Alec didn't do well in closed off spaces. No windows, solid concrete walls blocking out outside noise, and nothing but a single metal-frame bed and a pathetic excuse for a toilet shoved into each corner of the room. This was his life for the foreseeable future.

How did they expect him not to go crazy in here? How would anyone not go crazy? Days upon days passed, tests upon tests were run with pending results, and the cycle would repeat. He was a sitting vessel, used only for his blood and for his brain, which even then, they only wanted occasionally, and only for scans.

That was, until you were brought in. Dragged in, was more like it. You looked harrowed, even more than he did, which meant that you'd either been dealing with the same treatment as him, or worse.

That didn't mean he had to like you. Or talk to you. To Alec, this was a means to an end. Eventually, they'd have to set him free. It was not his fault that the guy they cloned him from turned fucking insane, so why would they punish him for it? Or, at least, more than they were?

You were silent and weary, and he was coiled tight and pissy. It was a lethal combination, and surely exactly what Manticore wanted.

Alec watches as you, for the second night in a row now, avoid the bed. He doesn't sleep on the bed either, tries to be a gentleman, but for some reason, you have it in your head that you don't want it either. Small slice of paradise in this little bit of hell, and you were giving it up?

His eyes narrow, and he really wants to be mad, wants to take it all out on you and call you every name in the book that he knows, but he always stops himself when he really gets a good look at you. You look so haunted, and he's not a monster. That's the whole thing he was trying to prove in here, apparently.

"Just take the bed," he says with a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair. "Stop being all modest or whatever. I'm not takin' it, so let it go to use, or somethin'."