One hundred and forty five steps and then a turn followed by another seventy three. Then she forgot. When she tried to remember all that was there was darkness and pain. Hot white stripes of pain running through her head and then nothing but darkness. Darkness that lasted for days until she awoke here, back in the white cell. The dark always followed by the light and the sea. Followed by aches she couldn't remember how she got. Soreness, pain, stiffness. And always alone. Well, usually alone.

Sitting by the window, attempting to stretch out her legs and her neck from whatever blank space she had been in Bridget was torn between watching the ocean and watching the stranger. The ocean was the only thing that kept her from screaming- she had a feeling it was why the guards always gave her this room after the blackouts. It was their way of keeping sane- her one victory in this dark twisted prison and her one luxury in this half life. Still, the stranger was knew and Bridget couldn't make heads or tails of it.

She had been awake for at least a few minutes and just had stared at his limp form. He was fairly fit for prison. She had never seen him before, then again, she never ate with the general population- they never let her. She was...what did they call her again....oh yes, a high risk asset. Whatever that meant. He looked familiar though. Something about the curve of his jaw maybe or the strength in his movement. It's like she had seen him before in another life maybe. Still, even if she had this could be a trap. Something to make her talk. Something to make her give up information or give up her soul or give up...maybe even just living.

She was so close to that somedays. So close to just begging them to kill her, to let them kill herself even. She was sick of being alone with the white walls and the darkness and the sea. She was sick of being alone with her doubts and the screams and her thoughts. She was sick of the memories and the pain. At least the blackness relieved her for a few minutes, even if it was painful. Maybe they had given her a companion to keep her alive for whatever they were doing to her. Or maybe it was torture. Maybe they were to fight each other? Some sick sadistic game? It was all too much thinking for a brain left alone too long.

So she just stared as he stirred, drawing back quietly to the slit that showed the sea. She swallowed hard as he moved. Crouching back against the wall like the caged animal she was ready to fight if she had to, ready to run to no where, ready to bite or kick or scream. In this place you had to be ready for anything. She narrowed her eyes as he tensed at the sound of her scurrying. So much for the element of surprise. She would have to make the first move. Still, she shouldn't fight unless she had to. Best to conserve her strength to fight who she really needed to. Best to stay alive.

She swallowed hard trying to get sound out. Other than screams she hadn't talked in months. Her own form of protest she supposed. Now her throat was scratchy and dry. Even swallowing was hard. Opening her mouth at first Bridget couldn't get anything out but a strangled exhale of air. She gritted her teeth in frustration, staring down the new cellmate, or intruder, she couldn't tell which, and tried again. Her voice emerged, low and harsh- as broken as she was in the stale air of the cell. "Who are you?"
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by: Liam O'Donnell
The small voice made Liam jump back. The need to protect and guard himself made his hair stand on ends, goose flesh run along his forearms all the way up to his neck. He need to find the source of the noise and face it, protect his back so they couldn't strike him unawares. His head throbbed at that thought; they'd struck him down so much, pummeled with the but of a blunt object or a fist that came down with a heavy force. He pushed himself off of the ground and kept a crouched position as he moved backward until he could feel his back against the opposite wall. His breathing spiked, panicked and confused as everything spun around him; his vision was still blurry and completely thrown off as he'd apparently gotten up too fast. Liam saw spots and he tried to blink them away.

His thin, dried lips parted ever so slightly once he saw that the voice belonged to a fiery-haired woman across the distance of the stark white cell. She looked defensive, afraid even--of him? The feeling was somewhat mutual, since he'd never been in a cell with anyone else since they yanked him from general population months ago when he'd just been thrown into prison. That was the 'benefit' of being a murderer with resistance ties, built like a mountain, that no one wanted to cross. He rolled his shoulders back, then forward, and the bones in that crackled too as they set back in place. He winced, and opened his green eyes to stare across the way at the woman again.

She'd asked him a question, and even in this confusion he knew it'd be rude not to answer. "Liam." He said, his voice cut through the air like shards of glass were embedded in his throat. Liam didn't see a need to lie, anyhow. Who knew how long this would last, this company of his? If she was put in here to kill him, it didn't matter if he gave an alias or his real name. If they were just going to be sent to die, it wouldn't matter either. He blinked again, trying to get his vision to focus, and he struggled to keep his balance and his heart rate down because it made everything inside of him run lava hot.

Was this just a dream, then?

Why was he the one jumping back from her when he was the one lying for no reason her her cell. This was the cell that she had occupied for as long as she could remember in this prison. Grant you she couldn't remember much, but she remembered this particular cell more than anything else. She blocked out all else. The screaming, the pain, the beatings, the bruises she tried to block out. Sometimes things would come in flashes. The pain, or the crunching of bones, bright flashes of electricity and needles. Bridget closed her eyes hard at the thoughts of all it, feeling herself just shaking at the very idea of letting it come flooding back to her and then shot her eyes open as if to banish it all from her mind.

Focus on the stranger. The stranger was the more immediate danger than her missing moments and the thing more likely to kill her at this moment- not that she would care. She wanted to die. In death there was no pain, no loneliness or disappointment. At this point death would be a release. She had begged for it. She had asked again and again for them just to kill her. To set her into the darkness never to breath or see or hear or feel again. In many ways she had already given up. Maybe that's why, as she watched the man across from her roll his muscular shoulders she stopped being afraid. If he killed her that would be all she wanted. If he killed her she would be free. So why be afraid.

Still, was that was he was here for? He certainly looked strong enough. Muscular, lean, strong build. He was clearly a physical creature. Despite the fact that he had clearly been beaten as badly as she, if not worse, it had not diminished his health much. He looked like he was sore, moving slowly, much like she was, but how long could that last? How long would it take him to set his bones, and settle back into himself as she had only a few minutes prior. Still. If he was here to kill her.

Why would they put him in here injured? Were they going to be expected to fight? Should she even bother listening as a name fell from his dried lips and fell into the air like a whisper of memories past. Liam.

The name was familiar. Bridget knew she had heard it but from which life she couldn't say. School? Quidditch? Teaching? The prison? Her time in chains? Her time locked away in this room? It seemed as if she had lead at least seven lives. Seven lives that were running out. Might as well make someone remembered her when this one was up. Maybe they would find out if someone cared when all of this was over. Get word out if they survived. Not that by the looks of him he would survive. Even if he did would any care to find out about her? Kyle had never looked. Her parents thought she was dead most likely. Casey...Lucy....Evie...all ghosts from past lives and bygone eras out in the world that she had left and not caring she had left it. If they did she wouldn't have ever been put here. Still, she had to say her name. If she didn't she was sure it would disappear into the far recesses of her mind. Much longer and she was sure she would forget it herself- fall inside of herself and disappear into the walls of this prison, this cell, this place.

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by: Liam O'Donnell
"Bridget," he repeated. Her voice was like music to his ears. Liam hadn't heard the voice of another prisoner since...God, how long? How long was he in this cell? Not to mention, it was the first voice from a woman he'd heard since he last saw his wife...Kara. Sadly, this wasn't his wife, but he'd take company over desolation and destitute--the right of being with the woman he loved for the peace and quiet of this sterile cell. "Bridget..." Liam said again as he nodded. It wasn't his wife's name, but he was glad she seemed to trust him with it, even if it wasn't actually hers.

However, even with the comfort of another person being in here, he couldn't fully relax. This wasn't his cell. This wasn't his place. It was only a matter of time before they'd come in to drag him away. Liam's breathing slowed, because he forced it to. The more energy he was exerting with the fear that ran like ice through his entire body was exhausting. He rolled his shoulder again until it popped back into its socket and he let out another breath. There... He felt, for the most part, put back together again.

"What is this place?" He asked, his voice scratchy and airy as if he'd spent the whole night yelling. It was entirely possible, as he did some days in solitary, yelling just to see if anyone could hear him. It was rare, but he'd get visitors. Guards. Overzealous assholes who were quick to stun him with spells to make him drop. "Wh-Why am I here?" There were probably a hundred other things he could have asked, but those were the first things that came to mind. After being dragged off, having blackouts and these moments of intense pain with his bones breaking and cracking--he figured he might start somewhere, that is, if she even had answers to offer.
Bridget[/]. Her name floated through the air melodically. She closed her eyes and savored each syllable as it echoed again. [i]Bridget. It had been so long since someone had said her name. She had almost forgotten it at this point. To hear it again. To feel it wash over her made her feel almost human again. She was so used to the euphemisms the guards used. Hey you. Girl. Prisoner. Number 10642. It never was Bridget. Never Ms. Callighan. Never human. Never her. Never Bridget. At yet, here was another person, a human, calling her by her name. She was forced to lower her head and take a deep breath, pushing back tears. She couldn't break. Not in front of anyone. Not when they could be watching. Still, when she was human for the first time in so long....

Control. She had to control herself. Bridget drew herself up, a sad light reaching her eyes as she stared down at Liam. His breathing slowing. His head bent. He seemed as broken physically as she was. Maybe even more so judging by the bruises and cuts that peppered what skin she could see. And his bones crunched and popped at least as much as hers did. The pain of it sounded just as unbearable as hers did- maybe worse. It made Bridget wince in pain and rub her own sore muscles and tight bones. And then the tough questions started.

What is this place? If only she knew. Why am I here? She had no idea. She wanted so badly to give this poor man some answers. Maybe if she could he could give her some as well. With those questions she knew she would not be getting any answers to her own. They were, after all, the same as his. Why was she here? Where was she? Azkaban. That was the obvious answer. A private room. A room for those who had lost her minds she thought. That's why she was always here hoarse from screaming or in pain. Bloody, bruised, wanting to dive out the window, and run into walls. Bridget ran her tongue against her dry cracked lips feeling a sharp pain as she ran against a deep cut, tasting her own blood. She touched it gingerly and shook her head. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Normally, i'm alone here. They put me....They only put me here when I won't stop."
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by: Liam O'Donnell
"Won't stop? Won't stop what?" More importantly, his question was: why? Why were they together at all, when he was sentenced to solitary for a reason. Murderer, and all that. There were some extensive differences between his holding cell and hers. For one, it was clean in here. Bright. Even with the small inlet for the sea air, the oxygen was breathable in here, as opposed to that foul-smelling area he'd been subjected to for months, by his count. Liam watched, his eyes pulling together in concern when she found the blood on her cracked lips. The kindness in him wanted to reach out and help but for his own safety, he tamped down on that as not to act too hastily. Instead, he opted to stretch his shoulders again and let his bones and muscles sit a bit before letting out a deep breath. "I-I don't know why I'm here, I'm usually alone, in D, away from everyone and I--" He let out a roar of a cough, suddenly aware of how parched he was. Liam coughed to clear his throat, "I don't know what I'm doing here or why I feel like I was just hit by the Knight Bus fifteen times on the street there I..." He trailed off. They were both rather confused as to why they were put in here, together.

But was there a way out? He was just too tired to think. He needed a beat.

Liam let his green gaze settle over the woman, to get a better look at his new, and perhaps temporary, cell-mate. Despite the dirt and bruising, she was remarkably beautiful. Red hair...fair skin. Those traits weren't uncommon in these parts, but that wasn't what he'd noticed. There was a tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Where had he seen that before? He realized she looked very familiar...

"Bridget..." He said again, taking a careful step forward. She might have looked weak but if they put her in here to attack him, he needed to be ready. Wait, why was he so paranoid? Liam gulped. "Oh Merlin...thank Merl--Thank God. Bridget, it's Liam...from school?" Maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe he was a fool for thinking he left any meaningful, memorable impression on anyone while he attended at Hogwarts, who wasn't his wife or a couple of his best mates. Quidditch. He played quidditch...and if he remembered correctly, so did she? There was a ball of nerves deep in the pit of his gut as he watched her carefully for any response, but he didn't move forward. He couldn't. Liam didn't want to make her feel any more like a terrified prisoner than they already were. If she wanted to close the distance to speak in closer quarters, then so be it...but for now, he stood still.
The answer was simple enough. She felt no shame in it. Everyone in this place did it. Even before she had gotten here she knew what everyone else knew- Azkaban, even before the takeover, drove people mad. So why was she having such a hard time admitting what she felt, what she was to a stranger. Maybe it was because he was first human contact she had since she had been thrown in here. Maybe it was because she wanted a fighting chance against him and admitting any kind of weakness would lessen her position- give him an opening of some sort. Still, she took a deep breath and opened up just a little bit, why she had no idea. Hopefully it was to keep her human somehow. "Screaming. If they think you're crazy and a danger to yourself they separate you from everyone. It was my best chance at survival." She moved slightly, wincing as her muscles rose up in a protestation of pain. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, trying to shift her mind off of it.

He was dangerous then. D was a private prisoner block. It was usually reserved to those dangerous to others. What did he do that made him such a threat? Did they mistake him for a danger as they did her or was she really in trouble here? Still, if he hadn't attacked yet....

They stared at each other for a long time. Him gazing intently at her, her at him. She took in his green eyes flecked with brown. They seemed honest. Searching. She lowered her gaze to his tatoo-Gaelic. Was he like her? From where she was from? Her green eyes flicked to his in curiosity. She did not know quite what to ask, or how to. She did not know how long she would have to puzzle out the stranger, his purpose, or his identity.


The sound of her name shook her from her revery. Was he just testing it again the way he had before or did he know who she was? Did he have a clue of what she had done before all this. She didn't know anything about herself really. She remembered small things about her family. But anything else. Her family and flying. Occasionally a name or a face or a flash of something would pop into her head, but she had banished it all away in order to survive. If she were to survive she knew she had to be no one. So she was. A no one. Prisoner. Number. Nothing of importance. A nothing who liked looking at the sky and the sea. But the way he looked at her. The way he was praising all things holy that she had survived. He knew her? He....he liked her? Were they friends. Bridget stared back a moment blankly at his excitement. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember, as painful as it was. She hated accessing those memories. Anything fond. Anything happy. She knew that they could be taken away by this place and the creatures in it so she tried to lock them away. If she couldn't remember neither could they. Still, if he knew her....

Concentrating deeply Bridget tried to focus on what she knew. School. School....Hogwarts....That was where she learned to fly. Flying. Flying high above the ground in red robes. Twisting. Turning. She smiled slightly at the memory of wind whipping through her tied back hair, stinging her nose as she pushed forward carrying a red ball. She saw herself racing through the air blocked by....yellow. A person wearing yellow and black. A person wearing the man's face. They had played together. They had played against each other. Her eyes shot open and locked with his at the memory. She searched them looking for any other memories or signs and couldn't find any besides the brief glimpse in her head. Flying....you flew against me...."
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by: Liam O'Donnell
When her eyes met his, his green orbs lit up. Elation. He hadn't felt that in quite some time, and how strange it be evoked by someone he hadn't seen in over a decade. "That was me. Q-Quidditch." Liam chuckled. What a wild reunion this was. Was he dreaming? Was she even real? Liam wouldn't put it past the guard or whoever was prodding them with this...wild experimentation, to implant memories, instill a falsehood into his mind. This was just too good to be true. After losing all companionship, losing everyone he knew, he wakes up in a cell with the one person he remembers from school? How was this even possible? He wanted to clear the distance, maybe touch her, put his hands on her arm or her face or get closer to stare into those eyes a little deeper to make sure what he was seeing was real and not some sick illusion, not some sick test that they were conducting on him. But something stopped him. Uncertainty? Nerves? Fear? What if she was someone else entirely, and was in there to destroy him?

What if...what if...

Liam sighed, completely lost, torn between moving forward and staying still, an awkward stalemate with himself. If she wanted to go toward him, he'd let her, so he stood in a way that made him appear to be non-threatening, wondering if she would come closer.

He folded his hands together in front of him, fidgeting sightly. "We'd talk sports for hours in the pitch after teams dispersed. We--we'd sneak out to fly after curfew...almost got caught that one time by Professor..." The name escaped him. The memories brought a smile to his face, however, things he hadn't thought of for quite some time. He also never thought he'd see her again, since a lot of folks tended to go their own way after graduation. He was just an owner of a bar in London, nothing to brag about, and before his wife, he tried to keep his head low, and out of the drama. Yet, here he was.
She had never noticed before that his eyes were just like hers. Green. Green and dancing. Her weren't dancing. She couldn't remember happiness even if she had tried. Years of being a slave had beat the ability to smile with anything but relief, irony or placation on her face. Even when she did smile anymore it never quite reached her eyes- not unless she was remembering flying. That seemed to be the one smile kernel of hope. Of joy left in her. Closing her eyes and standing near the slat of a window in her cell feeling the breeze through her air and on a smalls section of her face at at time and pretending that she was free up in the skies once again. But this. Seeing how happy he was, it almost made her wall crumble just a little more. It made her want to try at least to remember what it was like to be normal. To be human. To be among others that wouldn't hurt her. For his sake.

They stood at stared at each other a while longer. He looked uncomfortable. Caught between actions. It made her shift a little to. To run if necessary. To fight if she needed to. To stay if she could. But then he started talking and she was forced to reach back again into her memories.

She hated doing it. She hated remembering things that would never be again. She hated remembering how far she was from home. How she had been happy. How she had been successful. How she had been loved. How she had almost had everything she wanted. Still, one memory. One little glimpse wouldn't hurt. Not when she could at least make someone who had a chance of surviving happy. Someone who still apparently knew who he was. Someone who wasn't broken. So she did.

Bridget closed her eyes and listened to his story. Sneaking out. Flying. The very thought of it made her mouth quirk up in a little half smile. She could practically see herself racing through the hallways with a young version of this man. Tall, lanky chasing each other through the skies, whispering as they walked, suppressing laughter and.....Her smile widened the slightest fraction more as she remembered the feeling of shoving him into an alcove behind a humpbacked witch on the way back in. Trying not to laugh or quake with fear as they stared into each others eyes all while evading capture. She opened hers and stared into his once more. She really had known him. She really had been friends with him.

Slowly, timidly Bridget creeped forward. She took one tentative step in front of the other. Inch by inch, as if she were more of an abused animal than a person she drew near to him, all the while keeping a careful watch on those green eyes in front of her. Finally, she stopped, maybe an inch or two in front of him and searched his face. "Nightwit. We called him Nitwit....He only lasted a year. I shoved you behind the witch. That was the time I almost.....Well....We didn't get caught." She wondered if he remembered. If he knew just what she had thought of him back then. Just what she had really wanted to do that night just as much as she wanted to fly.
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by: Liam O'Donnell
She took a few steps forward and he almost flinched when she drew near. He hated that Azkaban had instilled that fear in him. He hated that he was afraid of someone he knew, and recognized. Liam wanted to maybe put his hand to her face to see if she was real—touch her shoulder and arms, but he fought the urge in case he would be punished not only by the guards but by Bridget herself, for overstepping any bounds. Liam had been in there for months and grew numb to the pain but was still very much opposed to getting a beating for not thinking clearly before he acted.

"Nitwit..." Liam laughed, airy and raspy. He didn't even think he was capable of laughter, let alone smiling anymore. ”Yeah that’s it.” Lots of the teachers who didn’t quite ‘gel’ with the students seemed to get nicknames. Quirky professors too. Okay, maybe most of them earned nicknames based on their own unfortunate surnames or eccentric behaviors and hobbies, but Nitwit sure as hell earned his.

But then he tilted his head when she trailed off. ”The time you almost…what?” He urged. Liam might have remembered her, for that fiery hair, fair skin and those bright and shining eyes that were alluring even now—but there were some parts that were hazy at best.

Merlin, it felt so good to get into conversation again. He’d been talked at, not to, by the guards, so that didn’t count. Not to mention, conversing with someone like her was far better than making small talk with other prisoners. They had a history, the two of them, and those memories brought him to a place that felt heavenly compared to this hell hole.
Well, he didn't figure it out then why would he be any different now? Bridget was surprised honestly that he remembered her at all. But there it was. He knew her. He remembered her not for her quidditch playing, or her teaching, or her relationship with the members of the order but he knew her for her. It was strange. She honestly wasn't sure if anyone knew her like that anymore. Maybe her family if they ever found her again. But never anyone else. The students saw her as a famous player. Lucy saw her as another abandoned woman. Casey saw her as a player, as a support, as a member of the fight and Kyle, who knows whatever Kyle really thought of her. If he thought anything about it he never would have abandoned her like some forgotten play thing to be picked up later. But to be seen, really seen...it was odd. Odd and refreshing. Odd and somehow, in a strange way, even in this dark desperate place- comforting.

To hear that laugh. To feel like she was seen again. Important again. Merlin, it almost made her feel....well, human. And to know that she did that. That she was for once a cause of joy rather than making someone react in frustration, or anger, or resentment or disgust. To have her words create that joyful sound rather than a slap in the face or a kick to the stomach. Bridget felt the side of her mouth quirk up into a slight smile and a small breathy half laugh escaped her lips. The sound was foreign to her. Like the weak expression had come from another being. She didn't even recognize it.

It had been so long since she had to talk much less talk herself out of an awkward situation. During her time in slavery there was no speech unless it was a yes ma'am, or a no sir. Bowing and scraping and kowtowing. There was no real back and forth much less a true social exchange. This was just like being on the outside minus the pain in her body and the soreness of her throat, and the padding on the walls and the bars. Take that away and she could be meeting with an old friend in the bar. An old friend from happier times. But with all this, even the simple tilt of his head seemed to mean so much more. Like both of them where remembering what it was like to be normal. If that could even been done from inside these walls. "This is real right? You're not some part of a new brand of whatever they do to us here right?"
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by: Liam O'Donnell
Even in her silence he could sense that she was gradually getting comfortable. There was a strange draw, if not attraction to be near her, even more so now that they'd discovered they'd known each other beyond these walls. Liam was finally with someone who knew him for him, and didn't run in fear for the monster and alleged murderer that got him locked up. Those nicer times, the memories from Hogwarts were moments he'd completely forgotten about, but now that they were found again, he would cling to them for later use when times became too difficult. He'd been in here so long that the madness was more like a hysteria and it came in waves...violent, unforgiving waves.

Her smile was a welcome surprise too, and it calmed him down even more. His heart wasn't racing as much as it was when they first met, and his nerves weren't making him tremble. Liam was glad he still had enough charm in him to evoke any sort of smile or happiness from anyone, much less a woman, one of whom he hadn't seen in ages. In time, he hoped to see that smile grow, naturally. Or even hear the melodic tone of her laugh...

That would be the day...

He tilted his head again and heard his neck pop, a satisfying tingle running down his shoulders.

"Brand...No. I--I don't know. I don't know why I'm here, if that's what you're getting at. They rarely let me out of Block D unless I'm going to..." He trailed off. Honestly, he had no idea where he'd go off to. Blackouts and things he didn't want to think about... The cell they were in seemed like a luxury suite compared to D, but that could also mean the things that wait for them behind the exit were terrifying. "But real, yes...I'm real, as much as you're here...I can't believe you're here." Liam so badly wanted to reach out and touch her, to prove to himself the tangibility of his companion was indeed...real. But his hands were barely at his waist before he lowered them again, a hesitation to do so without permission would get him into some serious trouble with his one and only ally.

Liam didn't want to frighten her, he just had a deep need to hold someone or to be held. He rolled his shoulders and felt his bones pop again.
He was so calm around her. She didn't know how he was doing it. Even now, even with someone she knew here Bridget could still feel the unease of the cell around her. She could still hear the clinks of chains from the other cells, the moans from other floors drifting through the walls and yet, here he was. He was smiling at her and talking with her as if he wanted to be here not as if he were placed here with no choice. She couldn't help but feel the same. To crave the human interaction she had missed without realizing she had forgotten what it was like to be the focus of someone's view. To have someone look at you and want you to be near them for one reason or another. And to hear that he was real from his own mouth.

Still. She had been told things before only to have them be taken away from her. They had told her they would give her food and then it never came. A rest from the torture only to be followed by something far more painful and cruel. Assurances of death followed by who knows how many days alone in this cell alive and breathing. She was just a loath to believe he was real as he was to believe that she existed right there in front of him. Her eyes caught of glimpse of his arms lowering back to his sides. He had been moving them. To what? To attack. To finally carry out the purpose he had been put here for. She tensed a little and stared waiting for the first move for a moment. If he had wanted to hurt her he could have done it a hundred times by now. He could have clocked her when she was standing so close, gotten her when she had closed her eyes. So what did he want? To touch her? To see if she was a figment?

Swallowing Bridget took a deep breath and held it in her chest. Her hands wavered for a moment as she reached out and took his hands in her. They were rough. Scratched and broken as hers. She held them for a moment and nodded. Real. She was real. "I'm here."
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by: Liam O'Donnell
His breath hitched when she grabbed his hands and they trembled in her grasp. Maybe it was nerves, or the fact that he was aching from head to toe with bones cracking with every move and every turn. Liam was in such shock, that he brought his eyes down to look at them. He didn't expect her to want anything to do with him, regardless of how friendly their conversation was going for now. The smiles, the memories and camaraderie that rushed back to both of them with such ease... No, Liam expected her to keep her distance, refuse to do anything more than merely look at him, which was more than he could have ever wanted. Contact was further proof that she was real--that they both were, and he was still in disbelief.

Slowly and gently, Liam turned her hands down but he didn't let go. His thumb clasped over hers hand that fit perfectly in his, and as a reflex, his thumb stroked the back of it, tracing down the bone until her knuckles. Just once over and back again, and then his forefinger did the same underneath. Her palms weren't as soft as he expected, rough and somewhat callused. He knew that she must have been in here for some time. The way she moved, the way she hesitated or even the way she talked was laced with fear...that is, until he broke down that barrier just now. It was comforting. Warm.

Liam laughed. He laughed that he might have seemed so hysterical to her, like a madman almost, but as much as this felt surreal, he found it hilarious. "I'm sorry...I-I just can't believe this....but I'm just so glad it's you..." He shook his head, "Not under these circumstances...but of all people to throw me with, it's you." He didn't mean to insult her, and he hoped he didn't scare her off.


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