maculategiraffe

You know that old saying, "I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes vicious roving gangs of days attack, maul me ferociously about, steal my credit cards and leave me for dead in the gutter?" Yeah, that's been the past week. But here is chapter seven of Lee, finally. I'll be attempting to catch up with friends and comments now.

Holden slept restlessly and woke for good when it was still dark out, easing himself out of the circle of Yves' arms as gently as possible, dressing without waking the other two. When he arrived at the hospital, even after stopping on the way to mail his letter to Valor, it wasn't yet open to visitors, but when he identified himself at the emergency entrance as Lee's owner, they let him go up.

He paused at the door to Lee's room, then went in quietly. Alix was asleep on the cot, her face peaceful, her long fair hair loose and cascading across the pillow. Bran was asleep in bed with Lee, curled around him as if to shield him while he slept, Lee's frail young body nestled confidingly against Bran's more solid strength. Holden stood looking down at the sweet sight for a few moments before he knelt down by the cot to kiss Alix.

She stirred and smiled before opening her eyes, and he put a finger to her lips, nodding towards the bed where the boys lay sleeping, before he whispered, "How's Lee?"

"Hello, darling," she whispered back, sitting up; Holden stayed on his knees, and she ran a hand through his hair as she spoke in a low voice. "He's eating on his own now, and they're ready to move him to oral antibiotics and painkillers today. The nurse-- and he is pretty, by the way--"

Holden smiled up at her. "You just like redheads."

She grinned back. "Guilty. He says we can probably take him home this afternoon. Subject to the doctor's assessment, he said."

"Thank the gods. I hate this place." Alix stood up and offered him a hand, and he let her help him to his feet and followed her to the bedside, where they looked down at the boys. Holden said softly, "How is he-- emotionally?"

"Much better. He's been quite chatty with Bran, and he's getting more comfortable with me. And Bran's been singing your praises."

Holden smiled a little. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yes. Lee's still wary, but he'll come around if you're patient."

"I'm patient, I'm patient."

Alix smiled. "Yves and Jer did a good job. You seem in much better spirits this morning."

"I am." And he was, his fears of the previous night seeming more remote in the light-- still figurative, as yet-- of day. It felt good, too, to think that they'd soon be able to leave the hospital behind; this place was making him morbid.

In the pause, they both heard the slight change in Lee's breathing that meant he was awake and unsure whether moving or opening his eyes was a good idea. Bran must have heard it, too, or felt Lee shift subtly in his arms; he pulled the other boy in closer as he opened his eyes, and Lee opened his too.

"Morning," said Bran softly, and kissed Lee on the forehead.

"Bran." Lee sighed and looked around, smiling a little at Alix, then saw Holden and tensed. Bran followed his gaze, and Holden's heart gave an unexpected painful lurch as he saw that the wariness in Bran's eyes matched Lee's. Bran didn't smile at him, just murmured "Master" and turned away to kiss Lee again and rearrange his pillows to help him sit up.

Fuck. That guarded glance was trouble-- more trouble than Holden had thought they were in, yet. He was immediately irritated with himself for not having foreseen this. Easy for Holden to wallow in self-pity over the prospect of lost love. Holden had a home of his own, a wife, a business, two other lovers, a life to go on with. It had to be an altogether more alarming business to feel yourself involuntarily pulling away from the man who owned you, provided for you, protected you, disciplined you, adored you, and hungered for your affection. The kid had had a day and a night to brood, and judging from that one careful look and the way he was avoiding Holden's glance now, he hadn't come up with much to comfort him.

"Do you mind sitting with Lee while Bran and I go get some breakfast, darling?" Alix asked Holden. "I'm famished."

Holden looked at Bran, who looked at Lee, who bit his lip and, after a moment, nodded. Bran kissed him again-- Holden fought down his annoyance: so I can't kiss you in front of him, but you can't keep your mouth off him in front of me?-- and followed Alix from the room without a word to Holden.

Unsettled all over again, Holden nevertheless summoned a friendly smile as he sat down at Lee's bedside. To his surprised pleasure, Lee managed a small smile back.

"Hi, Lee," he said cheerfully. "You look better today."

"Thank you, master," said Lee shyly. "I'm sorry for not talking to you before."

"It's all right. You were frightened. I'm glad you're not as frightened now. You aren't, are you?"

"No, master. Bran--" He hesitated. "He's been telling me about-- things. About home, and how you-- retrain. And your other slaves. Yves, and Jer, and Greta."

"You have a good memory," Holden praised, glad for the opportunity to dole out some much-needed approval. And then, in case the boy took his remark to mean that good memory was some kind of requirement, "With all you've been through lately, I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't remember your own name."

That widened Lee's smile as Holden continued, "When I went home yesterday, everyone asked after you. They're all hoping you'll feel well enough soon to come home, so they can meet you."

"Yes, master. I'm sorry to put you to so much-- trouble, and expense."

"It's no trouble," said Holden gently. "It's my job to take care of you. Your job for now is just to rest and heal-- and start trusting us. And you're doing great."

"Thank you, master." Lee hesitated again before adding, "Bran says-- it's okay to ask you questions."

"Certainly."

Lee's eyes suddenly flicked up past Holden's face, and Holden turned to see the doctor standing in the doorway, her lips pursed at the sight of him.

"Mr. Larssen," she said coolly.

"Hello, doctor. My wife took Bran down to get some breakfast," he said with what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Ah. I need to talk to both of you, so I'll come by later." Without further ceremony she turned on her heel and disappeared. The woman clearly hadn't forgiven him for his tense frivolity when they'd brought Lee in. Ah well, they'd be out of here soon enough. He turned back to Lee. "You had a question?"

Lee nodded, gnawing on his lower lip. "Master-- am I going to have scars?"

He said it in the tone you'd use to say am I going to be eaten by piranhas, and Holden didn't blame him. A scarred slave usually went to people who either couldn't afford one normally-- which often meant the slave got used for gruelling unpaid labor as well as sexual service-- or wanted a slave who was scarred already, so that whatever they did to him wouldn't matter. Holden was tempted to equivocate until Bran got back to hold Lee's hand, but he was trying to build trust.

"The doctor thinks so," he said honestly, "but we'll make sure you're taken good care of, Lee, and that you don't go to anyone who'll abuse you. I promise you that."

Lee seemed more ready to believe this than Holden had expected; he looked genuinely relieved. Maybe he was starting to believe, already, that his new owners had his best interests at heart. Or maybe he'd asked the same question and gotten the same response from Bran or Alix earlier, and he'd just been testing Holden. Holden smiled; there was something rather sweet, if so, about the artless little ploy. This kid didn't seem like a particularly good manipulator; he'd have gotten along better with Dunaev if he had been.

They both looked up as another nurse brought in a breakfast tray, and as she pulled a table across the bed and set the tray down without quite looking at either master or slave, Lee grew nervous again, glancing from the nurse to Holden to the door. And Holden had thought Bran was transparent.

"Your mistress said you were eating very well now," he encouraged, as the nurse hurried out without a word. He glanced at Lee's cuffed wrist. "Do you need help?"

"I don't think so, master," said Lee uncomfortably, not moving to touch the food.

"Then go ahead, and don't mind me. I'm just going to go over some numbers."

He pulled out his notebook with Yves' note and set up the first proof, listening as he did; soon he heard the quiet but unmistakable sounds of a hungry kid eating. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lee hunched protectively over his food; he hoped it was more from habit than from any real fear that Holden would snatch the food away. Had Dunaev played games like that? No wonder the kid quit eating when he, as Bran had put it, "left" a life that had become unbearable. And if he'd been traumatized enough to start pissing himself, and gotten whipped for it, the refusal to drink made perfect sense too. At least he seemed to be bouncing back. The young were very resilient.

When he'd finished the first proof and looked up, there wasn't a crumb or a drop of anything left on the tray; Holden smiled approvingly at Lee, who smiled back, a little more color in his cheeks and lips. Holden pushed the tray aside and was about to resume their conversation when Alix and Bran came back in. Lee, his eyes avidly seeking Bran's, saw first what Holden saw next; Bran was unnaturally pale, and Alix had a hand on his back as if to guide and steady him. Holden surged to his feet, startled; Bran registered the movement without meeting his eye.

"I'm fine," he said, and then, as he came to the opposite side of the bed from Holden and leaned over Lee, to the other boy's worried face, "It's okay, I'm fine, it's nothing."

Alix beckoned him aside as he heard Bran ask Lee, "Did you eat?" and then, in response to Lee's inaudible question, sounding cheerfully amused, "No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"What happened?" Holden asked Alix quietly, watching Lee fail to be convinced. Smart kid. "He's white as a sheet."

"A man came up to us in the cafeteria." Alix looked frazzled and faintly guilty. "He asked if Bran was a slave, and then he-- touched him." She slid one hand over her own chest, rubbing the other at the nape of her neck, mimicking the inappropriately proprietary gesture.

"What man?"

"I didn't get a name," said Alix, as Lee looked up in alarm at the sound of Holden's growl; Bran stroked Lee's cheek, turning the other boy's face back towards him. "I snapped at him, and he moved off pretty quickly. I think you should talk to Bran; he wouldn't discuss it with me."

Holden went to Bran's side at Lee's bedside and smiled down perfunctorily at Lee.

"Excuse me for a second, Lee," he said. "Bran and I need to talk for a minute. Don't worry, he's not in trouble. He'll be right back."

He took a startled but unresisting Bran by the wrist and led him firmly from the room.

When they were seated side by side in the tiny waiting room, still deserted but for them, Bran still wouldn't look directly at Holden.

"It was nothing, master. He didn't hurt me. He came over to the table and asked the mistress if I was a slave, and he asked my name and how old I was-- just chatting-- and then he said I was a beauty and-- put his hands--" He shook his head impatiently. "And the mistress said, 'Please don't touch,'"

"--with an implied 'or I'll have your balls for earrings'?"

Bran grinned and met his eyes briefly. "Yeah." His gaze slid away again as Holden asked, "And he backed off?"

"Right away, master, and apologized." To Alix, of course; he wouldn't think to apologize to Bran. "It really wasn't a big deal."

"Then why are you so pale? And why won't you look me in the eye?"

Bran's eyes focused somewhere in the neighborhood of Holden's ear. "You know I'm-- shy, master. But he didn't mean to scare me. I've got to get used to--" He broke off in confusion. "I mean, I shouldn't be so sensitive."

"Get used to--?" Holden repeated sharply. "Used to what?"

Bran didn't answer, and Holden wondered, disturbed, whether the kid thought that if he could no longer offer Holden his adoration, Holden would withdraw his protection and Bran would be treated as he had been in the past. I've got to get used to-- the casual manhandling, and worse, of anyone his master pushed him at? It cut Holden more deeply than he could have imagined, more deeply than the thought that maybe Bran didn't love him any more, to think that Bran believed him capable of such petty vengefulness.

"Bran," he said, "we need to talk."

Bran still didn't look up at him. "About what, master?"

That was a good question, and Holden found he didn't quite know how to begin-- "How dare you think I'll ever stop caring for you, even if you've stopped loving me?" seemed flawed, somehow, in its approach. He put his hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran moved his head to the side, pressing his cheek to the back of his master's hand. The instinctively affectionate gesture sent a rush of warm weakness through Holden.

"I really am okay," said Bran finally. "Like I was telling you yesterday, master. You always said I'd realize eventually-- and now I have."

You'll realize eventually, you know, that you don't need me any more, and I'll--

"I'm glad," Holden said gently.

Bran lifted his head, searching Holden's face. "Are you, master?"

He spoke with an odd emphasis, as if in code, and Holden was all too aware he wasn't grasping whatever the question was meant to convey. Was the kid asking permission to alter his feelings for his master? Holden wouldn't put it past him. Did he need reassurance that he was still safe? Was he hoping this wouldn't hurt?

He slid his hand caressingly down from Bran's shoulder, along his arm, and clasped the boy's hand, which was cold in his.

"Did I ever tell you," he asked, "how Alix proposed to me?"

Bran considered this without any apparent surprise at the non sequitur. "I think you said once that she married you to shut you up."

Holden smiled a little. "That's the short version, yes. I'd just gone off at her-- I don't even remember what it was about. Probably Greta. Screaming, cursing-- you think we fight now, you should have seen us back then."

Bran smiled, too, at their interlocked hands. "I can imagine."

"Yeah, well. I yelled myself out at her, and then I saw what she was looking like. Just exhausted. And she said, 'You just can't do it, can you? You can't behave yourself. Not to save your life.' I was terrified. I thought she'd finally-- had enough. Of me, of my-- I hated myself so much right then."

He felt the gentle pressure of Bran's fingers, and he squeezed back, continuing, "I was on my knees, begging, babbling-- yes I could, I'd be better, give me another chance. Thinking all the time that she was right, I couldn't. And she cupped my face in her hands and made me look at her. I was probably crying."

Bran lifted Holden's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"She said," Holden went on steadily, the touch of the boy's warm lips tingling on his knuckles, "'If I wanted you broken, dearest, I could have done it already.' And I thought-- I knew-- that was true. She got me. She always has. She knew what I was most afraid of, what I couldn't live without, she could fuck with my head like no other. But she said-- something like, 'I don't want you that way. If you can't be a good slave and still be who you are, the Holden I love, then I'd rather you be who you are.' And that's when she asked me to marry her."

Bran's eyes were bright and intent on Holden's face.

"Bran--" Holden cleared his throat. "I love you. So much. And I'm so proud of the way you've been-- changing, and healing, and, well, growing up. You never cease to amaze me, kid. I'm so glad you're who you are. The Bran I love. No matter what, even if it means things have to change for us, or even that-- I lose you. If that's the price I pay for you being who you are-- yeah, Bran. I'm glad."

Bran studied him seriously for an eternal few moments before he moved to lean lightly against Holden; Holden's arms came up to clasp him, and he felt the almost feverish heat of Bran's cheek with his own as the pliant body molded itself to his.

"Mr. Larssen," said a sharp, furious voice from the doorway, and they broke apart, startled; Holden turned to see Lee's doctor glaring at them from the doorway. "If you could join your wife and me in the patient's room."

"Can you give us a minute?" Holden asked. "We're in the middle of--"

"I can see what you're in the middle of," said the doctor coldly. "I think the matter of Lee's prognosis is more important than the indulgence of your appetites, Mr. Larssen."

"She's right, master," said Bran, and Holden, who'd been on the verge of losing his temper entirely, looked back to see the gray eyes sparkling with wicked amusement in a grave face. "Dragging me out here, at a time like this, to indulge your--" his solemn expression broke up into an irrepressible grin, inviting Holden to share the joke-- "your appetites, well, that's just selfish."

Holden's irritation with the doctor evaporated so suddenly it left him pleasantly disoriented. Bran was laughing, and Holden couldn't resist leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from those flushed, parted lips before he turned back to the outraged doctor.

"All right," he said, rising. If Bran could laugh like that now, then the rest of this conversation could wait until later. "Come on, kid. Let's hear the prognosis."