Jesse part thirteen

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Part Twelve


"Beautiful," said the dentist happily, tapping Jesse's forehead with satisfaction. "If I say it myself. The brace should stay on for another week, and I wouldn't let him eat anything particularly challenging until then, but there's no doubt both teeth will live. You shouldn't have any trouble selling him, Ms. Jamesen. Not on that account, anyway." He smiled, pleased with himself.

"Wonderful," said Alix. "I can't thank you enough."

"My pleasure. Entirely my pleasure. I'd hate to have– well. There's a good boy, then."

Jesse managed to resist biting the man's fingers off when he stuck them in his mouth again, although the patronizing tone grated. He'd been a very good boy all week, mindful of Yves' watchful though not unfriendly eye, enjoying Bran, thinking of Quen. Trying to avoid Holden.


"Well, that answers that," said Holden when the dentist was gone. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us for another week or so, kid, but at least you've still got your teeth."

"I'll write Tatiana today and see if we can get things in motion sooner than later," said Alix. "I know you're anxious to be with Quen again."

Jesse nodded. "Thanks. I-- thanks."

"You're welcome," said Alix briskly. "Hop up. Go find Bran. Holden, I need to talk to you."


It was the small hours of the next morning, and Bran couldn't sleep. Jesse was rather too acutely aware of this. They'd had sex, kissing carefully, talked for a while about Valor and her plans for social reform, and Jesse had made the mistake of saying something about how it must be nice to have an owner who was in love with you.

Now Bran wasn't exactly tossing and turning; he would lie very still for a few minutes, and then, carefully and quietly, turn over, readjust his position, then repeat the whole process. Jesse suspected the attempts to be still and quiet were for his benefit, that Bran didn't want to bother him with the real extent of his restlessness, and that only made Jesse more tense.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered finally.

Bran sighed. "I'm sorry. I'd better go back to my own bed."

"You aren't bothering me," Jesse lied.

"I think I might sleep better in my own bed, anyway." Bran rolled over and kissed Jesse quickly on the lips. "See you in the morning, Jess."

Jesse lay still for some time after he had gone, seething with rage at Holden. Fucking lying-ass power-tripping stupid blind game-playing... The fact that some of his adjectives were contradictory, that he still hadn't managed to figure out what the hell Holden's problem was, only made him angrier.

He tried to lie still himself, then sat up abruptly and climbed out of bed, hurrying downstairs with no particular aim in mind except motion. He was surprised to see a light burning in the lounge. Putting his head in curiously, he saw Holden at the desk, writing. The older man looked up as Jesse hesitated in the doorway.

"Hey, kid," he said. "What are you doing up? Come on in."

"What are you doing up?" Jesse asked, coming in and closing the door behind him automatically.

"Thought I'd knock out some paperwork. Sit down. Couldn't sleep either? Where's Bran?"

"Dunno," said Jesse, sitting down. "Where's everyone you sleep with?"

"You know," said Holden, "it's interesting. You're not a bit shy around me, and you manage to say enough to Bran to upset him practically every time you're alone with him. But whenever you're around the two of us at the same time, you shut up like a clam."

"Uh-huh," said Jesse with elaborate non-interest. "Is that a question?"

"Just an observation," said Holden mildly. "I'm not training you. Wish I were."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" said Jesse, abandoning his bored tone for one that was outright nasty.

Holden's eyes narrowed, but he only said, "There's no need to be like that, Jesse."

"Sorry, master," said Jesse even more nastily. "Didn't mean to displease you. Why don't you whip me into shape?"

"There's no need to talk like that, either," Holden said, his voice controlled. "I haven't lifted my hand to you."

Jesse glared, knowing he was pushing too hard, but unable to let the obvious lie pass. "You punched me in the mouth the first time you saw me!"

"I knew you held a grudge for that." Holden sighed. "Look, Jesse, I'm sorry, I said I was sorry. But it was the only thing we could think of. Would you rather we'd just left you to rot at Presniakov's?"

"Not that your interference isn't greatly appreciated," said Jesse between clenched teeth, "but I was actually fine at Presniakov's."

"Sure you were, kid," said Holden. "With Quen gone everything was easy again, am I right? Such peace. Such safety. Nothing and nobody could ever hurt you or scare you again. Because the worst had happened, and it was all over, and nothing mattered any more."

"Don't talk to me like that," Jesse flared. "Don't you dare talk to me like I'm, like you think I'm Bran. I wasn't-- I didn't-- give up. I was fine. I just--"

"Believe me," said Holden, "I am under no illusion that you are Bran. You had about, oh, another week before the numbness wore off. And once it did, you were going to start screaming, and you weren't going to stop for awhile. And with a master like Presniakov– no, you wouldn't have lost yourself, kid; you wouldn't have been that lucky. He's a ghoul, he feeds on agony, and you'd have given him a feast for a lifetime."

"And what do you feed on, master?" Jesse asked, with the same sarcastic emphasis on the honorific that had always driven Presniakov to fury. "What do you want from me?"

"To be absolutely frank," said Holden more coolly, after a moment's pause, "I don't want you at all. It's been a while since I had to spend this much time around a teenager with an attitude the size of yours, and resisting the urge to adjust it for you has been more of a strain than I expected."

"Then get me out!" said Jesse furiously. "Do whatever you're going to do and get me back to Quen!"

"I am trying my best to do so," said Holden evenly.

"Then try harder!"

"You know, Jesse," said Holden, spinning in his chair to face Jesse and leaning forward, "I realize you've been through a lot, and I've been trying to make allowances, but I'll tell you right now, you are dancing pretty close to my last fucking nerve."

"Then hurt me," said Jesse coldly. "Knock me down. Again. Clip my wrists to the ceiling and whip me till I'm hanging from them. Make me scream and beg. Get my blood all over your nice clean training room floor. You think I'm afraid of you? You can't do worse to me than Presniakov did. What are you going to do? Kill me? Kill my–" He broke off, his teeth together, his lips pulled a little back, staring at Holden's face, where anger had given way to a sudden, disquieting alertness.

"Your what?" Holden asked softly.

Jesse swallowed.

"You are afraid," said Holden. "Now you are. And it's not for Quen, because Quen's not here. It's for Bran, isn't it? You're afraid I'll hurt Bran just to get to you."

Jesse narrowed his own eyes, feeling sick. "Why do you think that would get to me?"

"Why do you think I give a shit whether it would get to you or not, you solipsistic little prick?" Holden snapped. "You really think you're so important to me that I'd hurt someone I love just to get to you?"

"I knew it!" Jesse screamed, pointing triumphantly at Holden.

"Keep your voice down! And put that finger away before I fucking break it. You knew what?"

"Someone you love," said Jesse more quietly but no less vindictively, lowering his hand to his lap. "You said it. You love him. And you lie to him. You feed him all that crap about what an amazing person he is and how you'll be glad when he's ready to move on. Fucking liar."

He spat the last words out, daring Holden to hit him. Instead Holden examined him for a long time, with the same unnerving care as before.

"What if I told you I love him like a son?" he said finally.

"I'd say bullshit," said Jesse brutally, unnerved by Holden's stare. "Fathers don't fuck their sons."

"Do you think I shouldn't fuck Bran?" Holden asked, and Jesse realized it was a real question. He swallowed, remembering Bran's cold look as he said, if you say one single fucking word to him about taking advantage of me...

"I think you should stop lying," he said, "and admit you love him, period."

"Why?" Holden asked, still sounding as if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Because it's true! And you know it's true!"

"Do you always admit everything you know is true, Jesse?" Holden asked softly.

"To people I love, I do!"

"Yeah?" said Holden. "Like to Quen? What if you knew it was pretty nearly impossible for two boys to escape together from a sadistic slave owner, but one alone might just stand a chance, especially if the other stayed behind to keep the master distracted? Do you think you'd have told Quen that? Or do you think maybe you'd have lied and told him you planned to follow him, when really your plan all along was to stay behind and feed Presniakov's misery fetish for the rest of your life, if it meant your boy could get free and clear?"

Jesse stared into the penetrating brown eyes for a long moment.

"You don't know that," he said finally.

"I don't know anything," said Holden calmly. "It was a hypothetical question."

"Anyway," said Jesse, trying to collect himself, "what does that have to do with– I asked you why you won't tell Bran you love him. He wants to hear it. It fucking kills him that you don't say it. And you won't– why? Would it just give him a little too much power, to let him know? Because you got your poor little heart broken by your master, and now you can't love anybody who might hurt you?"

"You're unbelievable," said Holden, staring at Jesse. "I think you're actually hoping I'll snap and beat you to death. You'd die happy if it meant you'd managed to get under my skin that badly. Gods, but you remind me of–"

"Who?" Jesse demanded when Holden trailed off.

Holden smiled, meeting Jesse's eyes. "Myself."

"What?" said Jesse, outraged.

Holden laughed. "Sorry, kid, but it's true. You know I belonged to Alix, don't you? Ask her. She'll tell you how much trouble I always gave her, how the more she tried to give me space to sort myself out the worse I got, the more I pushed. I should have realized sooner. I'd have kept you on a tighter leash from the beginning, like she should have done with me."

"Yeah, go ahead, threaten me," Jesse snarled. "That must mean you're right."

Holden was still smiling. "I'm not threatening you, kid. It's too late now. And you'll be out of my hair soon enough. I'm just saying. We're the same kind of trouble, you and I. And we're in love with the same thing, aren't we?"

"Bran isn't a thing," said Jesse more or less automatically, still furious.

"I'm not talking about Bran," said Holden, with a curious look.

Jesse sucked in his breath, suddenly realizing what he'd just said. Holden looked at him for a long moment, then went on.

"I'm talking about the challenge. The rescue. Jumping into the boat to hide the kid from the evil marauding giant, maybe copping a quick feel in the boathouse afterwards.* I know. I make a living off it. And you're a natural. You tried to save Quen from Presniakov and now you're trying to save Bran from me, aren't you? You just can't leave well enough alone."

"I guess you get to decide what's well enough," said Jesse aggressively, ignoring the first part of what Holden had said, which was clearly nonsense.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. For one thing, I might know Bran just a little bit better than some pissed-off kid who came charging into my house a week ago spitting fire in every direction. Did you say I can't love anyone who could hurt me? Do you think there'd be any surer way of keeping Bran from hurting me than letting him know he could?"

Jesse blinked, stopped in his tracks. "I-- what?"

"Bran would rather walk a mile on broken glass than hurt me," said Holden matter-of-factly. "If I tell him I love him and don't want to let him go, I might as well chain his sweet little heart to my ankle and throw away the key. So yes. Sure. I lie to him. Don't fucking tell me you don't know about lying to someone to save him."

"Save him from what?" Jesse asked, bewildered.

"What do you think? Even I'm not selfish enough to tell him something that would tie him for life to a tired middle-aged man who-- what?"

Something about the words had caught at Jesse's mind, closing his mouth just as he'd opened it to shout something back at Holden. They were too like something he had heard recently. He sat very still, trying to recapture the inflection, the voice, bitter and tired, as if it had spoken the same words too many times before.

"What's that look?" Holden demanded.

"Oh," said Jesse slowly. "That's what Kai said."

Holden peered at him. "Kai said I wasn't selfish?"

"No, Kai said you were selfish. That Greta was tied to you for life. Because of the baby."

"So?" Holden demanded.

"So you've been buying his bullshit," said Jesse calmly. "Haven't you?"

The older man's face went still, permanent lines born of past expressions– laugh lines around the eyes and mouth, grooves in the forehead from raised eyebrows, a deeply worn vertical crease between the brows– momentarily giving the whole face its only meaning. Jesse found himself examining the contradictory traces of expression, thinking that Holden's personality had stamped his face too thoroughly for it ever to turn as slack and absent as he had spoken of Bran's being.

"What do you mean?" Holden asked quietly.

"What do you think I mean? You think he's right, don't you? That you ruined Greta's life? That you'll ruin Bran's?"

"I–" Holden looked nonplussed. "What, you don't think so? I thought you and Kai agreed I was a fucked-up control freak."

"You're fucked up," said Jesse, too interested to worry about whatever remnant of caution he hadn't already tossed to the wind, "but you're not a control freak. You're-- sort of-- the opposite."

"Slow down," said Holden, squinting at Jesse. "I can't take these hairpin turns at my age. What's wrong with me now?"

Jesse smiled, the genuine puzzlement on Holden's face suddenly making him feel friendly and almost protective. "It scares you shitless to own Bran, doesn't it?"

Holden watched him without speaking.

"That's it, isn't it? It's fine with Yves because you two are more like lovers than master and slave. And it's fine with Jer because he hasn't got anywhere else to go and at least you can tell yourself he's better off with you than at the knacker's yard. But you think the only way you can do right by Bran is by making it so you don't own him and he doesn't love you and you don't have any power over him at all. Because you'll fuck up his life if you do. Don't you? Same with all the kids you deal with. Pick them up, straighten them out, and hand them off. You don't trust yourself."

"Should I?" Holden asked, his eyes intent on Jesse.

Jesse laughed. "How the fuck should I know?"

Holden shook his head, blinking. "I--"

"I mean," Jesse went on heedlessly, "do you mean should you trust yourself to make sure Bran's never unhappy or worried or miserable again in his whole life? For fuck's sake, Larssen. You think that's going to happen if you do manage to shake him off your ankle? You think Greta would have married some fucking fairy prince if she hadn't had your baby? And you call him idealistic. You said it. Ragnarok is rigged. And you love him. Fucking tell him."

Holden stood up abruptly, and Jesse felt a sudden, exhilarated thrill of fear, wondering if he had finally pushed the man past endurance. Holden crossed the distance between them in three steps, reached down and touched Jesse's face, stroking along his jawline with his thumb as Jesse met his eyes, fighting not to flinch or pull away.

"Jesse," he said, his voice strangely caressing, then released Jesse's chin with a quick, peremptory gesture and turned away. "Go back to bed."

"Alone?" said Jesse, looking up at Holden with a faint grin.

"Don't even think about it," said Holden, sitting back down at the desk. "I'm worn out just talking to you."

"If you're tired," said Jesse demurely, "I could top."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Holden grinned suddenly back at him. "Move it, kid. Some of us have paperwork to finish."

---

*Holden is referencing the myth retold in the ballad of Lokka Tattur. In another culture, he might have said something about white horses, damsels, and dragons.

Part Fourteen (A)