Chapter Text
It reminded Tom a bit of a prank in college. The one where you take the passed out kid and tape them to a wall with duct tape. In that case, he was the hammered kid that they put on the wall. The jackasses even managed to tape him upside down.
It was much more amusing to watch someone else rip and tear duct tape from their torso. Bonus points since it was Tord. The most fun he could ever have in space prison.
“Fuck!” He swore, struggling with a particular piece of tape around ribs. “You could offer to help!”
“I could,” Tom shrugged mildly, smirk in place as he watched Tord finally rip a gun off his torso. “This is much more fun.”
“Damn Jehova…” Tord muttered, which just made Tom smugger. “See if I ever do anything nice for you again…”
“Nice? Yeah, I’d like to see that,” Tom scoffed. He was pretty sure Tord would burst into flames if he did anything that could come close to “nice”.
Tord fixed him with a glare. He reached to his side and ripped the tape off from something pasted there. He stomped over, breathing heavily, and slapped it into Tom’s chest.
“There. Now you’ve seen it. I’m a regular saint.”
Tom looked down, shocked to see his black and white checkered lighter tumble into his hands.
“You found my lighter?” Tom was shocked, flipping it open and striking it with his thumb. In the cold and dismal prison cell it the flame was the only source of warmth or light. It was comforting.
“I found your flask too,” Tord said, struggling with another layer of tape. Tom could see the top of his checkered flask sticking out from the top. “Don’t think there is much left in it.”
Tom was a little stunned, the concept of Tord doing something nice, let alone going out of his way to do something nice, was beyond the grasp of his brain at the moment. The weight of the metal lighter in his palm was a familiarity he had been lacking since getting here.
“Why?” He asked, flicking it shut.
“Why not?” Tord grunted, shaking off a piece of tape stuck to his hand. “Your junk was there with my stuff so I just took it. No need to get all sentimental about it.”
Tom rubbed the flat of his thumb across the curved edge of the lighter. Tord swore in Swedish. Wait no Norwegian.
“For fuck’s sake,” Tom groaned, picking himself up off the floor so that he and Tord were face to face. “Hold still.”
Tord went stock still as Tom grabbed hold of the warm tacky tape. He had done a good job of mangling the strips. It took a few tugs until Tom yanked it off, flask stuck to the adhesive.
“Ugh thank god that thing hurt like a bitch,” Tord said, rubbing at his sides. Tom just peeled the tape off his flask and shook it. Sounds like there were like… three sips sloshing around in there. Not even enough for a pleasant buzz. Still… it was the thought that counted. He’d save it for later.
Tom knew with certainty that Tord was the furthest thing from a good person. Tord was an ass. Tord was shifty and shadowy and a mad scientist that messed with things that shouldn’t be messed with. And a lighter and a flask did not mean all was forgiven. But…
“Hey, Tord?” Tom started, tucking the flask and lighter into his hoodie.
“What?” He snapped, plopping onto the floor and sorting through his things. His eyes glared up at him, probably expecting the usual insult. Well Tom would show him!
“Thanks,” he grumbled, not looking the other man in the eyes.
Tord blinked up at him, mouth falling open a bit before his face went neutral. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Whatever. I hope you’re grateful for the pain I went through for them.”
“Goddammit, you damn Nord! I’m trying to thank you for not being a complete fuck!” Tom growled. Why did Tord insist on being so aggravating? Even at their most civil something about his shitty personality rubbed Tom the wrong way. He knew his personality wasn’t any less shitty but at least he didn’t go out of his way to ruin lives… probably.
“I don’t need your thanks,” Tord snapped. “What I need is to figure a way out of here in one piece. If you’re thankful you can shut up so I can figure that out.”
Tom sat in front of Tord, the items he had swiped laid out in front of them. They were silent for a few minutes, the cell floor icy through the seat of his pants.
Tord chewed on his bottom lip, brows furrowed and jaw tight as he stared down at the items. Tom looked down at the pile. It was a rather sorry assortment for breaking out of space jail.
A Swiss army knife, two pistols, a couple of magazines, a quarter of a roll of duct tape, his lighter, a vial of some neon puke green liquid and a weird metal stick. A pile of granola bars was scooted off the side that were, naturally, useless for prison escapes (especially since they were shitty oatmeal raisin).
“Really? We can escape with this?” Tom said, dubious.
“I’ve done more with less,” Tord replied, absently. Tom didn’t want to know. “Our biggest disadvantage is easily our physical differences. We’re laughably weak against their size and strength. They held me by the ankle with one hand.”
Tom snorted, imagining the Jehova flailing upside down. Tord spared him a quick glare.
“So what you’re is we can’t take them head-on. I could have told you that.” Who knows how well the guns would even work on them. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the shit cake?
“I’m saying we have to be smarter. Sneakier. Use our smaller size to our advantage. They couldn’t reach me in the vents.” Tord looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. That look like he was being studied like a lab rat always unnerved the shit out of Tom. “Your shoulders are a little wider than mine but you should fit in the vents just fine.”
“Well, that's brilliant. How do we get out that door?”
“I’m working on it!”
They lapsed back into silence and Tom let the maniacal wheels in Tord’s head spin.
“What do you think they meant by example?” Tom asked finally, unable to hold back the question. He had been mulling it over in his mind, curious what Tord could have done to warrant that kind of punishment. The kind of punishment that meant well... death. Probably.
“I have a few ideas. But really, I don’t plan on finding out. If we can get out of here before they come for... me... they’ll have a hard time dragging me back. I'll make sure of that.” He looked up at the cell door. They had long since shut the lights off for the sleep cycle so the lighting was dim. “By my estimation, we have one hour until we need to get going.”
“An hour?” Tom exclaimed, giving him a blank look.
Tord gave him a triumphant grin, the one that said he knew something Tom didn’t. Which, that was probably a large number of things but whatever.
“When I had that device, the holo-pad, it had arrival and departure schedules for this place.”
“So?”
“One of the ships arriving in…” Tord paused to count as if counting backward. “An hour. It is bound for the Galrath Asteroids if I remember correctly.”
“We’re gonna steal a ship,” Tom said, flashing a wide toothy grin. Now that he could get behind.
“That's the idea,” Tord replied with a matching grin. “We’ll be off this planet before they can even drag me to my trial.”
“How do we even get there?”
“I’m a genius. Photographic memory and all that. I’ve almost got a complete plan.” Tord tapped a finger to his temple. “Now give me your hand for a sec.”
“Why?”
“Will you just do it?” Tord gave a long-suffering sigh.
Tom obeyed, holding his hand out hesitantly. Tord studied it for a second before he reached out and-
“Fuck!” Tom hissed, yanking his hand back, cradling it against his chest. There was a small pinpoint of pain on the back of his hand. “What the fuck Tord?”
Tord put the dropper and lid back into the green vial.
“I take it that hurt?” Tord asked, not caring to hide a smile.
“Lolifucker…” He muttered, rubbing at the burn. It burned like hell like it would burn through his bones. It would probably be best to remember who was dealing with in the future. It was a dumbass move to just give him his hand.
“Calm down, it was just a tiny drop. I just wanted to test its properties on skin. It does wonders to the metal in here.”
“I would appreciate it if you would tell me before you experiment alien things on me,” Tom sighed, rubbing at the irritated skin.
“Oh, Thomas. Perish the thought.”
30 minutes later Tom and Tord are at the cell door, ready to go. Tord had drilled the plan into Tom’s head over and over again like he was a toddler.
“The sound of the gun will attract attention. So, make sure you get the vent cover off as fast as you can. Got it?”
“For the 5th time: Yes,” Tom said, gripping the weird metal device in his hand.
“Good.” Tord cocked the gun. He slowly dumped the vial of green liquid where the door met the walls, letting it drip down. It hissed and sizzled, eating away at the metal, wires, and mechanisms quickly. The door slowly pops open a crack.
“Let's wreck some alien shit.”