"Jesse" part seven
Sep. 3rd, 2007 08:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeSorry this update took longer than usual-- I sustained a nasty bite from a Wonder Woman lunchbox and have been working very diligently ever since on another, completely unrelated story (16,021 words and counting!) which I hope to post here in the fullness of time. But would I leave you hanging in re: our sweet boy heroes? (PS. I would not.)
Part Six
“Wake up, Bran,” said Holden softly. “You’ve got to meet Trini.”
Jesse came awake reluctantly, Bran pulling drowsily out of his arms. The flash of panic at seeing Holden sitting on the edge of the bed passed more quickly this time, though it still left him feeling slightly weak as Bran sat up, rubbing at his eyes.
“Shit,” he mumbled. “Time is it?”
“It’s all right,” said Holden. “You’ve got about ten minutes before you need to leave.”
“Okay,” said Bran, sounding marginally more awake. “I’m up. Thanks– thank you, master.”
“Of course,” said Holden gently. “I’m glad you’re sleeping well.”
“Yeah,” said Bran, and looked down at Jesse, smiling a little. “Sorry, Jess– go back to sleep– I’ll be back.”
He dressed fumblingly but quickly. Holden reached out a hand and pulled him in for a tender embrace and a soft kiss; when he let go, Bran smiled, blinking sleepily, at his master before hurrying out on bare feet, one fist tightly closed.
“And how was the sex?” Holden asked, looking down at Jesse.
Jesse blinked up at him. “What? How did you–“
“I’m observant,” said Holden, winking. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”
Jesse looked up, bemused, at Holden’s friendly expression. “Yeah. He is. You don’t mind? I mean... sharing him? With me?”
“I’m selfish,” said Holden, “but I’m not a dog in the manger. If I could have him every night, I would. I can’t, so...” He shrugged.
“But you could,” said Jesse, puzzled.
“Yes, all right. If I could without neglecting my wife and my other boys and while still getting enough sleep to be any use to anyone in the daytime, how about that. Then I would.”
Jesse grinned a little. "Fair enough."
Holden sat silently as if lost in thought.
"Sir?" said Jesse finally.
Holden glanced at him thoughtfully. "Yes."
"You know he'd never... do anything without your permission."
"I do know that, yes," said Holden, examining Jesse curiously.
Jesse cleared his throat. "I don't-- I mean. I don't want to-- I wouldn't want to do anything to-- to cause trouble. For him."
Holden smiled, and Jesse was startled by how much pleasure the smile's warmth gave him. "I'm glad to hear it."
“It must be kind of nice," said Jesse slowly. "To feel the way he does, about-- to trust your master.”
“It is,” said Holden absently, and Jesse suddenly remembered that Bran had promised him a long story this morning. He looked up at Holden, wondering if he dared ask, but before he could make up his mind Holden stood up abruptly.
“Go back to sleep, Jesse,” he said over his shoulder as he left.
But Jesse didn’t go back to sleep. As the morning light from the window slowly grew brighter and Bran didn’t come back, he slipped quietly out of bed.
***
LAST WILL
I, Holden Larssen, being now competent in my mind to assign my property as I choose, leave everything in the event of my death to my wife, Alix Jamesen.
In the event that my wife shall have predeceased me, I direct that upon my death my slave Yves shall be freed, and all my remaining property, including my business, all monetary assets, my house, and any other slaves of whom I die possessed, I leave to him, with the request that he shall provide lovingly and carefully for the needs of my daughter, Valor, for as long as she shall require such provision.
In witness whereof are signed
Viktor Duchovny (Executor)
Nikol Argounov
Tatiana Rostova
***
“Planning to bump me off, are you?” Holden asked mildly from the doorway to the master bedroom, making Jesse jump so badly the bureau rattled. He looked up at Holden, still clutching the will.
“You look about as shocked as the first lawyer did,” said Holden, coming towards Jesse, who held his ground, his heart pounding. “‘Highly irregular, your daughter should inherit, slap in the face to any child on top of parent’s sad untimely whatever.’ Valor fully intends to make her own way in life. And she knows Yves would take as good care of her as we would, if she ever needed it.”
“Does Yves know about this?” Jesse asked, as Holden took the will from him and replaced it in the top left-hand drawer, shutting it firmly and turning the key in the lock.
“Of course. And he didn’t have to go snooping in my bedroom to find it, either, since it’s actually his business. May I ask what the hell you thought you were doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Jesse muttered; Holden’s brow was definitely furrowed, and Yves was going to be annoyed. And if Jesse had had any doubts that “when I talk, he listens” was the truth... “The key was in the lock. I wanted to see– your marriage contract.”
“You could have just asked,” said Holden coolly. “It’s mostly stuff providing for the humane treatment of the slaves– I was a world-class prick when Alix married me, and she wanted to make sure she had grounds to divorce me if I hurt Greta.”
“Really?” Jesse asked, fascinated.
“Yes. And that if I poisoned Alix, I wouldn’t inherit the wench– since that was Greta’s other main concern. Her will freed Greta unconditionally, back then. We trust each other nowadays, though– she’ll provide for all my boys if I die, and I’ll do the same for Greta. There’s even been some talk of my marrying Greta if Alix dies first, just to make Valor’s family tree look slightly less weird. I worry that might hurt Yves’ feelings, though.”
“Why don’t you just free Yves now?” Jesse asked curiously.
Holden shrugged. “I can’t marry him, and short of that there’s not much more secure a legal bond than slavery. As long as he’s mine, he has all the protection and status that comes with belonging to me, and no one looks askance at the fact that a happily married man keeps a few pleasure slaves. If he were free, things like his living here and my providing for him would get quite a bit more complicated. It’s fine to take your slave to society functions, but if you do it with your male live-in lover, people start dragging your wife off into corners and murmuring sympathetically at her about how it’s too bad, dear, and they know a really understanding lawyer.”
Jesse smiled slightly; Holden had a gift for mimicry that perfectly evoked the syrupy tones, overlaid with schadenfreude, that he had heard so often at Presniakov’s dinner parties.
“And besides that,” said Holden thoughtfully, “it would be particularly tricky business for people who make their living the way we do. Can’t get a reputation for being too sentimental.”
“But you are,” said Jesse boldly. “Sentimental. Aren’t you? I mean--” He gestured towards the locked drawer.
Holden shook his head. “Yves is a special case. And I’ve got history with Jer. But you can’t be sentimental in this business. Nineteen years of it and there’s only been one kid I– and it’s not exactly unheard of for a man my age to pick up a pretty young thing to warm the bed and stroke the ego. One lecherous whim in twenty years, that’s not such a bad track record.”
“Is that what you tell people?” Jesse asked, amused. “That it was a lecherous whim?”
Holden raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of ill-advised sentimentality, Jesse, just for the record, polite guests don’t usually go rifling through their hosts’ bedrooms and reading their personal legal documents. Some hosts would find that to be grounds for revoking a guest’s status as a guest, as a matter of fact. Now where would that leave you, exactly?”
Jesse flushed and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry. Sir. I really am.”
“It’s okay, kid,” said Holden in a gentler tone. “Consider this a friendly warning. And if you find yourself at a loose end for something to do, feel free to browse the library anytime.”
“I can’t tell if he likes me,” said Jesse pensively that afternoon, as he and Bran sat on a stone wall bordering the marketplace, watching the crowds bustle past. Bran had suggested they get out of the house again– “You had fun yesterday, right?”– and had told Jesse the promised long story while they people-watched and Jesse tried to keep his mouth from falling open.
“Who?” said Bran absently.
“The master,” said Jesse. “Holden. I can’t tell what he thinks of me.”
“Oh,” said Bran, putting a hand on Jesse’s knee and smiling slightly. “He thinks you're... unmanageable, I think he said. Not that he blames you. It's sort of a code," he added, as Jesse squinted at him. "Means you're confused, and pissed off about it."
"How does 'unmanageable' mean that?" Jesse demanded, feeling particularly unmanageable by Bran's definition.
"It's a thing-- he says he can tell what slave owners really mean, when they say stuff about the delinquent slaves they sell him. Like Inga, Inga was ‘volatile,' which he says means she tried so hard to behave under unfavorable conditions that when she did lose her temper it was volcanic. I was 'unresponsive,' which pretty much meant 'too scared to move,' and--
"You?" Jesse interrupted, shocked. "You were a delinquent?"
Bran glanced at him. "Yeah. You didn't know?"
"Hell, no," said Jesse. "I thought you were the perfect slave."
Bran laughed. "Not quite. Four-time attempted runaway. Though it only took two to get me stamped as a delinquent-- the other two were after I got sold to the slave breakers."
"You ran away from him?" Jesse demanded, goggling. "Twice?"
"Tried to, anyway," said Bran, his eyes on the crowd. "The second time I actually made it as far as Karl and Tara's, which did me a fat lot of good once they realized who I was. That whole 'helping each other out' thing cuts both ways, you know. They made a phone call, and I got dragged back home in chains. Gods, it was embarrassing."
"In chains?" Jesse asked, wondering if the real reason for Bran's total submission to Holden was simple terror. "But why did you run? I mean, what had he done to you? To make you want to?"
"Well, the first time," said Bran seriously, "he'd tried to give me a bath. The second time, he'd tried to sell me to a nice man who kissed me and promised never to hit me."
Jesse stared. Bran glanced at him again and smiled rather ruefully.
"It seemed to make sense at the time," he said. "Anyway, I guess he finally decided it was going to be more trouble to try to sell me than to keep me, so-- here I am."
"But why would he ever have tried to sell you?” Jesse asked, more puzzled than ever. “He worships you!”
Bran blushed furiously. "He-- what makes you say that?"
"Are you kidding? You've seen the way he looks at you, right? And heard him when he talks to you? Or about you? And the way he holds you, even– like he wants to crush you to him but he’s half afraid he’s going to break you."
Bran looked down, going even redder. "That's just the way he is. He's very... kind. To all the... to everyone."
"I don’t hear his voice going all soft and mushy when he says Inga’s name,” said Jesse, amused.
Bran smiled a little, but shook his head.
"He's very good to me," he said. "But he doesn't love me. He's made that clear. At first I thought he did and he just didn't know it, you know, but it's been almost two years-- I'm pretty sure he would have realized it by now."
"He just won't say it," said Jesse cynically. "Just to keep you guessing. It's great for him, isn't it? You're never sure how he feels, so you stay desperate to please him, and he sits back and enjoys it."
"Jess, no offense, but-- you don't know what you're talking about. He's not like that. I mean, he tells Yves and Jer that he loves them all the time."
"In front of you?" Jesse scowled. "That's cruel."
"You really want to make him the bad guy, don't you?" said Bran, looking at Jesse curiously. "Why?"
It was Jesse's turn to flush. "No I don't. I just think--"
"You just think I'm stupid," said Bran.
"Of course I don't think you're--"
"Sure you do. You think I'm some stupid kid with stars in my eyes and he's the evil mastermind who's got me right where he wants me."
"Bran, I don't think you're stupid. Just... vulnerable. You're young, you're... ridiculously sweet... and you're love-hungry. And he's taking advantage of that. I just think that's fucked up."
"Yeah?" said Bran, with a hard expression Jesse had never seen on his face before. "Funny, I don't remember asking for your opinion."
"Bran--" Jesse began, surprised.
"Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" Bran asked evenly. "You've been here, what, a day? Two? What do you think you know about my master? Or me, for that matter?"
"If I'm completely off base," said Jesse softly, "then why are you so upset?"
"Sharp enough to cut yourself, aren’t you?" said Bran, his eyes narrowing. "If you want to know, he had some very kind concerns himself about taking advantage of my youth and sweetness and neediness and stupidity, and it took some doing to convince him to let me stay here anyway.”
“Okay,” said Jesse, unnerved by Bran’s anger. “I just meant–“
“Look, Jess,” said Bran, still with the uncharacteristically hard look on his face. “I know I must look like a real pushover to you. I’m the baby of the house, everyone cuddles me and bosses me around, and I don’t mind that, I like being looked after– most of the time. But you don’t outrank me and you don’t know me that well and you don’t get to decide what’s best for me just because you think I’m too sweet and dumb to know better myself.”
“Bran–"
“Just a minute. I know he’s been talking to you about me– and I don’t mind that either, I’m not jealous, but if you say one single fucking word to him about taking advantage of me, anything to make him doubt it was the right decision to keep me, I’m not too dumb to figure it out, and I am sure as hell not sweet enough to forgive you.”
Jesse sat stunned, staring at the other boy. Bran’s cold gaze swept off him and back into the crowd. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry,” said Jesse finally.
“It’s okay,” said Bran rather tiredly. “I guess I’m a little touchy about this.”
“Yeah,” said Jesse cautiously. “I didn’t mean to be– condescending. I just– I still think he’s nuts about you, you know.”
Bran shook his head, still not looking at Jesse. “He feels responsible for me, that’s all– and, well, he enjoys me. Everyone does. You did.” He smiled at Jesse, who smiled back, relieved. “I just worry sometimes, I guess, that the novelty will wear off eventually and he’ll get... tired of me. And then all that’s left is a clingy, needy brat who got so whiny over getting sold that– but speaking of being whiny, I think I’ll shut up now.”
“You’re not whiny,” said Jesse, furious at himself and, even more, at Holden, for the pain he could hear in Bran’s voice. “You’re great, Bran, seriously, if I owned you I’d–“ He blushed. Where had that come from? “I mean, anybody would be lucky to–“
Bran gave him a slightly wavery smile. “Don’t be so nice to me. It’s not smart. I tend to– fuck, I’m sorry–”
“Oh, gods, Bran, please don’t cry,” said Jesse, panicking. “I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t mean to– Come on, Bran. If anyone around here sees I made you cry they’ll kill me with their bare hands, and then think about poor Quen waiting for me across the border.”
Bran chuckled softly through his tears. “Nobody’s going to kill you– and anyway you didn’t make me. I’ll stop.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the tears continued, silent and awful. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m such a damn crybaby, they’ll all tell you, anything can set me off, especially people being nice to me... I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“Um,” said Jesse, as people started to stare. “Maybe we should start for home?”
Bran’s tears had stopped by the time they reached the house. He paused on the front steps to dry them as best he could, but the door opened before they touched it, Holden– with his usual impeccable timing, thought Jesse– emerged, and his eyebrows shot up as Bran tried to turn his face away.
“Stop right there,” he ordered, catching Bran’s arm with one hand and grasping his chin with the other, and Bran stood resignedly still as his master examined him. “Bran, darling, what’s wrong?”
For a moment Bran looked as if he might start crying again. Jesse rolled his eyes, just a little, while no one was looking. I wonder where I got the idea he loved you?
“It’s nothing, master,” Bran said without meeting Holden’s eye. “Jesse and I were talking and–“
“Jesse made you cry?” Holden asked, with a narrow-eyed look at Jesse over his shoulder. Jesse swallowed.
“No, no,” said Bran hastily. “You know how I am– I get myself all worked up over nothing.”
“And I don’t suppose Jesse supplied the nothing,” said Holden, but he was no longer looking at Jesse. “I’ve been neglecting you.”
“No, master, really, I–“
“It wasn’t a question, sweetheart.”
Bran bowed his head. Holden leaned forward and kissed his brow. “How long has it been since I spent the night with you?”
“I-- don’t know. It’s not– it’s been nice sleeping with Jess.”
“Good. I’m glad. But I want you in your own bed tonight.”
“Yes, master,” said Bran, with a shy smile that sent a number of conflicting emotions rocketing through Jesse. “Thank you.”
“‘Thank you,’” Holden repeated, shaking his head. “You’ll be the death of me, boy.” He kissed the corners of Bran's eyes softly, as if soothing the tear ducts, and then dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “I’d get to the bottom of this ‘nothing’ right now, but I’m on my way out. Meeting Irina to wrap up the Inga thing. You want to come?”
“May I?” Bran asked, looking relieved and pleased.
“Sure. You'll have to wash your face first, though-- if you walk into Galenova's all tearstained, Kai will never let me hear the end of it.”
Bran smiled. “Yes, master. Can Jess come, too? To Lady Galenova's, I mean?”
Holden looked dubiously at Jesse. “If he can keep his mouth shut.”
“I can keep my mouth shut, sir,” said Jesse, more respectfully than he might have if not for the uncomfortable consciousness that it had been at least partly his failure to keep his mouth shut that had made Bran cry, and Holden must know it.
"I'm glad to hear it,” said Holden, giving Jesse a long, appraising look as Bran disappeared inside.
Part Eight
Part Six
“Wake up, Bran,” said Holden softly. “You’ve got to meet Trini.”
Jesse came awake reluctantly, Bran pulling drowsily out of his arms. The flash of panic at seeing Holden sitting on the edge of the bed passed more quickly this time, though it still left him feeling slightly weak as Bran sat up, rubbing at his eyes.
“Shit,” he mumbled. “Time is it?”
“It’s all right,” said Holden. “You’ve got about ten minutes before you need to leave.”
“Okay,” said Bran, sounding marginally more awake. “I’m up. Thanks– thank you, master.”
“Of course,” said Holden gently. “I’m glad you’re sleeping well.”
“Yeah,” said Bran, and looked down at Jesse, smiling a little. “Sorry, Jess– go back to sleep– I’ll be back.”
He dressed fumblingly but quickly. Holden reached out a hand and pulled him in for a tender embrace and a soft kiss; when he let go, Bran smiled, blinking sleepily, at his master before hurrying out on bare feet, one fist tightly closed.
“And how was the sex?” Holden asked, looking down at Jesse.
Jesse blinked up at him. “What? How did you–“
“I’m observant,” said Holden, winking. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”
Jesse looked up, bemused, at Holden’s friendly expression. “Yeah. He is. You don’t mind? I mean... sharing him? With me?”
“I’m selfish,” said Holden, “but I’m not a dog in the manger. If I could have him every night, I would. I can’t, so...” He shrugged.
“But you could,” said Jesse, puzzled.
“Yes, all right. If I could without neglecting my wife and my other boys and while still getting enough sleep to be any use to anyone in the daytime, how about that. Then I would.”
Jesse grinned a little. "Fair enough."
Holden sat silently as if lost in thought.
"Sir?" said Jesse finally.
Holden glanced at him thoughtfully. "Yes."
"You know he'd never... do anything without your permission."
"I do know that, yes," said Holden, examining Jesse curiously.
Jesse cleared his throat. "I don't-- I mean. I don't want to-- I wouldn't want to do anything to-- to cause trouble. For him."
Holden smiled, and Jesse was startled by how much pleasure the smile's warmth gave him. "I'm glad to hear it."
“It must be kind of nice," said Jesse slowly. "To feel the way he does, about-- to trust your master.”
“It is,” said Holden absently, and Jesse suddenly remembered that Bran had promised him a long story this morning. He looked up at Holden, wondering if he dared ask, but before he could make up his mind Holden stood up abruptly.
“Go back to sleep, Jesse,” he said over his shoulder as he left.
But Jesse didn’t go back to sleep. As the morning light from the window slowly grew brighter and Bran didn’t come back, he slipped quietly out of bed.
***
LAST WILL
I, Holden Larssen, being now competent in my mind to assign my property as I choose, leave everything in the event of my death to my wife, Alix Jamesen.
In the event that my wife shall have predeceased me, I direct that upon my death my slave Yves shall be freed, and all my remaining property, including my business, all monetary assets, my house, and any other slaves of whom I die possessed, I leave to him, with the request that he shall provide lovingly and carefully for the needs of my daughter, Valor, for as long as she shall require such provision.
In witness whereof are signed
Viktor Duchovny (Executor)
Nikol Argounov
Tatiana Rostova
***
“Planning to bump me off, are you?” Holden asked mildly from the doorway to the master bedroom, making Jesse jump so badly the bureau rattled. He looked up at Holden, still clutching the will.
“You look about as shocked as the first lawyer did,” said Holden, coming towards Jesse, who held his ground, his heart pounding. “‘Highly irregular, your daughter should inherit, slap in the face to any child on top of parent’s sad untimely whatever.’ Valor fully intends to make her own way in life. And she knows Yves would take as good care of her as we would, if she ever needed it.”
“Does Yves know about this?” Jesse asked, as Holden took the will from him and replaced it in the top left-hand drawer, shutting it firmly and turning the key in the lock.
“Of course. And he didn’t have to go snooping in my bedroom to find it, either, since it’s actually his business. May I ask what the hell you thought you were doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Jesse muttered; Holden’s brow was definitely furrowed, and Yves was going to be annoyed. And if Jesse had had any doubts that “when I talk, he listens” was the truth... “The key was in the lock. I wanted to see– your marriage contract.”
“You could have just asked,” said Holden coolly. “It’s mostly stuff providing for the humane treatment of the slaves– I was a world-class prick when Alix married me, and she wanted to make sure she had grounds to divorce me if I hurt Greta.”
“Really?” Jesse asked, fascinated.
“Yes. And that if I poisoned Alix, I wouldn’t inherit the wench– since that was Greta’s other main concern. Her will freed Greta unconditionally, back then. We trust each other nowadays, though– she’ll provide for all my boys if I die, and I’ll do the same for Greta. There’s even been some talk of my marrying Greta if Alix dies first, just to make Valor’s family tree look slightly less weird. I worry that might hurt Yves’ feelings, though.”
“Why don’t you just free Yves now?” Jesse asked curiously.
Holden shrugged. “I can’t marry him, and short of that there’s not much more secure a legal bond than slavery. As long as he’s mine, he has all the protection and status that comes with belonging to me, and no one looks askance at the fact that a happily married man keeps a few pleasure slaves. If he were free, things like his living here and my providing for him would get quite a bit more complicated. It’s fine to take your slave to society functions, but if you do it with your male live-in lover, people start dragging your wife off into corners and murmuring sympathetically at her about how it’s too bad, dear, and they know a really understanding lawyer.”
Jesse smiled slightly; Holden had a gift for mimicry that perfectly evoked the syrupy tones, overlaid with schadenfreude, that he had heard so often at Presniakov’s dinner parties.
“And besides that,” said Holden thoughtfully, “it would be particularly tricky business for people who make their living the way we do. Can’t get a reputation for being too sentimental.”
“But you are,” said Jesse boldly. “Sentimental. Aren’t you? I mean--” He gestured towards the locked drawer.
Holden shook his head. “Yves is a special case. And I’ve got history with Jer. But you can’t be sentimental in this business. Nineteen years of it and there’s only been one kid I– and it’s not exactly unheard of for a man my age to pick up a pretty young thing to warm the bed and stroke the ego. One lecherous whim in twenty years, that’s not such a bad track record.”
“Is that what you tell people?” Jesse asked, amused. “That it was a lecherous whim?”
Holden raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of ill-advised sentimentality, Jesse, just for the record, polite guests don’t usually go rifling through their hosts’ bedrooms and reading their personal legal documents. Some hosts would find that to be grounds for revoking a guest’s status as a guest, as a matter of fact. Now where would that leave you, exactly?”
Jesse flushed and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry. Sir. I really am.”
“It’s okay, kid,” said Holden in a gentler tone. “Consider this a friendly warning. And if you find yourself at a loose end for something to do, feel free to browse the library anytime.”
“I can’t tell if he likes me,” said Jesse pensively that afternoon, as he and Bran sat on a stone wall bordering the marketplace, watching the crowds bustle past. Bran had suggested they get out of the house again– “You had fun yesterday, right?”– and had told Jesse the promised long story while they people-watched and Jesse tried to keep his mouth from falling open.
“Who?” said Bran absently.
“The master,” said Jesse. “Holden. I can’t tell what he thinks of me.”
“Oh,” said Bran, putting a hand on Jesse’s knee and smiling slightly. “He thinks you're... unmanageable, I think he said. Not that he blames you. It's sort of a code," he added, as Jesse squinted at him. "Means you're confused, and pissed off about it."
"How does 'unmanageable' mean that?" Jesse demanded, feeling particularly unmanageable by Bran's definition.
"It's a thing-- he says he can tell what slave owners really mean, when they say stuff about the delinquent slaves they sell him. Like Inga, Inga was ‘volatile,' which he says means she tried so hard to behave under unfavorable conditions that when she did lose her temper it was volcanic. I was 'unresponsive,' which pretty much meant 'too scared to move,' and--
"You?" Jesse interrupted, shocked. "You were a delinquent?"
Bran glanced at him. "Yeah. You didn't know?"
"Hell, no," said Jesse. "I thought you were the perfect slave."
Bran laughed. "Not quite. Four-time attempted runaway. Though it only took two to get me stamped as a delinquent-- the other two were after I got sold to the slave breakers."
"You ran away from him?" Jesse demanded, goggling. "Twice?"
"Tried to, anyway," said Bran, his eyes on the crowd. "The second time I actually made it as far as Karl and Tara's, which did me a fat lot of good once they realized who I was. That whole 'helping each other out' thing cuts both ways, you know. They made a phone call, and I got dragged back home in chains. Gods, it was embarrassing."
"In chains?" Jesse asked, wondering if the real reason for Bran's total submission to Holden was simple terror. "But why did you run? I mean, what had he done to you? To make you want to?"
"Well, the first time," said Bran seriously, "he'd tried to give me a bath. The second time, he'd tried to sell me to a nice man who kissed me and promised never to hit me."
Jesse stared. Bran glanced at him again and smiled rather ruefully.
"It seemed to make sense at the time," he said. "Anyway, I guess he finally decided it was going to be more trouble to try to sell me than to keep me, so-- here I am."
"But why would he ever have tried to sell you?” Jesse asked, more puzzled than ever. “He worships you!”
Bran blushed furiously. "He-- what makes you say that?"
"Are you kidding? You've seen the way he looks at you, right? And heard him when he talks to you? Or about you? And the way he holds you, even– like he wants to crush you to him but he’s half afraid he’s going to break you."
Bran looked down, going even redder. "That's just the way he is. He's very... kind. To all the... to everyone."
"I don’t hear his voice going all soft and mushy when he says Inga’s name,” said Jesse, amused.
Bran smiled a little, but shook his head.
"He's very good to me," he said. "But he doesn't love me. He's made that clear. At first I thought he did and he just didn't know it, you know, but it's been almost two years-- I'm pretty sure he would have realized it by now."
"He just won't say it," said Jesse cynically. "Just to keep you guessing. It's great for him, isn't it? You're never sure how he feels, so you stay desperate to please him, and he sits back and enjoys it."
"Jess, no offense, but-- you don't know what you're talking about. He's not like that. I mean, he tells Yves and Jer that he loves them all the time."
"In front of you?" Jesse scowled. "That's cruel."
"You really want to make him the bad guy, don't you?" said Bran, looking at Jesse curiously. "Why?"
It was Jesse's turn to flush. "No I don't. I just think--"
"You just think I'm stupid," said Bran.
"Of course I don't think you're--"
"Sure you do. You think I'm some stupid kid with stars in my eyes and he's the evil mastermind who's got me right where he wants me."
"Bran, I don't think you're stupid. Just... vulnerable. You're young, you're... ridiculously sweet... and you're love-hungry. And he's taking advantage of that. I just think that's fucked up."
"Yeah?" said Bran, with a hard expression Jesse had never seen on his face before. "Funny, I don't remember asking for your opinion."
"Bran--" Jesse began, surprised.
"Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" Bran asked evenly. "You've been here, what, a day? Two? What do you think you know about my master? Or me, for that matter?"
"If I'm completely off base," said Jesse softly, "then why are you so upset?"
"Sharp enough to cut yourself, aren’t you?" said Bran, his eyes narrowing. "If you want to know, he had some very kind concerns himself about taking advantage of my youth and sweetness and neediness and stupidity, and it took some doing to convince him to let me stay here anyway.”
“Okay,” said Jesse, unnerved by Bran’s anger. “I just meant–“
“Look, Jess,” said Bran, still with the uncharacteristically hard look on his face. “I know I must look like a real pushover to you. I’m the baby of the house, everyone cuddles me and bosses me around, and I don’t mind that, I like being looked after– most of the time. But you don’t outrank me and you don’t know me that well and you don’t get to decide what’s best for me just because you think I’m too sweet and dumb to know better myself.”
“Bran–"
“Just a minute. I know he’s been talking to you about me– and I don’t mind that either, I’m not jealous, but if you say one single fucking word to him about taking advantage of me, anything to make him doubt it was the right decision to keep me, I’m not too dumb to figure it out, and I am sure as hell not sweet enough to forgive you.”
Jesse sat stunned, staring at the other boy. Bran’s cold gaze swept off him and back into the crowd. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry,” said Jesse finally.
“It’s okay,” said Bran rather tiredly. “I guess I’m a little touchy about this.”
“Yeah,” said Jesse cautiously. “I didn’t mean to be– condescending. I just– I still think he’s nuts about you, you know.”
Bran shook his head, still not looking at Jesse. “He feels responsible for me, that’s all– and, well, he enjoys me. Everyone does. You did.” He smiled at Jesse, who smiled back, relieved. “I just worry sometimes, I guess, that the novelty will wear off eventually and he’ll get... tired of me. And then all that’s left is a clingy, needy brat who got so whiny over getting sold that– but speaking of being whiny, I think I’ll shut up now.”
“You’re not whiny,” said Jesse, furious at himself and, even more, at Holden, for the pain he could hear in Bran’s voice. “You’re great, Bran, seriously, if I owned you I’d–“ He blushed. Where had that come from? “I mean, anybody would be lucky to–“
Bran gave him a slightly wavery smile. “Don’t be so nice to me. It’s not smart. I tend to– fuck, I’m sorry–”
“Oh, gods, Bran, please don’t cry,” said Jesse, panicking. “I’m sorry I said anything. I didn’t mean to– Come on, Bran. If anyone around here sees I made you cry they’ll kill me with their bare hands, and then think about poor Quen waiting for me across the border.”
Bran chuckled softly through his tears. “Nobody’s going to kill you– and anyway you didn’t make me. I’ll stop.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the tears continued, silent and awful. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m such a damn crybaby, they’ll all tell you, anything can set me off, especially people being nice to me... I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“Um,” said Jesse, as people started to stare. “Maybe we should start for home?”
Bran’s tears had stopped by the time they reached the house. He paused on the front steps to dry them as best he could, but the door opened before they touched it, Holden– with his usual impeccable timing, thought Jesse– emerged, and his eyebrows shot up as Bran tried to turn his face away.
“Stop right there,” he ordered, catching Bran’s arm with one hand and grasping his chin with the other, and Bran stood resignedly still as his master examined him. “Bran, darling, what’s wrong?”
For a moment Bran looked as if he might start crying again. Jesse rolled his eyes, just a little, while no one was looking. I wonder where I got the idea he loved you?
“It’s nothing, master,” Bran said without meeting Holden’s eye. “Jesse and I were talking and–“
“Jesse made you cry?” Holden asked, with a narrow-eyed look at Jesse over his shoulder. Jesse swallowed.
“No, no,” said Bran hastily. “You know how I am– I get myself all worked up over nothing.”
“And I don’t suppose Jesse supplied the nothing,” said Holden, but he was no longer looking at Jesse. “I’ve been neglecting you.”
“No, master, really, I–“
“It wasn’t a question, sweetheart.”
Bran bowed his head. Holden leaned forward and kissed his brow. “How long has it been since I spent the night with you?”
“I-- don’t know. It’s not– it’s been nice sleeping with Jess.”
“Good. I’m glad. But I want you in your own bed tonight.”
“Yes, master,” said Bran, with a shy smile that sent a number of conflicting emotions rocketing through Jesse. “Thank you.”
“‘Thank you,’” Holden repeated, shaking his head. “You’ll be the death of me, boy.” He kissed the corners of Bran's eyes softly, as if soothing the tear ducts, and then dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “I’d get to the bottom of this ‘nothing’ right now, but I’m on my way out. Meeting Irina to wrap up the Inga thing. You want to come?”
“May I?” Bran asked, looking relieved and pleased.
“Sure. You'll have to wash your face first, though-- if you walk into Galenova's all tearstained, Kai will never let me hear the end of it.”
Bran smiled. “Yes, master. Can Jess come, too? To Lady Galenova's, I mean?”
Holden looked dubiously at Jesse. “If he can keep his mouth shut.”
“I can keep my mouth shut, sir,” said Jesse, more respectfully than he might have if not for the uncomfortable consciousness that it had been at least partly his failure to keep his mouth shut that had made Bran cry, and Holden must know it.
"I'm glad to hear it,” said Holden, giving Jesse a long, appraising look as Bran disappeared inside.
Part Eight
