Lee chapter eight, finally

[maculategiraffe]

Hope everyone had a very merry Christmas (or seasonal holiday of choice)! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. I'm still running ragged-- why my best friend had to choose to get married four days after Christmas I will never understand; she doesn't even LIKE poinsettias-- but I'll catch up on comments and flist SOMEDAY...

And just in case anyone was wondering-- I know I said I tend not to write stories longer than fifteen chapters, but this story is shaping up to be rather longer than that. I don't know if it's Holden's POV or what, but it's taking a lot more words to write the story to my own satisfaction than I had strictly anticipated. Don't worry, I'm in it for the long haul if you are.







Back in Lee's room, Bran went straight to Lee's bedside, smiling reassuringly while Lee examined him worriedly as if for bruises or blood. Alix was giving Holden and the doctor a similar look; Holden smiled at her as he went to her side and looked at the doctor expectantly.

"Lee is doing very well," said the doctor, in a dark no-thanks-to-you tone, "and there's no urgent need that he stay in the hospital past this afternoon, so long as you understand it's still imperative that he continue on the antibiotics for another ten days, that the lacerations be kept clean, and that he needs regular, healthy food and drink-- I'll ask you to adhere to a diet which we'll outline for you-- and plenty of rest. Sexual intercourse is out of the question for at least two weeks. I'll ask you to commit to a two-week checkup, at which time we'll evaluate his health and make any necessary adjustment to the guidelines. I'll also ask that you refrain from any form of discipline that would put further physical or emotional stress on the patient."

Nodding, trying to smile, listening to Alix's reassuring murmurs-- of course, yes, no problem, absolutely-- Holden suddenly felt sorry for the doctor. Her severe manner and his own disorientation had kept him from looking too closely at her before, but she was young, maybe in her thirties, and odds were she'd never seen a kid this brutally, systematically traumatized. He doubted she was an abolitionist per se, but just as a trip to a slaughterhouse could make the average carnivore turn green around the gills, the sight of Lee was scaring her and pissing her off, and she didn't know what to do about it. And she couldn't even make sure he'd be safe once he left the hospital, or that she'd ever see him again for that checkup. All she could do was ask.

He hoped she had someone to go home to tonight, to rant to about the abuses in the slave system, about the slave dealer she'd caught fondling one barely-legal slave in the waiting room while the other one, a child, a wounded, starving child, lay chained to the bed like some kind of criminal... et cetera. Maybe kick over a chair or two.

"Do you have any questions?" the doctor asked, and Alix looked at Holden.

"Yeah," he said. "The-- uh, urinary incontinence. How's that looking?"

"We don't know," said the doctor tightly, as if she suspected what was likely to happen to a slave who was prone to wet the bed. "We only took off the condom cath this morning. But based on the tests we've gotten back so far, it's more likely to be a psychological issue than a physiological one. He says it only happens when he's asleep or--" She bit the next words off as if they had spikes. "Being beaten. So if you don't subject him to further stress, the problem may resolve itself. If it doesn't, we'll discuss options and further tests at the two-week checkup."

If you even bring him back for it, her look said, and at that moment Holden wanted nothing more than to apologize-- for being Lee's only recourse, and a clumsy, clowning, depressingly fallible recourse at that. But the doctor didn't need his apology; she needed to live in a world where the fragile boy huddled on the bed wouldn't be at risk of being put down like a dog for pissing himself when a man twice his size laid his back open with a whip.

"Any other questions?" she asked.

Yeah, Holden thought. When is my daughter going to get my letter?




After the doctor was gone, he went and sat down on the edge of Lee's bed-- the opposite side from Bran; he didn't want to watch the boy dodging and shying away from him again-- and cupped Lee's face gently with one hand, stroking his cheek with a thumb.

"You think you're ready to go home this afternoon, kid?" he asked gently. "It will feel good to get that cuff off your wrist, huh?"

Lee looked at him, his dark eyes liquid with tears. Holden caught one of them with his thumb and wiped it away, then reached out with the other hand to touch Lee's hair. "I know it's scary. This must feel like the safest place you've been in a long time, yeah?"

Lee nodded mutely.

"It's okay to be scared, Lee. It's okay to cry. And if you wet the bed at home-- hey, look at me. That's okay too. You won't be punished. Nobody's going to punish you for what you can't help, not while you belong to me."

It was obvious Lee liked being gently touched almost as much as Bran had from the beginning-- Holden guessed Dunaev hadn't been one for casual caresses, or maybe it was just that you rarely got hit while you were being petted. He was still crying a little, but his eyelids were heavy with the pleasure of Holden's touch.

Holden leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "You're a good boy, Lee." And he did seem like a good kid, under all the fear-- it was obvious from the way he was with Bran that he had an affectionate and trusting nature, and Holden hoped it wouldn't be too long before he could trust his new owners enough to perk up a little and start demonstrating his intelligence. Unless he wasn't particularly intelligent-- which was fine too, though it would make for a less interesting few months of training. But that was life. Not everyone was as eternally intriguing and surprising and enthralling as Bran. Scratch that: no one was.




The drive home was silent, Lee shivering against Bran in the back seat, but everyone came running when they came in the door; even Fox came out of the kitchen with a dishtowel still in one hand. Bran submitted to Yves' enthusiastic bear hug, Jer's one-armed hug and thump on the back, Greta's affectionate kiss on one cheek and the quick, embarrassed brush of Fox’s knuckles against the other, without protest but without enthusiasm either; the cavalcade of affection seemed to unnerve Bran almost as much as it did Lee, who backed nervously into Holden, then cringed as if expecting to be punished for his clumsiness. Holden put a protective arm around the small body, which looked smaller and thinner than ever in the tunic Alix had providently brought to the hospital the previous day.

"Take him upstairs and show him around," Holden told Bran, hoping he was doing the right thing. Lee needed to learn to relate to his master, not just to his friend or hero or whatever Bran was. But a friend was better than a tranquilizer, and Holden had outsourced this job to Bran before, and before Bran, Yves. Bran would know what to show Lee, what unspoken questions to answer, and how to explain the training room without scaring the kid back into catatonia. And Bran looked like he could use some time to settle back in, himself.

"Give him a bath, too," he added, "and wash his hair. Here's the antibiotic cream-- this one's for his back and this one's for-- you know, you were listening. Lee, if you're too tired to come down for dinner, tell Bran and he can bring you your supper in bed."

Lee looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Holden leaned down to kiss his forehead again, and after a moment's hesitation, kissed Bran in the same spot-- surely that was permissible. Bran accepted the kiss with the same blankness with which he'd accepted the hugs and kisses of the rest of the household, and took Lee's hand to lead him upstairs without another word.

He came back downstairs, his hair wet, to load up a tray with dinner for Lee and himself and with the evening's dose of vitamin and antibiotic pills. After the rest of them had finished eating and retired to the lounge, he came back down to take the empty tray to the kitchen and put his head in the door to ask permission to retire for the night. Holden granted it, and Bran barely nodded in acknowledgement before turning away. Holden pressed his lips together and looked back down at the file he was starting on Lee.

Alix and Greta retired early as well, holding hands and trading glances like schoolgirls. Absorbed in transcribing what he knew so far about the medical details of Lee's case and noting down his impressions, Holden was startled when hands touched his shoulders and Yves leaned down to say in his ear, "Can we talk?"

Holden looked up. "Sure, love. What's up?"

Yves knelt on the floor and rested his arms on Holden's leg, looking up at him seriously. "I know that look, master."

Holden glanced up at Jer, who had dozed off over his novel. "What look?"

"The one you got when Bran went upstairs," said Yves. "Don't shake your head at me, master. I know what happens when you let things like this simmer. Don't do that to Bran. Please."

"It's not like that," Holden protested.

"Oh," said Yves dryly. "My mistake. So you're not jealous of Bran and Lee, or worried that Bran doesn't love you any more because he's ignoring you."

"Um." Holden grimaced. "No?"

Blue eyes narrowed at him. "Really."

"It's not just me, is it?" Holden asked, looking down. "He's acting strange."

"He is," Yves agreed. "There's definitely something on his mind. Have you asked him what?"

"I tried to talk to him earlier, but--" Holden shrugged helplessly. "You know how he is."

"Try again," said Yves firmly.

Holden squinted at him. "Yes, master."

"Good boy," Yves grinned, then ducked his head against Holden's knee.

"No, but you're right," said Holden, running a hand over Yves' hair. "I do need to talk to him. Too late tonight, though. He's probably already asleep."

"Will you promise to talk to him tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," Holden agreed, his stomach twisting. "You can get off your knees. I promise."

"Thank you, master." Yves rose and leaned down again to kiss his cheek. "And if you'll come to bed now, I'll see if I can't get the doomed look off your face."

Holden shook his head. "I'm going to stay up for a while longer. Need to get this done. You go on. Take Jer with you."

"Okay, master," said Yves resignedly, as Jer stirred at the sound of his name. "Brood all you want tonight. But remember you promised."



When Holden finally put his files away, his eyes burning with fatigue, and went upstairs, the hall was silent. Greta's door was closed, Alix and Greta presumably entwined behind it; Yves and Jer slept back to back, like soldiers in the open, behind the half-open door of Jer's room. Lee's door was closed, Bran's open, his bed empty.

Holden went to his own bed alone and fell asleep quickly-- he'd never had much trouble sleeping when he was tired, unlike Bran, whose every emotion seemed to disrupt his sleep cycle-- but woke long before it was light with a sick feeling of unease whose source he couldn't pinpoint. He listened hard to see if a sound had wakened him and finally heard, faintly, down the hall, the sound of sobbing.

He hurried to Lee's room and, opening the door, smelled it right away, though since Lee was hydrated and the mess hadn't been fermenting for days, it smelled a lot better than it had at Dunaev's. Lee was huddled, crying, in Bran's arms.

"It's okay," Bran was saying softly. He looked up at Holden. "No one's going to hurt you."

Holden came and bent over Lee, touching his forehead gently; Lee shuddered violently at the touch. "It's all right, Lee. You're fine. Let's get you up out of this mess. Bran, do you think you can get him to the bathroom and clean up while I change the sheets, here?"

"Come on," said Bran to Lee, now shivering silently against him, as if afraid to cry audibly while Holden was speaking. "Let's go."

Valor had gone through a bedwetting phase, and Holden had a retentive muscle memory; the bed was fresh and dry before Bran brought Lee back, red-eyed and subdued, but no longer crying, and helped him lie back down on his stomach, adjusting the pillow carefully under his head. Holden pulled the covers up over the shivering body.

"You're okay now," he said gently. "I told you there wouldn't be any punishment for this."

"I didn't think--" Lee whispered. "I thought-- here-- I wouldn't."

"Ah, kid." Holden stroked the dark hair gently. "It doesn't work like that. The cuts on your back didn't magically go away, and neither will this. Healing takes time. Don't worry. You've got time now."

Lee closed his eyes and said, almost inaudibly, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," said Holden, still caressing his hair. "Just rest, Lee."

When Lee's breathing grew regular and deep, Bran and Holden breathed a simultaneous quiet sigh of relief, then looked up at each other, smiling a little. Holden got up, expecting Bran to lie back down next to Lee, but Bran followed him from the room.

"He'll sleep through the rest of the night now," he said softly when Holden had closed Lee's door behind them. "Thank you, master. You were great."

Holden wasn't used to getting performance reviews on his interactions with delinquents; it was surprisingly gratifying. "Thanks, kid. So were you." He hesitated. "Come sleep with me?"

"Sure," said Bran without much affect, and let Holden take his hand and lead him to bed, where he lay down on his back and closed his eyes wearily. Holden moved a little closer to him-- gods, but the young radiated heat-- and closed his own eyes.

He was almost asleep again when he heard Bran's breath catch in a stifled sob. He rolled over immediately and had the boy in his arms; Bran didn't resist, and he didn't try to pretend that he wasn't crying.

"Bran, darling," he whispered. "What is it?"

"Just--" Bran's arms came up around him and hugged him ferociously closer. "Just hold me for a minute. Please."

Holden obliged, feeling Bran's shuddering breath against him, his lips close enough to graze the velvety nap of the boy's earlobe. He twined a silky curl around his finger.

"Tell me what's wrong, my love," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," Bran whispered. "It's just--" His face was burrowing into Holden's neck, his voice muffled. "I love you."

Holden had to work to keep his voice steady for even two words. "Do you?"

There was a long pause before Bran said softly, "This comes as a surprise, master?"

"People's feelings for each other change all the time," said Holden, still steadily. "If you ever-- didn't feel the same way about me any more--" Wincing, Holden briefly wondered why his ability to talk coherently always seemed to desert him when he needed it most. "I wouldn't blame you. I'd understand."

Bran pulled almost violently out of Holden's arms and half sat up, staring at Holden. "Is that what you're hoping?"

"Hoping?" Holden blinked.

"Sure." Bran sat up the rest of the way, and Holden was unnerved to realize Bran was glaring at him. "It would make things easier, wouldn't it? But I guess I thought that after all this time you might not still think I'm just a stupid kid with a stupid crush that you can talk me out of!"

"Bran--" Holden began, bewildered, and sitting up himself to meet Bran's eye. "You know that's not what I-- I just--"

"Just what? You want to tell me some more about how people's feelings change all the time? You think you can fix everything, don't you? The greatest retrainer of all time! It took five years but you got it done and now I'm another success story and it's on to the next fucking fascinating problem, is that it?"

"Bran, please," said Holden, shaken by Bran's fury, and Bran, still staring at him, looked suddenly exhausted.

"I'm sorry, master," he said, looking down. "I meant to take this better. I won't get like this with whoever you sell me to, I promise."

"Whoever I-- Bran, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how I'm fine," said Bran calmly to his tautly clasped hands. "And Lee's more damaged than I ever was, he needs you even more than I-- did, back then. And he's going to have scars-- and you don't really have time or energy for three of us, let alone four. So I've got to go, I get it, and that's fine, I'll be fine. I've had five years, and that's more than I ever--" A spasm of pain crossed his face, and he turned his head aside and swallowed hard. "And I guess it's nice of you to want this to be easy for me. But just because you want it doesn't mean that's how it's going to be."

Holden lay back down rather suddenly. "Just-- a second."

Bran sank back down so that they lay face to face, staring into each other's eyes. "Master-- ah, gods. It's okay. I understand. I don't blame you. He needs you. Whatever I–"

Holden reached out and touched a finger to Bran's lips, silencing him. "Bran-- you–- I–" He laughed suddenly. "You're too sweet to live, kid. The way you've been tending him and petting him, I was starting to think he was my replacement. And all the time you thought you were grooming yours."

Bran stared at him without speaking.

"Do you have any fucking idea how much I love you, you lunatic? You might not need me any more, but I need you. I'm way too selfish to give you up, even if Lee did need me more-- and he doesn't."

"He needs--" Bran started to protest.

"Someone who can give him plenty of attention," said Holden. "Someone who doesn't work for a living. Someone whose house isn't overcrowded already. Someone who doesn't have a bad temper and a nasty habit of tying himself in knots over-- I'm really not the ideal master, kid. You think I am because you-- gods-- you really still-- I thought--"

He closed his eyes and missed the moment before Bran was in his arms again, pressing up against him, hands in his hair, mouth hot and insistent on his. He kissed back, tears spilling from his eyes, submitting passively to Bran's caresses only because he felt too weak to move.

"You thought-- you actually thought--" Bran was running his hands from Holden's hair to his neck, his back, his arms, licking Holden's tears from his cheeks- "I didn't love you any more?"

"I'm sorry," Holden whispered.

Bran's hips were moving, his cock hard and throbbing against Holden's groin.

"Bran--" Holden gasped as Bran rubbed sluttishly against him, the hot mouth now fastened to his throat. "Bran, wait--"

"No." Lithe as an eel, Bran wriggled around till his back was pressed to Holden's chest, arching back to say in his ear, "Need you inside me. Now."

The hunger in his voice shot straight to Holden's already aching cock, and he grasped at Bran's, feeling it jump eagerly to his fingers.

"Love you so much," he whispered, and Bran purred, trying to thrust forward into Holden's hand, tightening around his cock, and backwards against Holden simultaneously. Holden started to reach over him towards the drawer where the lubricant was kept, and Bran caught at his wrist. "Don't need that, come on, now--"

Holden pushed Bran down on his face, leaned down and plunged his tongue inside the boy's hole, and Bran groaned in agonized frustration as he slicked the little opening as thoroughly as he could before carefully easing his cock--

"Fuck!"

"Are you--"

"I'm fine, fuck me, fuck me--"

--in.

He tried to go slowly and carefully, if only for the sake of his own lightheadedness, but Bran was having none of it; he pushed back hard and rapidly, not satisfied until Holden was driving into him with all his strength, and afterwards, when they lay side by side, breathing hard, Holden saw that Bran was crying.

"My love--" He gathered him closer. "Did I hurt you?"

"Mmmm. Yes." Bran looked up at Holden through wet eyelashes. "Going to feel you all day tomorrow."

Holden felt almost shy in the face of Bran's radiant afterglow. "Yeah? You like that?"

"Love it." Bran's tears were still trickling down; he licked one from the corner of his mouth, and it was all Holden could do to resist jumping him again. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, master."

"Ha," said Holden, still a little dizzy. "You realize you hold the record for the longest anyone has managed to live with me without once physically attacking me? Pavel's the runner-up."

Bran laughed quietly, reaching up to stroke Holden's hair. "But you didn't do anything. You were just being sweet. Offering to give me up-- because that was what you thought I wanted."

Holden would have shaken his head if he hadn't been afraid it would startle Bran's fingers away. "I should have known better. You're right. I've never given you enough credit, kid." He tried to look stern as he added, "Or you me, for that matter. Idiot."

"We're both idiots," Bran agreed contentedly. "But we have some seriously great sex, master. I think you should keep me."