The Spy and The Doctor

[TheScarletBlade]

The Spy and The Doctor is a thread made for only two people: Myself and some female. The storyline behind The Spy and The Doctor is that The Spy(Myself) is an American secret agent that infiltrated Russia during the cold war but a anonyumous tip lead to his capture and imprisionment at one of those secret prisions that Comrade Stalin forgets to mention to the United Nations.There,The Spy goes through intense and Brutal torture everyday in hopes of beating whatever information they can out of him.Without breaking,after his beatings,The Spy is taken to a medlab runned by The Doctor. After spending a little bit of time in there,The spy learns that the doctor is an American defector,pressed into service for the Russians.Soon the two fall and love and hatch a plan to escape from the Prison togather and then escape across Russia and Eastern Europe to cross the Iron Curtian back into the states. This story is supposed to be a dramatic love story so I am looking for a female who likes to write and can post every other day at least.

My Character(The Spy):

Name:Lance Macaine
Race:White
Height:6'0
Weight:200 pounds(No fat)
Eyes: Jade
Hair:Raven Black

Discription: Lance Macaine is(or was) a fitness freak that worked out daily and always watched what he did,he also spent hours upon hours training in the CIA's special gyms and training classes.Thus,Lance is a handsome man standing about six foot tall with broad shoulders and strong mucles.He is well defined and has high cheek bones and a a light tan hue to his skin.He has jade green eyes though they are cold and lifeless,having lost their shine from the weeks of beating. Despite always having bandages across his entire body,being constantly patched up from his training,he has cuts and bruises from whatever new means of torture from his Russians hosts.He commonly only wears his dark black,weather beaten and faded long legged black pants he was wearing when he got taken in.He doesn't have a shirt and is always half naked because the Russians like to instantly beat him and not worry about having to take his shirt off.

Personality: Lance's personality is well,he doesn't have one. Usually he is void of all emotion and has not true feelings accept for pain because he is a prisoner.He feels caged and sad though he remains faithful to his country and refuses to break under torture.In the face of his captors,he is defiant but everytime else he doesn't have the strength for emotions accept for when he is around the beautiful american doctor,when his true,light hearted and witty personalty comes out.

 

[sharingfantasies]

Nat Samuels felt her stomach muscles clench as the American was dragged into the medlab again. She tightly clenched the bottle of alcohol that she had been using to disinfect some of the tables in the lab. She kept her back to the guards so that they wouldn't see the horror that she was sure was evident in her saphhire blue eyes. She wasn't sure how any human could survive one beating much less weeks of abuse. If she could have, she would have run as far as possible the first day they had dragged his unconcious body into the lab. But that wasn't an option. So every few days, when the torture reached the level of him needing medical attention, the Russians would bring him to her to patch up so that they could start all over again.

One of the guards spoke in guttural Russian, telling her the American had broken a couple of ribs this time. While she wanted to scream that he hadn't broken the ribs they had, what actually came out was a soft American accented Russian that was probably as harsh as that of the guards. "Put him on the table, Guard Slovenshki and I will attend to him." Without turning she heard the rattle as they lifted him up onto the paper covered metal table. The American gave a soft groan that he obviously was trying to hold back. When Nat heard the door click shut, she set down the bottle, hands shaking she pushed the ebony tendrils that had escaped her pony tail, and turned to see what they had done this time to this man. Seeing this brave but stubborn man broken and beaten was one of the most horrific sights she had seen in her 32 years. Only the bodies of the children... she turned off that path of thought and walked over to the table.

He was a mess, his skin mottled with the different colors of old and new bruises. His nose was slightly crooked but it didn't look like they had broken it this time. She gently ran her hands over his skin, not wanting to hurt him more than he was but needing to find the breaks.

His right eye was swollen shut and the left one he cracked just enough for her to see the green iris. Keeping a running monologue she told him in English what she was finding.

"Well, I think you know that your eyes are a mess, the right eye is so swollen I need to check for damage to the lens but I don't have the right instruments so it will have to wait until the swelling goes down some. The left eye is in pretty good shape comparatively, although there is a slight cut on the lid itself it doesn't look like the ring or brass knuckle or whatever they used cut all the way through the lid." She lightly touched his nose, "This looks all right, nothing new broken since the last time they broke the nose. Your lower lip is split but not bad." She gently wiped an antiseptic pad across the lip, knowing it would hurt but also knowing that there was nothing she could do about that.

Her long fingers gently probed down both sides of his neck she checked the collarbone. "I think there is a slight fracture here, but it is hard to tell without an xray. I don't know if they don't care about the level of medical care I can provide or if the supplies were stolen or sold on the Black Market but I am out of X-Ray slides so if anything is broken we won't be able to tell for sure until a supply comes in. "

Moving onto each arm, she continued her patter, knowing it was partly from her nerves and partly so that he would know what was happening. Often he could tell her, better than she could tell him, the condition of his body. Still she wanted to do the most professional job possible in the situation in which they both found themselves.

Tracing each rib, she discovered four broken ones. "What did they do kick you?" she asked rhetorically not really wanting to know. "You have four ribs all cracked on the right side but the left side is bruised but intact." Checking out his upper torso had been easy because he was shirtless but the ragged pair of pants he wore made is difficult for her to check his internal organs. Undoing the snaps, she slid the stethoscope under the band and listened for a heart beat. The beating was thready but there, so she knew that his circulation was intact. Gently pressing along his abdomen, she continued, "Intenstinal tract seems okay." Rolling him to his side she checked on his liver, "Liver fine as as I can tell. The blood you spit up a little seems to be from your lip and nothing internal."
Removing her hands she redid the pants then checked out each leg for breaks or muscles damage.

Helping him to sit up, knowing how painful it would be, Nat took some long bandages and began to wrap the ribs tightly. Small moans escaped as she pulled the bandages as tightly as she could. "Your breathing seems all right so you didn't puncture a lung and that is good." Stepping away from him for moment, she returned and held out a glass of water. Lifting his hand she curled his fingers around the base. In the other hand she place two painkillers. "Swallow these. I know you are aware that the ribs are going to be very painful for a week or so, but these should help a little."

She stepped back a little while he shakily lifted the pills to his lips. She couldn't help notice his small whimper as the movement pulled on the ribs. Still she didn't say anything about the pain, what was there to say. They had been through this routine several times and would be again. Once he swallowed the pills, she helped him lie down, and then found a shabby but clean blanket to pull up over him. The metal table wasn't comfortable but then neither was the floor of his cell.

He hadn't said anything but then he never did when he was first brought in, Nat figured it took all his concentration not to scream or faint. Once he was settled under the blanket, she noticed his body beginning to shake, but again she didn't mention it. It was shock and the reaction to no longer being beaten for the moment as he began to feel momentarily safe from his abusers. She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. There wasn't much she could do, but she wanted him to realize he wasn't alone in the world.

When he started to doze off, she relaxed her body He would sleep for an hour or two and then want to talk when he woke. She knew that contact with her was his only connection to a human being. Neither one of them considered his guards to be human. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath to stop her own trembling. While she waited for him to wake she returned to wiping down the surfaces in the room. She didn't have much equipment but the rubbing alchohol seemed to always be available.

 

[TheScarletBlade]

It was a whole new day,Lance could only tell because her the word "morning" in the gruttal Russian that resounded down the empty hall and into the silence of his cell. It was morning already,not that time ment anything when you were locked up in a cage and couldn't lay down without it hurting every bit of your body,multiple scars and broken bones,put in place by the beautiful doctor and then knocked right out of place the next morning just to be put back into place. Lance had given up hope a few days? weeks? months? ago,he didn't know because time was all a blur when you had nothing to look at and the highlight of your day is after you get beat to a pulp where you can spend an two hours in the infirmary: one knocked unconcious and the next,chatting with a beautiful Russian doctor,or what Lance thought was a Russian,he wasn't really in the state of mind to figure out what was going on,when he brains were slowly beat out on the floor everyday.

Lance used to be a secret agent,he was almost literally James bond,cept he wasn't British. Lance was from south boston,a good catholic boy turned secret agent and given a liscene to kill. Lance was about 6'2 and was pretty well toned,with hardened muscles cascading down his entire body,hardened from years of living on the streets and training at the local karate dojo since he was six years old.He was a well oiled and street smart kid when he went into the business,with the desire to fight communisium and bring the cold war to an end all by himself.After ridding him of his Irish accent,the agency built on his martial arts and fighting skills and gave him charm and wit,taught him how to become a member of high society and how to blend into society. He was trained to speak a slew of langagues: Russian,Spanish,Italian and English,so they didn't need to train him on how to survive in those countries. It was only a year after he joined up,the CIA sent him on a secret op deep behind the Iron Curtian in the heart of mother Russia. Lance instantly blending into his Russian surrondings,his cover being he was a Russian carpenter,he was able to open up his own store and spent a year in leningrad,where he flirted with multiple chicks and kept up with current affairs and doing a little spying on the governor. Suddenly,his cover was comprimised and he was attacked by the KGB,they stormed in place and after a massive gun fight and twelve days of trying to make it for the Iron Curtian,he was nabbed in Poland and brought to his pretty little jail cell,where he has been for...he doesn't know how long. There is no hope of being rescued because he doesn't offically belong to the United States and there is no chance of escape because he has already tried it and he got three gun shot wounds for it.

Suddenly the sound of heavy boots caused Lance to look up at the door,half asleep though he felt to bad to ever get any sleep. He hadn't slept since his first day and it could be seen in his eyes,the massive sacks under his eyes and the half dazed look he always had on his bruised up face.CLINK CLINK,the sound of a key turning as the heavy metal door was pulled back and to of his gracious hosts stood there,in their heavy brown coats and there AK-47's strung across their backs. Moving into the room,the two men kicked their charge in the side to make sure he was fully awake,they heavy boots thudded against their charges chest,causing the irish man to grunt. Grabbing him the arms,they lifted him and drug him,his legs dangling as they pulled him from his cell. Lance was to weak to fight,to weak to resist and his chest stung,though pain ment nothing to the captured spy because he had felt so much during his time here,it was like his mothers kisses...well sorta.

Slamming him down in silver chair,they sit him in an all dark black room,with only one light beaming down him and the interogator leaning against the smooth stone wall,looking at him,sitting there weakly. Lance was obviously not breaking though he was getting sicker and sicker. Lance knew there was no chance of getting out of here,even if he defected,so his only option was he would take his secrets to the grave. Moving across the room and into the light,the integator always started the session with a hello: lifting his heavy hand,the Interagator brought his heavy fist against the spy's face,knocking his head to one side and causing blood to spurt from his nose.The interagator moved his face back to look at him and the fat man looked into Lance's eyes "you ready to tell me what I wanna know,or do we have to go through another day and then another until you die? I mean think about it,co operate and mother Russia will welcome you to its lands,you will be free...I mean think about....think about being free" The man said as he tried to convince Lance into betraying his country. Smirking,Lance looked at the man with a devilish look " well you know,being free would be nice...but I would only be fucking your sister" Lance said confidently. Turning red with anger,the interagator beat him across the face with his gloved hand,knocking Lances head back.Grabbing Lance by the hair,the man yanked Lances head past the almost breaking point "Got anything else to say,funny man?" The fat man asked him.

"Oh yeah,I will be fucking your mother too" Lance said defiantly as the man grabbed him out of his chair and punched Lance in the stomuch,causing the irish man to bend over and almost hurl up his guts with the force of the impact. Sweat,the fat man tossed Lance to some of the other men and what followed was really a blur to lance. A whipping,a beating,a mix of pain and screams,blood and sweat...laughter and tears as the day began to swirl around him,things being lost in time.Finally,Lance was little more than a blood covered,half dead man that hung limply in the air,his body beat to the broken point,past where any normal man could have taken a beating and lived. He was under nurished,beat and tired. Releasing him from his hanging postion, Lance fell to the cold,blood covered floor and was dragged. His feet dragging across the ground,he saw the fimuliar light of the medical bay as the darkness took hold of him and he began to slip into an unnatural,exhaustion induced sleep.

The darkness began to get brighter and brighter as the world began to illuminate around him. Lance had been falling and falling through darkness,stumbling and falling around in the dark with no light and no hope until suddenly the pitch black got brighter and brighter until his jade green eyes began to slightly peek open.It was fuzzy and then it started to get sharper and sharper until suddenly he saw the light that hung over head,the operating lamp that beamed down on him.He smelt the smell of rubbing alchol,real alchol and a women,he definantly knew where he was,but the only word to come out of his mouth was " What,where am I"

 

[sharingfantasies]

Nat was pulling a small splinter out of one of the Russian carpenters that was always around repairing something in this prison when she heard the American softly question where he was. She swabbed antiseptic onto the man's finger and covered it with a small bandage. Once the man had shyly thanked her and left, she turned to the American.

His question was bad news. Usually he knew where he was. "They must have hit him in the head more than I realized," Nat thought. Stepping beside the metal table, she laid her hand onto his shoulder and felt him shudder. Quietly she said in American, "Shhh, it is okay, you are in the prison medical ward again. As usual they beat you heavily, but I am concerned about your awareness.

She stroked his shoulder gently with cool, dry fingers as she inspected his face. Both eyes were now swollen shut and she hoped that his lack of knowing where he was was due the temporary blindness rather than some sort of internal damage to his brain. She did not have the equipment that would allow her to scan for any swelling or contusions internally. All she could do was rely on her knowledge of the damage the guards usually did to the prisoners, and what she could see.

"Your eyes are both swollen shut which is why you can't see, but as far as I can tell the damage is temporary. Think of it as two severe black eyes." She went on to catalog the damage that she'd found, knowing that he would want to know so that he could determine for himself how much more he could take.

"The saving grace, if you want to call it that, is that they beat you severely enough that I can keep you here for at least 24 or maybe even 48 hours before they come to take you back to your cell. Once they take you back, then they won't let you come here for help, at least not until they have spent more time damaging your body. If I help you up do you think you could eat a little broth? The pain in your ribs is going to be pretty bad but the painkiller I gave you should take of the worst edges of it. I wish I could give you more, but there is a shortage as usual, and I want to stretch what I have as long as possible since I don't know when I will get more. So all I can do for you is take off the edge but the aching I am sorry, but that I can't stop. Can you tell me your prison number?" Nat knew better than to ask his name, eventhough the two of them had been talking for the past two months, he had never offered his name. Even if he gave it now, it would be no indication to her of any mental distress since she didn't know the real answer.