maculategiraffe

Apologies for any mood whiplash going from Dreadful Puns of Avalon to, uh, this.

When the master and Bran had told Lee they were going somewhere alone together, Lee had been a little taken aback, but he'd been able to honestly answer "no" to their queries about whether he'd mind staying alone. He knew, by now, that no one in this house would hurt him, or molest him against his will, and he could certainly manage without the luxury of Bran's presence, or the master's closeness, for a day. As his sale approached, in fact, he was aware he was going to have to get used to doing without both. He knew his master had more or less accepted Lord Taganov's offer, and was only waiting for-- Lee wasn't entirely clear on what, actually, but something to do with the magazine article that was coming out tomorrow illustrated with photographs of Lee.

He'd been a little at a loose end today, without either his master or Bran, but Lee was good at waiting. He'd exercised a little, stayed close to Jer and Yves when he could, and spent the rest of the time on the wide sill of the window that looked out on the front of the house, watching the street for the master's car. He'd known they were planning to be gone all day-- Fox had even packed food for them to take along, so they wouldn't have to come home for lunch-- but he didn't mind just sitting and looking out the window. Looking out of the window of a house he wanted to be in was still a novel enough experience that he could savor it for a long time.

He was pleased when the car did pull up, but startled when Bran got out, swaying slightly, and the master hurried around to his side of the car and offered his arm. Bran took it and leaned on it heavily, and Lee could see that his face was pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.

When they came in the front door, Lee stood up, not knowing what to say or do. Bran smiled wanly when he saw him.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, holding out his hand, and Lee went to him; Bran hugged him with one arm and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Sorry-- I know I look like hell."

"No," said Lee, distressed, and Bran said, "Well, good. I just feel like hell, then."

"What happened?" Lee asked.

Bran cupped his face in both hands and looked at him for a long time before he said, "I'll tell you all about it. But not right now. Master, may I please go upstairs and lie down?"

"I was just about to say," said the master. "I'm coming with you, though."

"You don't have to do that, master," said Bran, frowning. "I'm fine. Just tired. I'll probably just sleep."

"Then I'll sit with you while you sleep," said the master. "Not open to argument, Bran."

Lee held his breath, but Bran just nodded, and kissed Lee again, quickly, this time on the forehead, before he let him go. "I'm fine, Lee. I'm just really tired. I'll see you at dinner, okay?"

The master put an arm around Lee, in turn, and Lee leaned into him, resting.

"How was your day?" the master asked.

"Fine, master," Lee murmured. "Thank you."

"Anything you need?"

"No, thank you, master."

"All right." The master kissed his cheek, and let him go, and went up the stairs with Bran.

Rather absent-mindedly, Lee wandered to the kitchen, and found Fox chopping things for dinner; he hadn't realized it was so late in the afternoon.

"Was that Bran at the door?" she demanded, and Lee shrank back a little at her abrupt tone. He wasn't sure what Fox's exact feelings on him were, but they seemed to be mainly of the "extraneous person cluttering up my kitchen" type. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs," said Lee softly.

"Is he going to eat dinner?"

"I don't know," said Lee, and then, remembering that Bran had said he'd see Lee at dinner, added, "Yes."

"Wait a minute," she said, and went to the stove, poured steaming water from the simmering teakettle into a waiting teapot, looked at the clock, pulled out a tray and arranged a teacup with saucer and napkin on it, looked at the clock again, stirred the tea, put the pot on the tray, and pushed it at Lee. "Take this up to him."

"But--"

"Just take it up and leave it if he wants to be alone," said Fox. "He'll be glad of something hot."

Lee didn't want to bother Bran and the master, but he didn't know any good way to say no when a free person had given him a direct order that didn't contradict any order of his master's. He took the tray, trying not to imagine dropping it, and went very slowly out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs.

Bran's door was closed; Lee meant to knock, but he couldn't quite balance the tray properly to do it. He knocked his elbow against the door instead, whereupon it came open, not having been properly latched closed, and he saw the master sitting on the bed with Bran in his lap, Bran's face pressed up against his master's neck. Lee had never seen Bran cry, had never imagined Bran crying-- Bran who was so brave, so strong, always smiling and tender and confident-- but he was sobbing his heart out, now, crying so hard he was gasping for breath. Lee trembled in the doorway as the master looked up.

"Hey, Lee," he said softly, and Bran seemed to freeze. "What have you got there?"

"Tea, master," Lee mumbled. "Fox said--"

"Bring it in," said the master. "Good boy. Put it down on the nightstand."

Miraculously, Lee managed to obey without dropping the tray and smashing everything on it.

"Good boy," said the master again, one firm palm rubbing between Bran's shoulder blades as Bran shook against him. "Thank you. Shut the door behind you when you go, please."

In the hall outside, moving fast and half blind, Lee cannoned straight into someone's chest and dropped reflexively to his knees, bowing his head to the floor before he even realized consciously what he was doing.

"Oh, Lee," said Yves' voice above him, surprised and compassionate and a little amused. "Don't do that. Come on, get up."

Cheeks burning, still shaky, Lee took the proffered hand and let Yves help him up, then hold him at arm's length and scrutinize him with kind concern.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked gently. "Where's Bran?"

Lee nodded towards Bran's bedroom door, knowing he should speak aloud, but temporarily unable.

"Is he okay?" Yves asked, frowning, and when Lee shook his head, "Is the master with him?"

Lee nodded, and Yves said, "Okay, good."

"What's wrong with Bran?" Jer asked, suddenly emerging from his bedroom.

"I don't know," said Yves. "I heard them come in but I haven't seen either of them, and Lee says they're in there--" jerking his head towards Bran's door, "--and that something's wrong."

Jer scowled at the door. Yves sighed, then smiled at Lee.

"You look worried," he said. "Us too, but there's nothing we can do right now. Come worry with us."

Lee followed Yves obediently into Jer's room. Jer had left a pad of paper marked with little squares on the bed; he picked it up and started to put it aside, but Yves grabbed it.

"You've got to start doing these on real paper," he said, examining the pad, which had some complex, shaded geometrical shapes drawn on it. "It could look really good. Maybe do some sketches in color."

Jer rolled his eyes. "And what, make a portfolio? Apply to school?"

"Just to see what you could do," said Yves. "For fun. Why else do you do it?"

Jer pulled the pad out of Yves' hands, a little roughly, and flipped it towards the window sill, where it landed face down. "I don't know. To kill time."

"So kill time," said Yves, sitting down on the bed and motioning to Lee to come sit next to him. Lee obeyed, and Yves put a casual hand on his back and rubbed gently. "You could get creative. If you asked him, he'd get you some real supplies-- like a compass. You could even do models, in clay."

"I don't want to bother him with it," said Jer, lying down on his back on the other side of the bed, with his hands behind his head.

Yves shifted to face him. "Why not?"

"Because I don't," said Jer, narrowing his eyes.

"Okay," said Yves. "I just think he'd like to see what you've done."

"Yeah, sure," said Jer. "Very useful skill for a sex slave. He can rent me out to the architects' guild."

Yves shrugged. "He doesn't rent me out to universities, but I still like to talk to him about what I'm learning."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you," said Jer.

"I know that," said Yves.

"Then quit acting like I should be."

"I didn't say that. I was just--"

"You act so gods-damned superior sometimes," said Jer tightly. "Like everybody else should learn from your wisdom. I'm not new around here any more, okay?"

"Okay," said Yves, shortly. "Sorry."

"And anyway, I knew him before you did."

"I said sorry, for Sif's sake," said Yves irritably, and then for some reason they both looked at Lee-- who shrank back, trying to make himself as small as possible; the last thing he wanted was to get in the middle of their quarrel-- and then back at each other, and smiled, ruefully.

"Hey," Yves said, patting Lee's leg. "You're not Bran."

"I'll be Bran," said Jer, and in an incongruously soft, sweet tone, "He did say sorry, Jer."

Yves laughed, and then lowered his voice and growled, "Oh yeah, right, and that makes it all okay."

"What else am I supposed to say?" Jer minced, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

"I hate it when you two fight," said Yves in a passable imitation of Bran's voice, and then, growling again, "Call that a fight? It's not fighting until somebody's got scratches to show for it."

"Now you're talking," cooed Jer, leering and winking exaggeratedly at Yves, who laughed. Jer hesitated, then added, in his normal voice, "Sorry-- didn't mean to snap at you. I guess I'm kind of worried."

"I know," said Yves, and looked at Lee. "Do you have any idea what they're doing in there?"

Lee nodded, and cleared his throat. "Bran's-- crying."

"Poor kid," said Jer quietly. "That'll fuck up anyone's day, going back like that."

Yves looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I don't know if it would bother me. But then, my childhood wasn't particularly happy."

"I didn't know anybody's was, until I heard about Bran," said Jer.

"I know," said Yves. "A slave whose parents loved him. Hard to believe."

"Explains a lot about the kid, though." Jer reached out to run his hand over Lee's hair, which Lee didn't mind at all after the first surprise. "You ask me, once somebody loves you like that, you never really get used to-- being used-- again."

Yves put an arm around Lee, the way the master had earlier, and gave him a quick squeeze. "I wouldn't know."

"Yeah, I guess not," said Jer. "Since he had the decency to keep you around after he ruined you for normal slavery."

"There you are," said the mistress, suddenly appearing in the doorway, before Yves could respond. "Are they back? Where are they?"

"Holed up in Bran's room, mistress," said Yves. "Lee says Bran is crying."

The mistress sighed and nodded. "I suppose I'm not surprised."

"We were just saying," said Jer.

"But Holden's with him?"

Yves looked at Lee, who managed a hoarse, "Yes, mistress."

"Good," said the mistress, and then, smiling ruefully, "Poor Lee. You've had to deal with more of our family dramas and breakdowns than most trainees, I think."

Lee didn't exactly know how to answer that, but fortunately she didn't seem to expect an answer.

The rest of them were all seated at the dinner table, but hadn't been served yet, when Bran and the master came in, hand in hand. Bran looked even worse than before, his eyes swollen and watery, his lips puffy and cracked. The master's eyes seemed a little red, too.

"Sorry we're late," he said.

"You aren't," the mistress answered, as the master sat down. Bran didn't immediately follow suit; he went to Yves, instead, and leaned down to kiss his mouth briefly before he moved on to Jer and did the same thing, and then to Lee, who was too surprised to kiss back before Bran pulled away and moved towards his own chair.

"I don't get a kiss?" the mistress asked lightly, and Bran changed direction promptly, bending over her and kissing her mouth softly, and then turned to Greta. When she smiled and beckoned, he went and kissed her too, and then sat down, still not smiling, but with considerably more color in his cheeks than he'd had when he came in.

Fox came in to serve, and her hand rested on Bran's shoulder for a moment as she passed him. Bran did smile at her, and she smiled back.

"And how was your day?" Yves asked finally, breaking the silence. Bran let out a small puff of laughter and wiped at his eyes.

"I've had better," he said, his voice thick and hoarse, and coughed. "But I've had worse, too. I just-- I didn't realize how-- intense it would be."

"Was anyone living there?" Yves asked.

Bran nodded. "Someone I knew, actually. A friend. From before."

"Fucking hell," said Jer, and Bran managed another tiny breath of a laugh.

"Right," he said. "And then we went to see my parents' graves."

"Oh, now, really, Holden!" said the mistress crossly, and the master put his hand over his eyes and nodded.

"Please don't blame him, mistress," Bran said quietly. "And anyway, I'm glad we went. It was--" He sent Yves a quick, odd glance, with a quirk of the lips that was almost a smile. "Cathartic."

"It can't be that bad if you're quoting the unabridged dictionary," said Jer, brusquely; Lee could tell he was relieved. "Eat something, will you?"

Bran coughed again, took a long draught of water, and started eating. He didn't say much else during the meal, but everyone else, except the master, seemed relieved enough to chat about other matters. The master ate and mostly kept his gaze on Bran, who looked up once or twice to meet it; they didn't quite smile at each other, but when their eyes met, their faces relaxed.

After dinner, when Fox was clearing away the dishes, Bran said, "Master, may Lee and I go upstairs?"

The master hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between them, before he said, "Yes, you may."

"I'm sorry I fell apart as soon as I walked in the door," said Bran, curled up on the bed with Lee half in his lap, stroking his back. "Do you want to hear about it? What happened today?"

Lee didn't answer. He was thinking about something else.

"Lee?" Bran was still caressing him. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"

"I don't belong here," Lee said softly.

Bran pulled him back and looked at him, worried. "What do you mean?"

"Just--" Lee hesitated. "You belong here. This is your home."

"Yes," said Bran, tears spilling from his raw, swollen eyes and down his cheeks with a suddenness that scared Lee. "No, I'm fine, I just-- yes, this is where I belong now."

Lee nodded, watching Bran cry. Bran didn't seem to mind being watched; he looked back at Lee, even smiling a little, and swiped at his tears with the back of his hand.

"You mean you don't belong here the same way I do?" he resumed, thickly, after a moment. "Well-- no. But you're going to have a home with Lord Taganov and Mona."

Lee nodded. "I know. It's just--"

Bran waited patiently while Lee breathed, trying to think how to explain what he meant, the sense of loneliness and loss that had come over him as he watched Bran's family miss him, close ranks around him, open their arms to welcome him home.

"It's like this was the first place that was ever--home for me," he said finally. "Like with you and-- your mom and dad."

Bran sucked in his breath as if Lee had hit him, but before Lee could apologize-- or bite his own tongue out-- he said, "Yeah. I understand. This is the first place you--"

"The first time anyone loved me," said Lee, almost pleadingly.

Bran wrapped his arms around Lee and pulled him close again. "I do love you, Lee. We love you."

"I know," said Lee again, and nestled against Bran's shoulder, smiling a little as Bran's palms moved over the scars on his back. "But it's okay. I was already-- ruined."