Meanwhile, back at the ranch
May. 6th, 2008 08:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeTakes place "last night" in Lee-time, i.e. during the events, roughly, of Lee chapter 29.
"How can you be okay with this?" Valor demanded, no longer crying, but still with swollen eyes and a choking thickness to her voice. "How can you claim to love someone you own? How can you love someone who owns you? How can you love someone who-- lends you out?"
Her gaze swung accusingly from Alix to Greta and came to rest on Yves, which suited him just fine; he was probably the best one to talk to her about this. Alix and Greta didn't have the perspective. He found himself thinking it was a good thing Jer had made himself scarce as soon as Valor burst-- reminding him powerfully of her adoptive father-- through the front door, and flung herself sobbing into her mother's arms.
"May I speak freely, Miss Valor?" he asked.
At that, Valor managed a rather impressive simultaneous laugh, sob and eye-roll.
"I need your answer, Miss," said Yves patiently. "That's part of the point here. There are slaves, and there's a code of behavior for slaves. Whether you like it or not, whether there should be slaves or not, whether we should have to behave this way or not-- those are good questions and I'm glad you're asking them and I don't disagree with your answer, but just because you've decided I shouldn't have to ask your permission doesn't mean that if you shut your eyes and put your fingers in your ears and sing the national anthem, I won't still be sitting here waiting for your permission to speak freely. Do I have your permission?"
"You already are," said Valor sulkily. "Speaking freely."
Yves regarded her steadily. "No, Miss. I'm not."
"Fine," said Valor after a moment. "Speak freely."
Yves took a moment to collect his thoughts before he obeyed.
"Valor," he said softly, and her eyes and mouth both opened wider, looking as if she were about to start crying again, but she didn't. "I love you very much. I love that you care so much about what's right and wrong, and I love that you're trying so hard to do the right thing by Inga. But you're right that you're messing everything up with her, and you were right to come to me and give me permission to speak freely about it, because you're doing the same things wrong with her that you've always done with me, and it's making her as miserable as you would have made me, if your father hadn't limited your power over me."
Valor's eyes filled with tears again, and Alix leaned forward and put her hand over Valor's, but Valor pulled it away. Yves really hoped Alix wasn't going to be angry at him for this; he would have felt more comfortable if his master had been here. Although, come to think of it, if his master had been here Yves probably wouldn't ever have gotten a word in edgewise, so maybe not.
"How would I make you miserable?" Valor asked, her voice getting dangerously high with tears and indignation. "Yves, I love you!"
"I know you do, honey," said Yves gently. "I've never been in any doubt of that, and I'm sure Inga hasn't either, that you love her and want what's best for her. But doing what's really best for a person means paying attention to what that person actually wants and needs. You love me, but you don't pay attention to me. You get indignant when your father hurts me, but you don't bother to change the behavior that you know is going to have me offering myself to him to get hurt. You pet me and praise me in bed, but you don't notice when I'm tired or spaced out or would rather just hold you and talk."
Valor's cheeks were reddening, her eyes narrowing, but Yves went on steadily, his hands twisted tightly together in his lap.
"And you haven't been paying attention to Inga, either. You decided she should act like a free girl, but she isn't a free girl, she's a slave, and that means she just has to sit there and agree to everything you tell her about how she should act now. Making her act like your idea of a free girl is just giving her a new set of rules that she doesn't like or feel comfortable with, plus depriving her of what she wants and needs from you-- your touch, your guidance, your protection-- all because it's what you want."
"But I wanted--" Valor burst out, and then went red, and shook her head violently. "I mean, she shouldn't have to--"
"But she does have to," said Yves firmly. "You can't wave a magic wand and change the world, Valor. However much you might hate slavery, you are a slave owner, and right now, you're not being a responsible one. Do you realize the agony Inga's probably in right now? Things have been strained between you, and now you hop a train for home and can't even be bothered to tell her you're leaving?"
"Dad is there!" Valor said, in a tone bedecked with danger signals. Yves fought his reflex to shut up, bow his head submissively, maybe even apologize; his surrender would kick in her protective instincts, no doubt, bring her voice back to gentleness. But he didn't want to back down now.
"And you didn't talk to him about the fact that you were leaving, either. Or about taking care of Inga for you. Valor, you talk about the way your father hits me as if it's so awful, but your father and I have an understanding, and you and Inga don't have an understanding about anything right now. The two of you aren't communicating, and it's your fault. You're being unbelievably irresponsible. You're--"
Valor slapped him across the face.
"Better than this," he said, bowing his head over his white-knuckled hands. "Miss Valor."
He wasn't really all that surprised at the slap, on one level-- her face and body language as he continued speaking had been readable enough to any slave-- but Valor had never hit him, not since she'd been old enough to stop hitting everyone who got in her way, slave and free. Had never slapped him the way you slapped an insolent slave, to shut him up, to remind him what he was.
She wasn't moving, and he didn't dare look up at her. Why didn't Alix say anything? Surely it was her job not to let people hit him with impunity when Holden wasn't here? Couldn't Greta call off her daughter? Or were they both pissed at him for what he'd said?
In which case, shit.
"Yves," said Valor, and her voice was faint and sickened. "Yves, I'm-- oh, fucking hell, Yves, I'm so sorry-- please--"
Obviously he was supposed to look up now and tell her it was all right, but he still couldn't meet her eyes; anger and fear and humiliation and pure searing loneliness-- he wanted his master, needed his master, why the fuck wasn't his master here-- warred within him.
"Valor," said Alix, "go to your room."
"No," said Valor. "I mean, I want to--"
"I don't give a shit what you want," said Alix matter-of-factly, and Yves did look up then, at her face, which was cold and set, and at Greta, whose freckles were standing out alarmingly against the whiteness of her face.
"Yves, please," said Valor desperately. "I'm sorry--"
He made himself look at her, at Valor, his playmate ever since she'd been born; made himself see how truly sorry she was, and how frightened and confused, and how young. How much she really did love him-- whatever that meant. He made himself smile.
"I know you are, Miss," he said. "I'll be fine."
Valor started to say something else, looked at Alix, looked at her mother, got up and almost ran from the room.
"Are you okay?" Alix asked Yves in a softer voice.
He smiled again. "I'm fine. It wasn't much of a slap."
"You're not okay," said Greta. "I wouldn't be."
"Should we call Holden?" Alix asked.
Yves shook his head. "No point bothering him. It's late. We can call him tomorrow when we have some news for Inga. A good night's sleep will do--" He swallowed, suddenly near tears. What was wrong with him? It really hadn't been much of a slap. "Do all of us good. We'll be thinking more clearly in the morning. May I go to bed, mistress?"
"Of course," said Alix, but she watched him intently until he had gotten himself out of the room.
Upstairs, in Yves' room, Jer was lying on the bed, drawing something on a pad of graph paper with a pencil. He turned it over and put it on the floor when he saw Yves, then sat up.
"What are you doing?" Yves asked, looking at the pad.
"Waiting for you," said Jer. "Shit. What did she do?"
"Nothing," said Yves, almost laughing, and then, "She slapped me, it's no big deal."
"Well, something is," said Jer, examining Yves. "You look like you're about to cry."
Yves shook his head, breathing in deeply, then smoothly out. "I'm fine. Did you want to fuck?"
"Hey," said Jer, his brows drawing together. "Don't do that. Come here."
Yves came, stopping a few steps from Jer only to be grabbed and yanked hard into Jer's lap. Jer held him up with one strong arm, looking into his face.
"Why'd she hit you?" he demanded.
Yves shrugged, looking away. "I told her some things she didn't want to hear."
"Oh," said Jer neutrally. "You mean about being a whiny self-centered brat with no clue how to take care of a slave even though it's what her parents do for a living?"
"Something like that," said Yves, grinning a little. "I don't think it's what she was expecting me to say, anyway."
"Yeah, well." Jer sounded moody. "You're the dad who isn't supposed to yell at her, you know? When the dad who's supposed to call her 'Miss' starts calling her 'young lady' instead--"
"I'm not her dad," said Yves, looking back at Jer, who was still examining him with as much intent, affectionate scrutiny as Holden could have mustered.
Holden. Yves really was about to cry, and then he was crying, letting his head drop onto Jer's shoulder, while Jer hugged him roughly closer.
"Hey," he said again, and kissed Yves' ear awkwardly. "Yves. What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Yves choked. "I just-- oh, fucking hell, Jer, I'm so fucking pathetic, I miss him so much!"
"Ah--" Jer patted Yves' back. "Hell. I know. I miss him too. He'd take her apart for laying a hand on you, wouldn't he?"
"Yes!" Yves caught his breath. "And it's not that I want her-- taken apart-- I just-- oh, shit, Jer, what-- I mean, what am I going to do if he-- dies, or something? You know?"
"Oh, fuck, Yves." Jer was rocking him, a little, gently, like a mother with a crying baby, and just having said it made Yves feel better, made him feel like maybe he'd live through it after all. "Yeah. I know."
"I'm an ass," said Yves, still being rocked, nuzzling closer against Jer. "You've been through-- so much worse."
"Damn right I have," said Jer. "You don't know how good you've got it, with him. I do. Believe me, I get it."
Yves kissed Jer's neck. Jer pulled back, but it was only to pull Yves' face towards his and kiss him, thoroughly, on the mouth. They kissed for so long Yves felt a little weak when Jer finally pulled back, looking into Yves' face with a serious expression.
"Listen," he said. "If-- if he ever does. I mean, before us. We'll look out for each other, you know? You and me. And we'll take care of the kid. It'll be okay."
Yves laughed, chokingly, though his sobs.
"The kid might be taking care of us, by then," he pointed out, and Jer grinned.
"That, too," he said, just as Yves leaned in and kissed him again; he kissed back, then said, "In the mood?"
"For you?" said Yves, feeling a gleam of mischief pass over his tearstained face. "When am I not?"
"Never," Jer concurred, his hands exploring under the edges of Yves' tunic. "You know I thought, when I first moved in here, you were going to be this prissy little tight-ass? Master's pet, nobody else is good enough?"
Yves closed his eyes. "You-- oh-- you are so good enough--"
"Yeah, I am," said Jer, his hand closing around Yves' cock. "Slut."
Yves giggled, then caught his breath. "Jerk."
"Hopeless romantic," said Jer, stroking.
Yves smiled, his eyes half shut. "Curmudgeonly misanthropist."
Jer snorted. "Dictionary-eater."
"Shut up and fuck me," said Yves, both hands under Jer's tunic now.
"Mmmm," said Jer, grinning. "If you insist."
"How can you be okay with this?" Valor demanded, no longer crying, but still with swollen eyes and a choking thickness to her voice. "How can you claim to love someone you own? How can you love someone who owns you? How can you love someone who-- lends you out?"
Her gaze swung accusingly from Alix to Greta and came to rest on Yves, which suited him just fine; he was probably the best one to talk to her about this. Alix and Greta didn't have the perspective. He found himself thinking it was a good thing Jer had made himself scarce as soon as Valor burst-- reminding him powerfully of her adoptive father-- through the front door, and flung herself sobbing into her mother's arms.
"May I speak freely, Miss Valor?" he asked.
At that, Valor managed a rather impressive simultaneous laugh, sob and eye-roll.
"I need your answer, Miss," said Yves patiently. "That's part of the point here. There are slaves, and there's a code of behavior for slaves. Whether you like it or not, whether there should be slaves or not, whether we should have to behave this way or not-- those are good questions and I'm glad you're asking them and I don't disagree with your answer, but just because you've decided I shouldn't have to ask your permission doesn't mean that if you shut your eyes and put your fingers in your ears and sing the national anthem, I won't still be sitting here waiting for your permission to speak freely. Do I have your permission?"
"You already are," said Valor sulkily. "Speaking freely."
Yves regarded her steadily. "No, Miss. I'm not."
"Fine," said Valor after a moment. "Speak freely."
Yves took a moment to collect his thoughts before he obeyed.
"Valor," he said softly, and her eyes and mouth both opened wider, looking as if she were about to start crying again, but she didn't. "I love you very much. I love that you care so much about what's right and wrong, and I love that you're trying so hard to do the right thing by Inga. But you're right that you're messing everything up with her, and you were right to come to me and give me permission to speak freely about it, because you're doing the same things wrong with her that you've always done with me, and it's making her as miserable as you would have made me, if your father hadn't limited your power over me."
Valor's eyes filled with tears again, and Alix leaned forward and put her hand over Valor's, but Valor pulled it away. Yves really hoped Alix wasn't going to be angry at him for this; he would have felt more comfortable if his master had been here. Although, come to think of it, if his master had been here Yves probably wouldn't ever have gotten a word in edgewise, so maybe not.
"How would I make you miserable?" Valor asked, her voice getting dangerously high with tears and indignation. "Yves, I love you!"
"I know you do, honey," said Yves gently. "I've never been in any doubt of that, and I'm sure Inga hasn't either, that you love her and want what's best for her. But doing what's really best for a person means paying attention to what that person actually wants and needs. You love me, but you don't pay attention to me. You get indignant when your father hurts me, but you don't bother to change the behavior that you know is going to have me offering myself to him to get hurt. You pet me and praise me in bed, but you don't notice when I'm tired or spaced out or would rather just hold you and talk."
Valor's cheeks were reddening, her eyes narrowing, but Yves went on steadily, his hands twisted tightly together in his lap.
"And you haven't been paying attention to Inga, either. You decided she should act like a free girl, but she isn't a free girl, she's a slave, and that means she just has to sit there and agree to everything you tell her about how she should act now. Making her act like your idea of a free girl is just giving her a new set of rules that she doesn't like or feel comfortable with, plus depriving her of what she wants and needs from you-- your touch, your guidance, your protection-- all because it's what you want."
"But I wanted--" Valor burst out, and then went red, and shook her head violently. "I mean, she shouldn't have to--"
"But she does have to," said Yves firmly. "You can't wave a magic wand and change the world, Valor. However much you might hate slavery, you are a slave owner, and right now, you're not being a responsible one. Do you realize the agony Inga's probably in right now? Things have been strained between you, and now you hop a train for home and can't even be bothered to tell her you're leaving?"
"Dad is there!" Valor said, in a tone bedecked with danger signals. Yves fought his reflex to shut up, bow his head submissively, maybe even apologize; his surrender would kick in her protective instincts, no doubt, bring her voice back to gentleness. But he didn't want to back down now.
"And you didn't talk to him about the fact that you were leaving, either. Or about taking care of Inga for you. Valor, you talk about the way your father hits me as if it's so awful, but your father and I have an understanding, and you and Inga don't have an understanding about anything right now. The two of you aren't communicating, and it's your fault. You're being unbelievably irresponsible. You're--"
Valor slapped him across the face.
"Better than this," he said, bowing his head over his white-knuckled hands. "Miss Valor."
He wasn't really all that surprised at the slap, on one level-- her face and body language as he continued speaking had been readable enough to any slave-- but Valor had never hit him, not since she'd been old enough to stop hitting everyone who got in her way, slave and free. Had never slapped him the way you slapped an insolent slave, to shut him up, to remind him what he was.
She wasn't moving, and he didn't dare look up at her. Why didn't Alix say anything? Surely it was her job not to let people hit him with impunity when Holden wasn't here? Couldn't Greta call off her daughter? Or were they both pissed at him for what he'd said?
In which case, shit.
"Yves," said Valor, and her voice was faint and sickened. "Yves, I'm-- oh, fucking hell, Yves, I'm so sorry-- please--"
Obviously he was supposed to look up now and tell her it was all right, but he still couldn't meet her eyes; anger and fear and humiliation and pure searing loneliness-- he wanted his master, needed his master, why the fuck wasn't his master here-- warred within him.
"Valor," said Alix, "go to your room."
"No," said Valor. "I mean, I want to--"
"I don't give a shit what you want," said Alix matter-of-factly, and Yves did look up then, at her face, which was cold and set, and at Greta, whose freckles were standing out alarmingly against the whiteness of her face.
"Yves, please," said Valor desperately. "I'm sorry--"
He made himself look at her, at Valor, his playmate ever since she'd been born; made himself see how truly sorry she was, and how frightened and confused, and how young. How much she really did love him-- whatever that meant. He made himself smile.
"I know you are, Miss," he said. "I'll be fine."
Valor started to say something else, looked at Alix, looked at her mother, got up and almost ran from the room.
"Are you okay?" Alix asked Yves in a softer voice.
He smiled again. "I'm fine. It wasn't much of a slap."
"You're not okay," said Greta. "I wouldn't be."
"Should we call Holden?" Alix asked.
Yves shook his head. "No point bothering him. It's late. We can call him tomorrow when we have some news for Inga. A good night's sleep will do--" He swallowed, suddenly near tears. What was wrong with him? It really hadn't been much of a slap. "Do all of us good. We'll be thinking more clearly in the morning. May I go to bed, mistress?"
"Of course," said Alix, but she watched him intently until he had gotten himself out of the room.
Upstairs, in Yves' room, Jer was lying on the bed, drawing something on a pad of graph paper with a pencil. He turned it over and put it on the floor when he saw Yves, then sat up.
"What are you doing?" Yves asked, looking at the pad.
"Waiting for you," said Jer. "Shit. What did she do?"
"Nothing," said Yves, almost laughing, and then, "She slapped me, it's no big deal."
"Well, something is," said Jer, examining Yves. "You look like you're about to cry."
Yves shook his head, breathing in deeply, then smoothly out. "I'm fine. Did you want to fuck?"
"Hey," said Jer, his brows drawing together. "Don't do that. Come here."
Yves came, stopping a few steps from Jer only to be grabbed and yanked hard into Jer's lap. Jer held him up with one strong arm, looking into his face.
"Why'd she hit you?" he demanded.
Yves shrugged, looking away. "I told her some things she didn't want to hear."
"Oh," said Jer neutrally. "You mean about being a whiny self-centered brat with no clue how to take care of a slave even though it's what her parents do for a living?"
"Something like that," said Yves, grinning a little. "I don't think it's what she was expecting me to say, anyway."
"Yeah, well." Jer sounded moody. "You're the dad who isn't supposed to yell at her, you know? When the dad who's supposed to call her 'Miss' starts calling her 'young lady' instead--"
"I'm not her dad," said Yves, looking back at Jer, who was still examining him with as much intent, affectionate scrutiny as Holden could have mustered.
Holden. Yves really was about to cry, and then he was crying, letting his head drop onto Jer's shoulder, while Jer hugged him roughly closer.
"Hey," he said again, and kissed Yves' ear awkwardly. "Yves. What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," Yves choked. "I just-- oh, fucking hell, Jer, I'm so fucking pathetic, I miss him so much!"
"Ah--" Jer patted Yves' back. "Hell. I know. I miss him too. He'd take her apart for laying a hand on you, wouldn't he?"
"Yes!" Yves caught his breath. "And it's not that I want her-- taken apart-- I just-- oh, shit, Jer, what-- I mean, what am I going to do if he-- dies, or something? You know?"
"Oh, fuck, Yves." Jer was rocking him, a little, gently, like a mother with a crying baby, and just having said it made Yves feel better, made him feel like maybe he'd live through it after all. "Yeah. I know."
"I'm an ass," said Yves, still being rocked, nuzzling closer against Jer. "You've been through-- so much worse."
"Damn right I have," said Jer. "You don't know how good you've got it, with him. I do. Believe me, I get it."
Yves kissed Jer's neck. Jer pulled back, but it was only to pull Yves' face towards his and kiss him, thoroughly, on the mouth. They kissed for so long Yves felt a little weak when Jer finally pulled back, looking into Yves' face with a serious expression.
"Listen," he said. "If-- if he ever does. I mean, before us. We'll look out for each other, you know? You and me. And we'll take care of the kid. It'll be okay."
Yves laughed, chokingly, though his sobs.
"The kid might be taking care of us, by then," he pointed out, and Jer grinned.
"That, too," he said, just as Yves leaned in and kissed him again; he kissed back, then said, "In the mood?"
"For you?" said Yves, feeling a gleam of mischief pass over his tearstained face. "When am I not?"
"Never," Jer concurred, his hands exploring under the edges of Yves' tunic. "You know I thought, when I first moved in here, you were going to be this prissy little tight-ass? Master's pet, nobody else is good enough?"
Yves closed his eyes. "You-- oh-- you are so good enough--"
"Yeah, I am," said Jer, his hand closing around Yves' cock. "Slut."
Yves giggled, then caught his breath. "Jerk."
"Hopeless romantic," said Jer, stroking.
Yves smiled, his eyes half shut. "Curmudgeonly misanthropist."
Jer snorted. "Dictionary-eater."
"Shut up and fuck me," said Yves, both hands under Jer's tunic now.
"Mmmm," said Jer, grinning. "If you insist."
