He wanted to hear Anthony’s righteous, self-important voice speak all the calm reassurances that incredible circumstances only ever happened one time, and that everything was going exactly to plan.
(Plus, Elliot was cute. He also had on good authority that he was a damn good kisser, he could have totally made up for the rest of it!)
But mostly... Elliot wanted Anthony to keep sleeping, because as long as he was sleeping, Elliot could keep looking.
And I like looking at him. I...
Oh shit. I like looking at Anthony.
Elliot closed his eyes and groaned. I can’t like Anthony! He’s an asshole! He thinks I’m useless! He told me I was probably going to die! I can’t actually like a guy like that!
Even if he is stupidly competent and funny and talked me down from a panic attack and doesn’t believe me about the clone serum and is really cute with his hair falling over his eyes and is definitely more than a little bi... oh dammit.
I like Anthony. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
Elliot’s breath sped up. His fingers tingled. The world tilted or maybe there was an earthquake... but no, it was just his head going all light, with the strange other-worldly feel of an oncoming panic attack again.
“No no no no,” groaned Elliot, eyes springing open.
Anthony was still in his cell, still meditating, still breathing slow and steady.
Breathe with me, Anthony had told him once, several hours or a lifetime before, and when Elliot had done it, it’d worked.
Elliot matched his breaths with Anthony. It was a struggle at first, and his lungs complained at doing their job so slowly and thoroughly. It was almost worse than the panic attack itself.
But then the world stopped tilting. His head ground itself again. His fingers stopped tingling, and before Elliot knew it—he was calmer.
If he couldn’t hear Anthony’s voice—even Anthony’s voice yelling at him—then looking was clearly the next best thing.
And if that’s not damning, I don’t know what is, thought Elliot, miserably. He hates me. He thinks I’m incompetent. Half the reason he’s in here is probably my fault, or he’d have broken out by now.
That’s probably why he didn’t kiss me in the supply closet.
Not that I wanted him to! I’m only thinking about it because the guard mentioned it! I do not want Anthony Dare to kiss me! Anthony Dare is a pretentious, self-absorbed, stuck-up asshole who looks fantastic when he’s meditating and has very nice hands!
Elliot groaned and shifted his head to look at the ceiling again. He shifted on the ground, pulling his knees up in the air to release the strain on his lower back.
Nope. No use. I want him to kiss me.
Dammit.
Elliot let his feet drop back down to the floor.
Thunk.
Elliot went still as the hollow echo faded. Then he lifted his foot again, and let it drop again.
Thunk, said the floor hollowly.
Elliot sat up and knocked against the tile floor. The hollow sound was unmistakable. Elliot’s eyes widened.
This floor isn’t solid.
Elliot crawled around the room, feeling carefully for a seam. He found it near the center of the room—a tile with enough space in the surrounding grooves for him to work his fingernails in. He dug in just enough to lift the tile away.
“Hot damn,” said Elliot, delighted as he pulled up the tile. There was definitely an opening there—Elliot felt the rush of cool, strangely scented air. Better yet, Elliot the space was easily big enough for Elliot to fit through it.
Then he saw where the escape route led.
“Oh,” said Elliot faintly, staring down at the twenty-foot drop to a body of water so still that it reflected everything back as clear as glass. Elliot saw the support beams holding up the ceiling to the cavernous room—the ceiling that became his holding cell, as well as the holding cells surrounding him, including Anthony’s. Better yet, they led straight to the air ducts on the far side of the room.
Better yet—the beams went directly under Anthony’s cell, which meant Anthony could escape this way, too.
“Okay,” said Elliot, carefully laying the tile to the side. “Now to get Anthony’s attention.”
When Elliot looked up, Anthony stared at him from across the hall. He stood, his arms spiraling through a series of motions that might have meant something to someone—but just looked like weird gyrating to Elliot.
“Am I supposed to understand any of that?” asked Elliot, amazed. His feet dangled in the opening as he sat on the edge. Anthony’s gyrating could have flagged down a 747, and it was even more exaggerated and furious when Anthony realized that Elliot was watching.
The water below was dark and smoky, and very, very still. There wasn’t a single ripple to indicate any kind of motion at all. It was incredibly unnerving, and Elliot felt a brief tremor of worry in his gut. He saw his reflection staring back up at him, and strangely, his reflection didn’t even look half as nervous as Elliot felt.
If the water was still, it was safe, as long as Elliot didn’t fall into it, something Elliot had no intention of doing. After the plane, the skydiving, the ATV ride, the close call in the lounge, and finally being arrested... a still body of water was nothing.
Elliot gave Anthony a thumbs up. Anthony gyrated like mad.
Elliot looked back down.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, and eased himself down, so that his feet landed securely on the beam below the opening.
It held. It didn’t even squeak.
Elliot breathed a sigh of relief, and slowly lowered himself the rest of the way until the beam supported all of his weight. His fingers clutched a pipe at eye-level—not exactly the best of holds, but the only one currently offered. Elliot carefully studied the path ahead of him. The beam wasn’t quite large enough for him to crawl along it—but it was wide enough that he could walk it like a balance beam, holding onto the various pipes and rails along the sides and top. He’d have to climb over some obstacles, or duck under others—but it was mostly a straight shot to freedom.
“Okay. You can do this,” he whispered to himself, forcing himself to keep his breaths even and steady. “That air duct will lead somewhere, hopefully somewhere without guards. You can get there. Any time now. Here we go.”
Elliot started moving. He wasn’t sure how, since he hadn’t told his muscles to go, apart from the pep talk. But since when had his muscles ever listened to a pep talk?
In fact, Elliot realized as he reached the first hurdle—this being a cross-beam at about waist level, which required him to climb over it—it was... almost... sort of... fun.
“Huh,” said Elliot, surprised at the thought.
He was more surprised when Anthony’s head popped down as he righted himself on the support beam. Elliot almost screamed from the shock.
Anthony scowled, his face turning red from hanging upside down. “Try not to do that, they’ll hear you.”
Elliot exhaled in relief. “You figured out how to get down here.”
“Are you insane?” Anthony hissed at him.
“Well, yeah, considering,” said Elliot, pointing down.
Anthony craned his head to look down—or, up, from his point of view. Elliot, stupidly, followed his gaze.
And then nearly lost his hold when he saw the water ripple.
Oh shit. Something’s in there.