Lee chapter two
Oct. 30th, 2007 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeDehydration, malnutrition, multiple lacerations and severe bruising, anal tearing, chafing and bleeding, mild infection in the injuries and the lungs, urinary incontinence, shock, selectively nonresponsive, said the doctor at the hospital. Lee lay propped up, shivering under blankets, on his back on the sterile bed, one hand cuffed to the bed rail as per hospital policy for slaves. Bran, perched beside him on the bed, held a cup of some hot, sweet drink to his lips, and Lee sipped obediently, glancing up occasionally at Bran, not looking at anyone else in the room, including the nurses who were engaged in hooking him up to a number of presumably medically necessary things. When he stiffened at their touch, Bran murmured soothingly to him and he let them do what was necessary, his large, dark eyes glued to Bran's face.
"At least this time Dunaev didn't claim he was in perfect health," said Holden to Alix.
"You just bought him this afternoon, sir?" the doctor asked, making a note on a clipboard.
"That's right," said Holden. "He got lippy in the car on the way home."
The doctor's lips tightened as Alix squinted at Holden.
"My husband is joking," she said to the doctor. "Lee's former master didn't treat him very well."
"It's not a joking matter, sir," said the doctor acidly to Holden. "The damage is extensive. We'd like to keep your slave here for a few days, to manage the dehydration and nutritional deficiencies, and the infections. Proper care will also minimize scarring-- I assume that's a priority."
"He can stay here for as long as you think he needs it, doctor," said Alix sweetly. "The damage was inflicted over time; of course it will take time to undo it. Just let us know when you think he's ready to come home."
The doctor rewarded her with an approving smile. "I'm glad you see it that way, ma'am. Who will be staying with him?"
"I will," said Holden, who'd been expecting the question; it was illegal to leave a slave unattended by an owner, or someone officially designated as responsible by the owner, in a hospital. The doctor gave him a dubious look before glancing at Bran, who was still curled on the bed close to Lee, saying something in an undertone. Lee was no longer shivering.
"And the other slave?" she asked.
"He's staying, too," said Holden firmly, and Alix nodded. "Bran's the only one Lee's responding to right now."
"Technically only the owner or owner's proxy is supposed to stay with a patient in the ICU, and slaves are of course not eligible to be named as a proxy," the doctor said, and added before Holden could lose his temper, "But the patient is obviously in emotional distress, and he's got quite a grip on the other boy. I think an exception could be arranged. However, the hospital waives all liability for the non-patient slave in the event of any incident."
"Fine," Holden said shortly, still irritated by her officious tone.
"Thank you so much, doctor," said Alix, with a don't-make-me-smack-you-in-front-of-the-doctor glare at Holden. "You're very kind to make an exception. I know it will make Lee feel better to have Bran here with him."
"Are you sure you don't wish to stay with the patient?" the doctor asked Alix, with another nasty look at Holden. Holden curled his lip back at her. He knew he was being obnoxious, but he didn’t enjoy this part of the retraining process-- intake, evaluation, pretransition-- under the best of circumstances, and triage with a priss-faced doctor glaring at him wasn’t the best of circumstances. Plus, the pressing need to beat somebody up hadn’t gone away just because they’d left Dunaev’s house. He wasn’t going to beat up the doctor, of course, but maybe there was a wall around here somewhere that nobody would mind if he punched a hole through. They were always doing demolition and construction in hospitals.
Alix kicked him hard in the ankle, and the pain– she was wearing pointy shoes, for Loki’s sake; that wasn’t sporting– defused him enough that he managed a winsomely apologetic smile at the doctor.
“My wife and I run a business,” he explained, and Alix produced a card before he could dig in his bag for one. The doctor examined it, lips pursed. “I usually deal with cases of– damage. I’ll be handling this boy.”
“He’s very good at it,” Alix added reassuringly to the doctor. “Of course, you and the hospital will be handling most of Lee’s immediate needs, and my husband wouldn’t want to interfere with that, but he’ll want to be monitoring Lee’s progress, and he can answer any questions you might have.”
The doctor nodded dubiously, her eyes back on the bed. “You realize there will be scars. We can’t prevent that altogether.”
“We understand,” said Alix calmly. “It’s not ideal, but we know you’ll do everything you can, and we’ll just have to take it from there.”
The doctor nodded again, relieved– she’d probably been picturing them refusing to pay the hospital bill, or suing the hospital for negligence or whatnot, which was half the reason for the “no unattended slaves” law. The other, of course, being the remote but disturbing possibility of "incident"-- escape or suicide attempts, theft, well-intentioned abduction by guerrilla abolitionists. It was easy to forget how nervous people could get around slaves– and slave owners– when they weren’t used to them, especially since in the circles where Holden and Alix usually traveled, it was considered almost antisocial not to keep a couple of pleasure slaves. After all, owning them meant doing your bit towards your country’s economy, keeping the riffraff off the streets. And though he and Alix didn't exactly belong in those circles, they belonged there more than anywhere else at this point, except at home, with their own, peculiarly intimate circle.
Home. Holden wanted to be there. Badly.
“Well,” the doctor said, “I don't mean to hurry you, but we don’t like to have more visitors in intensive care than absolutely necessary, so if you wouldn’t mind, ma’am–“
"Behave," said Alix to Holden. "I'll check in tomorrow."
He reached for her with sudden urgency, and gods bless her, she saw it immediately and stepped in, putting her arms around him and holding him hard. He closed his eyes, steadying himself against her slender, tensile frame.
“Dearest,” she said softly, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He kissed her cool cheek, pressed his own up against it, inhaling her clean scent. “But come back soon.”
“I will,” she said, and kissed his lips tenderly. “First thing in the morning. I’ll bring you coffee and carbohydrates.” She didn’t say do you want me to stay here instead, tonight; he knew she would have if he’d asked, and she knew he wouldn’t sleep anyway if he wasn’t here with his new charge. “Thank goodness we don’t have any other kids to worry about right now.”
“Give Yves and Jer my love,” he said.
Alix smiled at him. “What about me? Don't I get love?”
He tucked a wisp of ash-blond hair behind her ear, smiling back. “We've got a joint account, remember? It's all yours.”
When she was gone, Holden went to stand beside Lee’s bedside. Bran had been banished from the bed by an impatient nurse and now sat with the room's only chair dragged as close to the bedside as he could get it, as the two boys talked in low voices.
"...can't be in this bed. Please."
"Why not, Lee?"
"I." Lee's face was anguished, his eyes firmly on Bran, ignoring both Holden and the doctor. "I keep pissing myself. Every time I... sleep. And I drank-- and I’m so-- tired. I can't take another whipping, Bran, I'll--"
"No one's going to whip you," said Bran firmly.
"But if I-- "
"You aren't going to wet the bed, young man," said the doctor briskly. "We're about to catheterize your penis so we can monitor your urine."
Lee froze, and Bran reached out and stroked the dark hair back from his forehead in a reassuring gesture.
"It's okay, Lee," he said. "Everybody here just wants to take care of you. Nobody's going to hurt you. I promise. And I'll be right here next to you. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?"
Lee's eyes closed, relief spreading onto his face as palpably as a smile, though he didn't smile. "Don't let go of my hand."
"I won't," said Bran. “It’s okay, Lee. Just rest.”
Holden watched Lee's face. "Remind me to give you a raise, kid."
Bran grinned without looking up. "You don't pay me, master."
"Maybe I should start. You’re doing my job for me. Better than I could."
"I know what it's like," said Bran, still gazing intently at Lee's face. "I mean, it didn't ever get this bad for me, but Lord Dunaev-- I know how he can make you feel. Like you said once about me, master, that I'd done my best and thought I'd be punished for it. What can you do? You know? I tried to run, but Lee just... left."
"I'm here," Lee whispered without opening his eyes.
"I know, Lee," Bran said softly. "I'm here with you. It's okay."
Holden came around Bran and leaned over the bed, looking into Lee's face, and without opening his eyes, Lee stiffened.
"Bran?" he said pleadingly.
"Bran's still here," said Holden gently. "I'm your master, kid, yours and Bran's. I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to say hi."
Lee was trembling again, the steel cuff rattling against the rail of the hospital bed.
“Hey," said Bran firmly. "It's okay, Lee. Lord Dunaev told you to be afraid of your new master, right? Said he was selling you to the slave breakers?"
Lee swallowed and nodded without opening his eyes, and Bran smiled.
“He’s had me for five years," he said. "Do I look broken?”
Lee opened his eyes then, and the cracked lips curved in his first real, if small, smile since Holden had seen him, as he looked at Holden.
"You can talk to him, Lee. It's okay. He won't hurt you."
Bran gasped slightly as Lee's nails dug into his hand. "I-- master."
"Yes, Lee," said Holden, with a quick, impressed glance at Bran.
"I'm sorry I'm hurt."
Fucking hell. They were the words Bran had never spoken, but that had been implicit in every stammer, every cringe, every lowering of his eyes, every carefully obsequious phrase: I hope my mouth will satisfy you until you can make use of me otherwise. Sorry I'm hurt, sorry I'm scared, sorry my master's friends raped me till I bled. Forgive me.
"It's okay, Lee," said Bran firmly, and to Holden, "Tell him it's okay, master."
"It's okay," Holden echoed obediently, and then, gathering his wits, "Lee, it's okay, it's not your fault. It's-- You’re fine. We’re going to take care of you. Like Bran said."
Lee sighed and closed his eyes again, and Holden backed deferentially out of the way as Bran reached again to stroke Lee’s forehead. Holden had seen a little of this nurturing side of Bran before, with fifteen-year-olds who cried at night for their parents and sweethearts. Plenty of them developed crushes on Bran, as the person in the house closest to them in age and rank, and Bran indulged them, petting them, comforting them, enjoying them. But this was more than a crush that Lee had formed, and more than comfort Bran was trying to offer, and Holden leaned back against the wall and watched the two boys intently, marveling, as the doctor and nurses closed in, and Lee clung desperately to Bran's hand.
The nighttime sleeping shot the doctor administered to Lee had just kicked in, and the kid, now doped up on painkillers as well as whatever else they were dripping and pumping into him-- and out of him-- had sunk into unconsciousness, when another nurse, a gangly redhead no older than Bran, brought in a folding cot and a blanket. Holden hadn't realized until he saw them how tired he was. Bone tired. Grainy-eyeball tired. Really-long-day tired.
"There's only room for one to sleep," the nurse said apologetically, glancing curiously from Holden to Bran.
"I'm not tired," said Bran quickly. "You– oh, fuck, master, have you been standing up all this time? I didn’t realize– you should have taken the chair, you must be exhausted–"
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” said Holden as the nurse spread the blanket over the cot. “You’re doing all the work. You get to be the one to sit down.”
The redheaded nurse looked even more curious as he took in Bran’s honorific and Holden’s endearment, Bran's clothing, and the cuff on Lee's wrist.
"You-- own-- both of them, sir?" he asked tentatively, and Holden nodded.
"I didn't do that," he said rather defensively, jerking his head at Lee. "Just bought him from the prick who did."
The nurse blushed. "Yes, sir. I didn't mean to-- um-- yeah. I'm on night duty, so-- if you need anything--" He hurried out as Holden raised an eyebrow, amused by the boy's confusion, then went to stand next to Bran at Lee's bedside.
"If you’re really not tired, I'm going to get some sleep," he said. "Wake me whenever you want me to take a shift, okay?"
Bran nodded without looking at him. "Okay, master."
Holden put a hand on Bran’s shoulder, and Bran shook it off.
It was a tiny gesture, but so uncharacteristic for Bran, who normally couldn't get enough of Holden's touch any more than Holden could get enough of touching him, that it startled Holden as much as if the boy had turned and slapped him. He blinked, shocked, until Bran's sharp intake of breath made him hastily drag a calm, reassuring expression onto his face- one of a repertoire that, gods knew, he needed around Bran. The kid was so attuned to Holden's moods and tones and expressions-- it was part of what made him so damn irresistible, but it also meant Holden had to be considerably more careful around him than around Jer, whose insecurities were usually unrelated to Holden's actual behavior, or Yves, who was confident enough in Holden's adoration by now that Holden could actually whip him without upsetting him at all.
"I'm sorry," Bran whispered-- of course. Bran would have apologized to Holden for having gray eyes if he'd thought Holden preferred green.
"It's okay," said Holden, also of course. Such a silly thing to apologize for, that shake. A moment's twitch, automatic, unintentional. He'd teased Bran, during those first months of training, when Bran apologized for glaring at him: That's all right. It didn't hurt. But the quick, impatient shrug of the shoulders at Holden's touch had hurt, and it had been a draining day, and Holden was in a fairly terrible mood, and at that exact moment he had absolutely no idea what to say.
He had to say something, though; Bran's eyes were lowered, his whole demeanor miserable and guilty, and luck like being loved by Bran came with responsibility, meant that tired or not, you didn't get to just go to bed and leave him looking like that. After all, Bran had had a long day, too.
"Bran, look at me," he said, and when Bran’s troubled eyes met his, “Sweetheart, you were right, last night, when you said I didn’t know for sure Lee would be okay. I didn’t. But I do now. You’ve got him talking to you-- and to me-- and trusting you. You know that’s the most important step, and you got it done in under five minutes. And you're being so-- I don't even know what. I already knew you were pretty much the gutsiest kid ever, but walking back into Dunaev's house at all, let alone picking this kid up and taking him on the way you have–"
Bran shook his head, but he already looked less troubled. "Didn't take guts, master. I've got no reason to be afraid of Dunaev any more."
"No, you don't," said Holden. "And neither does Lee. But he only knows it because of you. I could have carried him out of there, but he’d probably still be catatonic, and who knows if he’d have ever snapped out of it. You’ve saved his life, kid. That’s some day’s work. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bran."
And there came the shy, pleased smile up at him, the easing of tension in Bran’s shoulders, light returning to his eyes. Good enough. He'd talk the actual shrugging-off through with Bran later– it was weird enough to warrant figuring out what had happened there, because it wasn’t like Bran, not even tired-and-wired Bran. So he'd figure it out, and if there was something wrong, he'd fix it. But first he’d get some sleep-- and if he was really lucky, he’d have dreams about dismembering Dunaev with his bare hands, and wake up in a better mood than this.
Then he hesitated. If Bran didn’t want to touch him, Holden didn’t want to make him, but not offering a kiss before lying down would be uncharacteristic on his part, and he didn’t want Bran thinking he was angry, either. He settled for dropping to one knee beside Bran’s chair and lifting his face to look up at Bran, an ambiguous offer that Bran could easily and without rudeness pretend not to understand, but Bran leaned down immediately to kiss him, hard and almost anxiously, hands grasping his master’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Holden kissed back bemusedly, only pulling away when Bran’s tongue pushed insistently into his mouth and the kiss threatened to develop into more. What had gotten into the kid?
“Good night, darling,” he said firmly as he rose, and ran a hand through Bran’s hair before retreating to lie down on the impressively uncomfortable cot and, mercifully, despite everything, fall asleep almost at once.
"At least this time Dunaev didn't claim he was in perfect health," said Holden to Alix.
"You just bought him this afternoon, sir?" the doctor asked, making a note on a clipboard.
"That's right," said Holden. "He got lippy in the car on the way home."
The doctor's lips tightened as Alix squinted at Holden.
"My husband is joking," she said to the doctor. "Lee's former master didn't treat him very well."
"It's not a joking matter, sir," said the doctor acidly to Holden. "The damage is extensive. We'd like to keep your slave here for a few days, to manage the dehydration and nutritional deficiencies, and the infections. Proper care will also minimize scarring-- I assume that's a priority."
"He can stay here for as long as you think he needs it, doctor," said Alix sweetly. "The damage was inflicted over time; of course it will take time to undo it. Just let us know when you think he's ready to come home."
The doctor rewarded her with an approving smile. "I'm glad you see it that way, ma'am. Who will be staying with him?"
"I will," said Holden, who'd been expecting the question; it was illegal to leave a slave unattended by an owner, or someone officially designated as responsible by the owner, in a hospital. The doctor gave him a dubious look before glancing at Bran, who was still curled on the bed close to Lee, saying something in an undertone. Lee was no longer shivering.
"And the other slave?" she asked.
"He's staying, too," said Holden firmly, and Alix nodded. "Bran's the only one Lee's responding to right now."
"Technically only the owner or owner's proxy is supposed to stay with a patient in the ICU, and slaves are of course not eligible to be named as a proxy," the doctor said, and added before Holden could lose his temper, "But the patient is obviously in emotional distress, and he's got quite a grip on the other boy. I think an exception could be arranged. However, the hospital waives all liability for the non-patient slave in the event of any incident."
"Fine," Holden said shortly, still irritated by her officious tone.
"Thank you so much, doctor," said Alix, with a don't-make-me-smack-you-in-front-of-the-doctor glare at Holden. "You're very kind to make an exception. I know it will make Lee feel better to have Bran here with him."
"Are you sure you don't wish to stay with the patient?" the doctor asked Alix, with another nasty look at Holden. Holden curled his lip back at her. He knew he was being obnoxious, but he didn’t enjoy this part of the retraining process-- intake, evaluation, pretransition-- under the best of circumstances, and triage with a priss-faced doctor glaring at him wasn’t the best of circumstances. Plus, the pressing need to beat somebody up hadn’t gone away just because they’d left Dunaev’s house. He wasn’t going to beat up the doctor, of course, but maybe there was a wall around here somewhere that nobody would mind if he punched a hole through. They were always doing demolition and construction in hospitals.
Alix kicked him hard in the ankle, and the pain– she was wearing pointy shoes, for Loki’s sake; that wasn’t sporting– defused him enough that he managed a winsomely apologetic smile at the doctor.
“My wife and I run a business,” he explained, and Alix produced a card before he could dig in his bag for one. The doctor examined it, lips pursed. “I usually deal with cases of– damage. I’ll be handling this boy.”
“He’s very good at it,” Alix added reassuringly to the doctor. “Of course, you and the hospital will be handling most of Lee’s immediate needs, and my husband wouldn’t want to interfere with that, but he’ll want to be monitoring Lee’s progress, and he can answer any questions you might have.”
The doctor nodded dubiously, her eyes back on the bed. “You realize there will be scars. We can’t prevent that altogether.”
“We understand,” said Alix calmly. “It’s not ideal, but we know you’ll do everything you can, and we’ll just have to take it from there.”
The doctor nodded again, relieved– she’d probably been picturing them refusing to pay the hospital bill, or suing the hospital for negligence or whatnot, which was half the reason for the “no unattended slaves” law. The other, of course, being the remote but disturbing possibility of "incident"-- escape or suicide attempts, theft, well-intentioned abduction by guerrilla abolitionists. It was easy to forget how nervous people could get around slaves– and slave owners– when they weren’t used to them, especially since in the circles where Holden and Alix usually traveled, it was considered almost antisocial not to keep a couple of pleasure slaves. After all, owning them meant doing your bit towards your country’s economy, keeping the riffraff off the streets. And though he and Alix didn't exactly belong in those circles, they belonged there more than anywhere else at this point, except at home, with their own, peculiarly intimate circle.
Home. Holden wanted to be there. Badly.
“Well,” the doctor said, “I don't mean to hurry you, but we don’t like to have more visitors in intensive care than absolutely necessary, so if you wouldn’t mind, ma’am–“
"Behave," said Alix to Holden. "I'll check in tomorrow."
He reached for her with sudden urgency, and gods bless her, she saw it immediately and stepped in, putting her arms around him and holding him hard. He closed his eyes, steadying himself against her slender, tensile frame.
“Dearest,” she said softly, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He kissed her cool cheek, pressed his own up against it, inhaling her clean scent. “But come back soon.”
“I will,” she said, and kissed his lips tenderly. “First thing in the morning. I’ll bring you coffee and carbohydrates.” She didn’t say do you want me to stay here instead, tonight; he knew she would have if he’d asked, and she knew he wouldn’t sleep anyway if he wasn’t here with his new charge. “Thank goodness we don’t have any other kids to worry about right now.”
“Give Yves and Jer my love,” he said.
Alix smiled at him. “What about me? Don't I get love?”
He tucked a wisp of ash-blond hair behind her ear, smiling back. “We've got a joint account, remember? It's all yours.”
When she was gone, Holden went to stand beside Lee’s bedside. Bran had been banished from the bed by an impatient nurse and now sat with the room's only chair dragged as close to the bedside as he could get it, as the two boys talked in low voices.
"...can't be in this bed. Please."
"Why not, Lee?"
"I." Lee's face was anguished, his eyes firmly on Bran, ignoring both Holden and the doctor. "I keep pissing myself. Every time I... sleep. And I drank-- and I’m so-- tired. I can't take another whipping, Bran, I'll--"
"No one's going to whip you," said Bran firmly.
"But if I-- "
"You aren't going to wet the bed, young man," said the doctor briskly. "We're about to catheterize your penis so we can monitor your urine."
Lee froze, and Bran reached out and stroked the dark hair back from his forehead in a reassuring gesture.
"It's okay, Lee," he said. "Everybody here just wants to take care of you. Nobody's going to hurt you. I promise. And I'll be right here next to you. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?"
Lee's eyes closed, relief spreading onto his face as palpably as a smile, though he didn't smile. "Don't let go of my hand."
"I won't," said Bran. “It’s okay, Lee. Just rest.”
Holden watched Lee's face. "Remind me to give you a raise, kid."
Bran grinned without looking up. "You don't pay me, master."
"Maybe I should start. You’re doing my job for me. Better than I could."
"I know what it's like," said Bran, still gazing intently at Lee's face. "I mean, it didn't ever get this bad for me, but Lord Dunaev-- I know how he can make you feel. Like you said once about me, master, that I'd done my best and thought I'd be punished for it. What can you do? You know? I tried to run, but Lee just... left."
"I'm here," Lee whispered without opening his eyes.
"I know, Lee," Bran said softly. "I'm here with you. It's okay."
Holden came around Bran and leaned over the bed, looking into Lee's face, and without opening his eyes, Lee stiffened.
"Bran?" he said pleadingly.
"Bran's still here," said Holden gently. "I'm your master, kid, yours and Bran's. I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted to say hi."
Lee was trembling again, the steel cuff rattling against the rail of the hospital bed.
“Hey," said Bran firmly. "It's okay, Lee. Lord Dunaev told you to be afraid of your new master, right? Said he was selling you to the slave breakers?"
Lee swallowed and nodded without opening his eyes, and Bran smiled.
“He’s had me for five years," he said. "Do I look broken?”
Lee opened his eyes then, and the cracked lips curved in his first real, if small, smile since Holden had seen him, as he looked at Holden.
"You can talk to him, Lee. It's okay. He won't hurt you."
Bran gasped slightly as Lee's nails dug into his hand. "I-- master."
"Yes, Lee," said Holden, with a quick, impressed glance at Bran.
"I'm sorry I'm hurt."
Fucking hell. They were the words Bran had never spoken, but that had been implicit in every stammer, every cringe, every lowering of his eyes, every carefully obsequious phrase: I hope my mouth will satisfy you until you can make use of me otherwise. Sorry I'm hurt, sorry I'm scared, sorry my master's friends raped me till I bled. Forgive me.
"It's okay, Lee," said Bran firmly, and to Holden, "Tell him it's okay, master."
"It's okay," Holden echoed obediently, and then, gathering his wits, "Lee, it's okay, it's not your fault. It's-- You’re fine. We’re going to take care of you. Like Bran said."
Lee sighed and closed his eyes again, and Holden backed deferentially out of the way as Bran reached again to stroke Lee’s forehead. Holden had seen a little of this nurturing side of Bran before, with fifteen-year-olds who cried at night for their parents and sweethearts. Plenty of them developed crushes on Bran, as the person in the house closest to them in age and rank, and Bran indulged them, petting them, comforting them, enjoying them. But this was more than a crush that Lee had formed, and more than comfort Bran was trying to offer, and Holden leaned back against the wall and watched the two boys intently, marveling, as the doctor and nurses closed in, and Lee clung desperately to Bran's hand.
The nighttime sleeping shot the doctor administered to Lee had just kicked in, and the kid, now doped up on painkillers as well as whatever else they were dripping and pumping into him-- and out of him-- had sunk into unconsciousness, when another nurse, a gangly redhead no older than Bran, brought in a folding cot and a blanket. Holden hadn't realized until he saw them how tired he was. Bone tired. Grainy-eyeball tired. Really-long-day tired.
"There's only room for one to sleep," the nurse said apologetically, glancing curiously from Holden to Bran.
"I'm not tired," said Bran quickly. "You– oh, fuck, master, have you been standing up all this time? I didn’t realize– you should have taken the chair, you must be exhausted–"
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” said Holden as the nurse spread the blanket over the cot. “You’re doing all the work. You get to be the one to sit down.”
The redheaded nurse looked even more curious as he took in Bran’s honorific and Holden’s endearment, Bran's clothing, and the cuff on Lee's wrist.
"You-- own-- both of them, sir?" he asked tentatively, and Holden nodded.
"I didn't do that," he said rather defensively, jerking his head at Lee. "Just bought him from the prick who did."
The nurse blushed. "Yes, sir. I didn't mean to-- um-- yeah. I'm on night duty, so-- if you need anything--" He hurried out as Holden raised an eyebrow, amused by the boy's confusion, then went to stand next to Bran at Lee's bedside.
"If you’re really not tired, I'm going to get some sleep," he said. "Wake me whenever you want me to take a shift, okay?"
Bran nodded without looking at him. "Okay, master."
Holden put a hand on Bran’s shoulder, and Bran shook it off.
It was a tiny gesture, but so uncharacteristic for Bran, who normally couldn't get enough of Holden's touch any more than Holden could get enough of touching him, that it startled Holden as much as if the boy had turned and slapped him. He blinked, shocked, until Bran's sharp intake of breath made him hastily drag a calm, reassuring expression onto his face- one of a repertoire that, gods knew, he needed around Bran. The kid was so attuned to Holden's moods and tones and expressions-- it was part of what made him so damn irresistible, but it also meant Holden had to be considerably more careful around him than around Jer, whose insecurities were usually unrelated to Holden's actual behavior, or Yves, who was confident enough in Holden's adoration by now that Holden could actually whip him without upsetting him at all.
"I'm sorry," Bran whispered-- of course. Bran would have apologized to Holden for having gray eyes if he'd thought Holden preferred green.
"It's okay," said Holden, also of course. Such a silly thing to apologize for, that shake. A moment's twitch, automatic, unintentional. He'd teased Bran, during those first months of training, when Bran apologized for glaring at him: That's all right. It didn't hurt. But the quick, impatient shrug of the shoulders at Holden's touch had hurt, and it had been a draining day, and Holden was in a fairly terrible mood, and at that exact moment he had absolutely no idea what to say.
He had to say something, though; Bran's eyes were lowered, his whole demeanor miserable and guilty, and luck like being loved by Bran came with responsibility, meant that tired or not, you didn't get to just go to bed and leave him looking like that. After all, Bran had had a long day, too.
"Bran, look at me," he said, and when Bran’s troubled eyes met his, “Sweetheart, you were right, last night, when you said I didn’t know for sure Lee would be okay. I didn’t. But I do now. You’ve got him talking to you-- and to me-- and trusting you. You know that’s the most important step, and you got it done in under five minutes. And you're being so-- I don't even know what. I already knew you were pretty much the gutsiest kid ever, but walking back into Dunaev's house at all, let alone picking this kid up and taking him on the way you have–"
Bran shook his head, but he already looked less troubled. "Didn't take guts, master. I've got no reason to be afraid of Dunaev any more."
"No, you don't," said Holden. "And neither does Lee. But he only knows it because of you. I could have carried him out of there, but he’d probably still be catatonic, and who knows if he’d have ever snapped out of it. You’ve saved his life, kid. That’s some day’s work. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bran."
And there came the shy, pleased smile up at him, the easing of tension in Bran’s shoulders, light returning to his eyes. Good enough. He'd talk the actual shrugging-off through with Bran later– it was weird enough to warrant figuring out what had happened there, because it wasn’t like Bran, not even tired-and-wired Bran. So he'd figure it out, and if there was something wrong, he'd fix it. But first he’d get some sleep-- and if he was really lucky, he’d have dreams about dismembering Dunaev with his bare hands, and wake up in a better mood than this.
Then he hesitated. If Bran didn’t want to touch him, Holden didn’t want to make him, but not offering a kiss before lying down would be uncharacteristic on his part, and he didn’t want Bran thinking he was angry, either. He settled for dropping to one knee beside Bran’s chair and lifting his face to look up at Bran, an ambiguous offer that Bran could easily and without rudeness pretend not to understand, but Bran leaned down immediately to kiss him, hard and almost anxiously, hands grasping his master’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Holden kissed back bemusedly, only pulling away when Bran’s tongue pushed insistently into his mouth and the kiss threatened to develop into more. What had gotten into the kid?
“Good night, darling,” he said firmly as he rose, and ran a hand through Bran’s hair before retreating to lie down on the impressively uncomfortable cot and, mercifully, despite everything, fall asleep almost at once.
