Okay okay okay!

[maculategiraffe]

This is a bit shorter and more quickly written than I had strictly planned, because SOME PEOPLE who can WRITE perfectly gut-wrenching cliff-hangers apparently cannot abide to READ them, and I am a sweet and gentle-natured person who cannot hear cries for mercy without heeding them.

(Where is the trust, people? Where is the trust?)







"I'm fine," said Jer. "Quit fussing."

Holden, gingerly touching his own cheek where Dunaev's fist had connected, looked at Jer's bruised, bloodied face, purple and red on chalky pallor, eyes narrowed against the pain. "You are so very far from fine."

Jer shrugged impatiently, then sucked in his breath. "I mean, I will be fine. Especially once Mr. Harper here quits poking at me. You're going to have some shiner yourself, you know. Master."

"He's got a couple of broken ribs, at least," said Denys to Holden, having finished his gingerly prodding at Jer's body. "No other broken bones as far as I can tell, just some nasty bruising and swelling. I don't think his nose is broken, but there could be a fracture to the cheekbone, or it could just be swollen and sore-- it's hard to tell. And with the hits he took to the head-- well, I'm just a nurse, and I don't have any equipment with me to really assess the damage. We should get him to the hospital."

Jer, still supine on the grass-- only Jer could make that pose, under these circumstances, look lazy-- grunted irritably. "I don't want to go to any gods-damned hospital. Argounov took me in once, and it was a nightmare, they chained me to the fucking bed. Can't you just get Carey to tape up my ribs?"

"Sorry, baby, but you need X-rays," said Holden. "You won't have to stay long, I hope. As soon as the police are done swooning over the number of cameras that got the whole thing, we can get going."

"I'm fine," said Jer again, yanking himself up abruptly into a sitting position, with an involuntary groan of pain. Holden and Denys winced simultanously.

"Take it easy, Jer," Holden said sharply. "Maybe chaining you to the bed is a good idea."

Jer scowled as Holden added, "You just took a kicking that I'm pretty sure was supposed to kill you. It probably would have killed Lee."

"Yeah, well, Lee is four feet tall and made out of toothpicks," said Jer. "Speaking of Lee--" he turned his head, wincing-- "come here, kid, and tell your good buddy Jer all about the time your mama dropped you on your head and turned you into a complete and utter fucking idiot."

Lee, kneeling on the ground where he'd been ever since Denys pulled him up to look for injuries and found none, looked up at Jer with huge eyes in a milk-white face; Holden wasn't sure he'd even understood what Jer said.

"He's not an idiot," said Robin, who was sitting on the ground with blood trickling down the swollen, bruised side of her face, and looked happier than Holden had ever seen her. He also found himself feeling something not dissimilar to liking towards her, which might have to do with having seen her fling herself, without the slightest hesitation, between an enraged Dunaev and his target, before Holden himself could even make it all the way out the door. "He's a hero. Denys, quit that, leave me alone."

"Hold still," said Denys, pulling aside a bloody mat of hair to reveal an ugly gash in her scalp, presumably from where Dunaev had thrown her so hard against the door that the frame had splintered slightly. "You need to go to the hospital too. You need stitches, and you probably have a concussion."

"You should see the other guy," said Robin, pulling away and jerking her head towards the back of the police car where Dunaev sat slumped, his face hidden from the cameras that were still enthusiastically clicking away. "Lee, you're a hero. You and Jer are both heroes."

"Like I said," said Jer, "he's an idiot. Lee, next time violent psychos come visit, try and remember one thing for me: when it comes to not getting killed, inside the house is better than outside. Think you can remember that?"

Without a perceptible change in expression, Lee's big dark eyes brimmed with tears, then spilled over. Before Holden could speak or move to comfort him, Jer had lifted the boy's hand carefully to his pale lips and kissed the palm, softly as a lover, or a mother.

"You were brave," he said. "Don't mind me. I'm just grumpy because somebody forbade me to hit that fucker back."

"Mr. Larssen," said a woman's voice, and Holden looked up to see the same tiny little police officer who had ducked Dunaev's maddened swing, handcuffed him and inserted him into the back of the police car with lightning efficiency. Holden was fairly sure he was now hopelessly in love with her, and from the equally tiny smile she got on her face when he looked up at her, it showed. "I'm just checking-- will you be pressing charges for trespassing, assault, and wilful and malicious destruction of property?"

"I want to press charges for attempted murder," said Holden.

The officer didn't look as surprised as she might have; she looked at Jer, who still had Lee's hand in his and was saying something to him in a low voice, and then looked back at Holden and said, "All right, that too. I'll need you to come with us and make a statement."

"Do I have to?" Holden asked. "I mean, does it have to be right now? I need to get him to a hospital."

"You aren't under arrest, so no, you don't have to," said the officer, "but I'd strongly recommend you be there, if you can get anyone else to take your slave to the hospital. Your wife, maybe? Is she inside the house?"

"Yes," said Holden, looking up at the window, where Alix and Yves were peering out side by side; he lifted a hand at their worried faces, hoping the sight of Jer sitting up would be enough reassurance until he-- or somebody could get back inside, away from the scene of the crime, and debrief everyone else more thoroughly. "But Jer is mine."

"I understand," said the police officer, which Holden really doubted, "but it will make things easier for everyone if you're there when we book the suspect."

"How long will that hold him?" Holden asked.

The woman turned and looked at the back seat of the police car, then back at Holden.

"It's hard to keep a nobleman in custody for long, pre-trial," she said, "but luckily he's drunk and stupid enough to have attempted to hit a police officer in front of a crowd of witnesses-- not to mention everything else he did in front of those witnesses-- so we can set some fairly stringent conditions for his release. Which is to say, we can probably hold him long enough so that anyone who's currently under his care will need to be taken into custody by some responsible person. I'd strongly recommend you come with us, Mr. Larssen."

It took Holden a second to realize what she was implying, but once he understood that he was being offered custody-- or at least a chance at custody-- of that hypothetical anyone who might be under Dunaev's laughably so-called care, he didn't really have much choice.

"Will you be--" he started apologetically, turning back to Jer.

"I'll be a hell of a lot better once you stop hovering," Jer snapped, then added with a guilty glance at the police officer, "Uh-- master."

Holden grinned.

"Slaves," he said to the police officer. "They get beaten half to death and they start thinking they can just walk all over you."

She gave him a vague, puzzled smile that probably meant she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Holden appreciated that.

"Is it okay if I go in the house for a few minutes?" he asked. "I need to get my bag, and tell everyone what's going on, and ask Alix to drive Jer and Robin to the hospital..."

She nodded. "Go right ahead."

"Thanks," said Holden. "Lee--" He hesitated, seeing the way Lee was clutching Jer's hand as if for dear life.

"Lee, you go in the house too, and stay there," said Jer firmly. "No call to have you in the hospital again-- you've spent enough time there to last you for awhile. And didn't Bran say they didn't like non-patient slaves hanging around? I'll be fine, kid. Don't worry about me."

Lee was crying again. Jer examined him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Hey," he said. "Lee. It's okay. It was worth it."

Lee shook his head mutely, tears still slipping down. Jer reached up and took Lee's chin between his fingers, stopping the back-and-forth motion of the head, and tipped Lee's face up, and then down, twice, making him nod.

"You get back inside," he said. "Start thinking of ways to thank me, for when I get back."

Lee managed a pale small smile at that, and Jer smiled back at him, the rare, sweet, young smile that always took Holden's breath away.

"Hey, I've always had a thing for dangerously stupid kids," he said, and looked up at Holden, one eyebrow raised. "Fucking irresistible."





After about three unbearably long and bureaucratic hours at the police station, the same police officer, the top of whose sleek helmet of hair came up to Holden's chin when he was standing up-- he was really going to have to ask her to show him what moves she'd used on Dunaev, more slowly-- unlocked the door of Dunaev's house with the keys she'd confiscated from him, and walked in ahead of Holden, peering cautiously around.

"Anyone in here?" she called.

There was no answer.

Holden followed her through all the normal rooms of the house, even though he was pretty sure he knew where the slave, if any, would be. He waited until she'd checked everywhere else, though, before he suggested the basement.

She insisted on walking ahead of him down those steps, too, which Holden didn't mind, but when the door to the little cell swung open, letting light fall over the skinny tunic-clad girl crouched on the floor, he stepped forward, and the officer let him. She stood in the doorway, watching as Holden knelt down next to the girl, who stared at him with enormous suspicion on the lighted half of her face.

"Hi there," he said. "My name is Holden Larssen."

The girl's eyes widened, and he added, on a hunch, "Your master might have yelled that name really really angrily at some point this morning."

She peered at him, assessing.

"Well, after that," Holden continued, "he came to my house and gave me this black eye, and then this nice lady here arrested him and took him to jail. I hope that doesn't break your heart or anything."

The girl didn't smile, and her eyes were still wary, but they were firmly fixed on his face, not darting away in fear or avoidance, which he took as a good sign.

"That's why we're here," he said, shifting to sit more comfortably on the floor next to her. "We didn't know you were here, but we thought maybe somebody might be, so we came to check. And since you're here, and your master might not be coming home for a while, we need to get you out of here, to somewhere we can make sure you're well looked after. Part of my job is to take care of slaves whose owners haven't been taking good care of them, so the police agreed that it would be a good idea for you to come stay with me for a while."

The girl watched him, thinking about that.

"Right now, I actually own two slaves who used to belong to your master," said Holden. "The one who came right before you, Lee, and one from a lot further back, Bran."

She knew both those names, he could tell; he could also tell her mind was racing, so he let the pause lengthen a little, giving her time to gather her thoughts and decide how far to trust Holden, if at all. Yet.

"I'm not your master," he said eventually, "but if you come stay with me, I'll be in charge of you as if I were, and I'll look after you, at least until-- unless-- somebody legally forces me to give you back to Lord Dunaev. I won't do that willingly, because from what Bran and Lee have told me, and from what he did to me and a couple of other people today, he's a crazy fucking asshole who shouldn't be allowed to own a goldfish, let alone a person."

Her eyelids flickered slightly, with something like interest or-- was it?-- amusement.

"But I can't promise I'll never give you back to him," he continued. "I'd like to, but I can't. Because it's possible I'll be legally required to, and I can't get on the wrong side of the law right now. I'm pressing charges against your master for what happened today, and I'm hoping to get him put in jail for a long time, so I need to stay out of trouble myself. Do you understand?"

It was the first question he'd asked-- questions were tricky, and he didn't want her to feel interrogated, especially in the face of the news that her master was under arrest and the person who'd come to fetch her was the person he'd assaulted-- and it made her nervous, but after a moment she answered, in a low, husky voice, "Yes, sir."

"Good," said Holden. "What's your name?"

"Gwen, sir."

"Come with me, Gwen," said Holden, putting out his hand. After a moment, Gwen took it.