Lee chapter 44b
Oct. 4th, 2008 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeOK, so here's the second part of chapter 44. If all goes as planned (which, admittedly, it usually does not), the next chapter (45) will be the last chapter of this story, except for an epilogue. Whew. And such.
"Mr. Larssen," said a woman's voice, and a hand touched Holden's sleeve, and he jerked so violently to ward her off that he fell off his chair and lay sprawled on the floor, staring up at the bemused face of the doctor who'd treated Lee.
"You seem a little nervous," she said, as Holden scrambled clumsily to his feet, trying to think of a way to salvage the merest sliver of dignity from this situation. It might have been easier to think if Jer hadn't been alternately howling with laughter and cursing with pain.
"Fuck you!" he gasped at Holden. "Why'd you have to start doing pratfalls when my fucking ribs are broken?"
"I thought you left," said Holden to Alix and Lee, who were standing, bewilderingly, behind the doctor; Alix was valiantly not laughing, and Lee, bless him, didn't look amused at all, just deeply concerned. Holden was sure there was plenty in his own appearance to be concerned about; he was so tired that he hurt even in places he hadn't recently been punched in or landed hard on. His head hurt when he thought about the crowd around his house, and his stomach hurt when he thought about Gwen, and his teeth hurt from all the clenching, and his ears hurt from all the screaming. His unbruised eye was gritty and painful from his brief, unsatisfying sleep, his forehead was dented from pressing against the hospital bedrail, his knuckles and shoulder ached from punching Dunaev, his legs and feet hurt from standing still for three solid hours at the police station. His heart was beating too hard.
"We tried," said Alix, "but we ran into Dr. Grieg here, and by the time we'd finished explaining what was going on to her, things had gotten a little--" She gestured helplessly.
"Word spreads quickly," said the doctor. "Somehow it got out that you were here, and we're being mobbed by celebrity-chasers. We've called for increased security, but with all those photographs of Lee in the magazine, I don't think it's a good idea for him to try to leave just yet."
"Oh," said Holden, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at this news. It was nice to have Alix here, he guessed, though there was Gwen to worry about, and really, he couldn't really wish anyone anywhere but home right now.
The doctor suddenly put a hand on his neck and leaned forward slightly, as if she were planning to kiss him; he froze, wondering if he'd finally gone insane, but she was only taking his pulse. She scowled at him in a reassuringly hostile way.
"Sit down," she ordered. "Right now. I'll have the nurse bring in a cot so you can lie down, and I'm prescribing a sedative, too-- you need a good long sleep."
"A s--?" Holden protested. "But I'm his-- he's my-- to take care of-- with the-- you know--"
"You have anomia," said the doctor. Holden knew he'd heard the word before, probably from Yves; he couldn't remember exactly what it meant, but going by her tone it was probably something like "three seconds to live unless you do exactly as I tell you." "You are exhausted, and possibly verging on delirium. Sit. Down."
"Okay," said Holden, sitting down meekly; obedience to that particular tone in a woman's voice had become an ingrained survival instinct when he was twenty. "But I have to, uh-- you know. Look after him. Them."
"Ms. Jamesen can supervise your slaves," said the doctor, while Lee, as if in response to the vague gesture Holden had made in first Jer's and then his direction, came and knelt down at Holden's feet, wrapping his arms around Holden's calves and laying his cheek against his knee. Holden put a hand on the sleek head, and felt somehow steadied, as Lee made a soft, pleased little sound.
"But," he said. "Then. I have to go home."
"No you don't," said the doctor. "Ms. Jamesen says there is already a police detail at your home, so the rest of your slaves will be safe enough until we can provide you with an escort out of the hospital."
Holden blinked. "An escort?"
"The ability to mimic is a positive sign, in cases of possible brain damage," said the doctor. "An escort, yes, because at the risk of contributing to your obvious delusions of universal responsibility, Mr. Larssen, you have recently made some powerful enemies."
"Alix," said Holden, his hand still resting on Lee's head, reminding him not to start yelling, "I think Dr. Grieg is being nasty to me."
"I'm proud of you for telling a grown-up, darling," Alix answered gravely, adding over Jer's shout of painful laughter, "Doctor, could you excuse us for a moment?"
"Why does she hate me?" Holden asked plaintively when the doctor had gone out, closing the door firmly behind her. "I haven't killed Lee yet, have I? And I have witnesses to what happened to Jer."
"Like you could do this to me if you tried," Jer scoffed drowsily. "I c'n give as good as I get... when 'm allowed."
"She doesn't hate you," said Alix to Holden. "She's just a little stressed right now. And worried-- which I am too, frankly. I think she's right that you could use a sedative and some sleep. Holden, stop that."
Holden had started to stand back up, before he realized that would be rendered a little more difficult by Lee's firm grip on his legs.
"Yeah, don't fall down again," said Jer, closing his eyes and settling deeper into his pillow. "Fuckin' hurts to laugh that hard."
"But Bran and Yves are at home," Holden said, glancing down at Lee, who was looking up at him with large, trusting eyes. "And Greta, and Gwen."
"And the police are watching the house," said Alix. "And-- Holden, listen to me. Are you listening to me?"
Holden nodded, looking up from Lee's face to his wife's. Alix didn't even have to touch Holden to make him feel steadier; if Yves, Jer, and Bran were mirror, signal, blind spot, Alix was the road, guiding and carrying him forward, satin-smooth and solid as a rock, sine qua non.
"Darling," she said, "we've been in this for a long time-- just us. Our family. We've done what we can, and we've done pretty well. But things are different now. Bigger. You knew they would be, Holden-- that's why you set all this in motion. Writing to Valor, agreeing to do the article. We opened it up-- we let the rest of the country see what we see, and now it isn't just us any more. We're going to need everyone who's on our side now-- the police, and the doctor, and the media, and the nobles, and all the ordinary people who know our names and faces now."
Holden kept his eyes on her calm hazel ones as he answered, bleakly, "I liked it better before. Just us."
"I know, love," said Alix softly. "But you made a choice. We all did. For--"
Her eyes darted to Lee's dark head, now bowed again onto Holden's knee, and Holden looked down, too, as she went on, "For everyone else."
"I don't care about everyone," said Holden, his hand slipping down from Lee's hair to cup the back of his neck.
"For every one, then," said Alix, after a moment, with a delicate shift in emphasis. "For Bran, and for Lee, and for Gwen-- and for the next one, and the next."
Holden closed his eyes, feeling the fragile, sharp vertebrae where Lee's neck bent, the delicacy of the skin that stretched over them, the slight movement under his hand as the boy breathed. Then he opened them and said, a little more harshly than he meant to, "Yeah. Okay. So--"
"So rest," said Alix quietly. "Sleep. Let me watch over Jer and Lee, and let the police watch over Bran and Yves and Greta and Gwen. Because we-- all of us-- still need you. And you need your rest."
Holden thought about that for a while. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said again. "But I think I'm going to need that sedative."
"Mr. Larssen," said a woman's voice, and a hand touched Holden's sleeve, and he jerked so violently to ward her off that he fell off his chair and lay sprawled on the floor, staring up at the bemused face of the doctor who'd treated Lee.
"You seem a little nervous," she said, as Holden scrambled clumsily to his feet, trying to think of a way to salvage the merest sliver of dignity from this situation. It might have been easier to think if Jer hadn't been alternately howling with laughter and cursing with pain.
"Fuck you!" he gasped at Holden. "Why'd you have to start doing pratfalls when my fucking ribs are broken?"
"I thought you left," said Holden to Alix and Lee, who were standing, bewilderingly, behind the doctor; Alix was valiantly not laughing, and Lee, bless him, didn't look amused at all, just deeply concerned. Holden was sure there was plenty in his own appearance to be concerned about; he was so tired that he hurt even in places he hadn't recently been punched in or landed hard on. His head hurt when he thought about the crowd around his house, and his stomach hurt when he thought about Gwen, and his teeth hurt from all the clenching, and his ears hurt from all the screaming. His unbruised eye was gritty and painful from his brief, unsatisfying sleep, his forehead was dented from pressing against the hospital bedrail, his knuckles and shoulder ached from punching Dunaev, his legs and feet hurt from standing still for three solid hours at the police station. His heart was beating too hard.
"We tried," said Alix, "but we ran into Dr. Grieg here, and by the time we'd finished explaining what was going on to her, things had gotten a little--" She gestured helplessly.
"Word spreads quickly," said the doctor. "Somehow it got out that you were here, and we're being mobbed by celebrity-chasers. We've called for increased security, but with all those photographs of Lee in the magazine, I don't think it's a good idea for him to try to leave just yet."
"Oh," said Holden, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at this news. It was nice to have Alix here, he guessed, though there was Gwen to worry about, and really, he couldn't really wish anyone anywhere but home right now.
The doctor suddenly put a hand on his neck and leaned forward slightly, as if she were planning to kiss him; he froze, wondering if he'd finally gone insane, but she was only taking his pulse. She scowled at him in a reassuringly hostile way.
"Sit down," she ordered. "Right now. I'll have the nurse bring in a cot so you can lie down, and I'm prescribing a sedative, too-- you need a good long sleep."
"A s--?" Holden protested. "But I'm his-- he's my-- to take care of-- with the-- you know--"
"You have anomia," said the doctor. Holden knew he'd heard the word before, probably from Yves; he couldn't remember exactly what it meant, but going by her tone it was probably something like "three seconds to live unless you do exactly as I tell you." "You are exhausted, and possibly verging on delirium. Sit. Down."
"Okay," said Holden, sitting down meekly; obedience to that particular tone in a woman's voice had become an ingrained survival instinct when he was twenty. "But I have to, uh-- you know. Look after him. Them."
"Ms. Jamesen can supervise your slaves," said the doctor, while Lee, as if in response to the vague gesture Holden had made in first Jer's and then his direction, came and knelt down at Holden's feet, wrapping his arms around Holden's calves and laying his cheek against his knee. Holden put a hand on the sleek head, and felt somehow steadied, as Lee made a soft, pleased little sound.
"But," he said. "Then. I have to go home."
"No you don't," said the doctor. "Ms. Jamesen says there is already a police detail at your home, so the rest of your slaves will be safe enough until we can provide you with an escort out of the hospital."
Holden blinked. "An escort?"
"The ability to mimic is a positive sign, in cases of possible brain damage," said the doctor. "An escort, yes, because at the risk of contributing to your obvious delusions of universal responsibility, Mr. Larssen, you have recently made some powerful enemies."
"Alix," said Holden, his hand still resting on Lee's head, reminding him not to start yelling, "I think Dr. Grieg is being nasty to me."
"I'm proud of you for telling a grown-up, darling," Alix answered gravely, adding over Jer's shout of painful laughter, "Doctor, could you excuse us for a moment?"
"Why does she hate me?" Holden asked plaintively when the doctor had gone out, closing the door firmly behind her. "I haven't killed Lee yet, have I? And I have witnesses to what happened to Jer."
"Like you could do this to me if you tried," Jer scoffed drowsily. "I c'n give as good as I get... when 'm allowed."
"She doesn't hate you," said Alix to Holden. "She's just a little stressed right now. And worried-- which I am too, frankly. I think she's right that you could use a sedative and some sleep. Holden, stop that."
Holden had started to stand back up, before he realized that would be rendered a little more difficult by Lee's firm grip on his legs.
"Yeah, don't fall down again," said Jer, closing his eyes and settling deeper into his pillow. "Fuckin' hurts to laugh that hard."
"But Bran and Yves are at home," Holden said, glancing down at Lee, who was looking up at him with large, trusting eyes. "And Greta, and Gwen."
"And the police are watching the house," said Alix. "And-- Holden, listen to me. Are you listening to me?"
Holden nodded, looking up from Lee's face to his wife's. Alix didn't even have to touch Holden to make him feel steadier; if Yves, Jer, and Bran were mirror, signal, blind spot, Alix was the road, guiding and carrying him forward, satin-smooth and solid as a rock, sine qua non.
"Darling," she said, "we've been in this for a long time-- just us. Our family. We've done what we can, and we've done pretty well. But things are different now. Bigger. You knew they would be, Holden-- that's why you set all this in motion. Writing to Valor, agreeing to do the article. We opened it up-- we let the rest of the country see what we see, and now it isn't just us any more. We're going to need everyone who's on our side now-- the police, and the doctor, and the media, and the nobles, and all the ordinary people who know our names and faces now."
Holden kept his eyes on her calm hazel ones as he answered, bleakly, "I liked it better before. Just us."
"I know, love," said Alix softly. "But you made a choice. We all did. For--"
Her eyes darted to Lee's dark head, now bowed again onto Holden's knee, and Holden looked down, too, as she went on, "For everyone else."
"I don't care about everyone," said Holden, his hand slipping down from Lee's hair to cup the back of his neck.
"For every one, then," said Alix, after a moment, with a delicate shift in emphasis. "For Bran, and for Lee, and for Gwen-- and for the next one, and the next."
Holden closed his eyes, feeling the fragile, sharp vertebrae where Lee's neck bent, the delicacy of the skin that stretched over them, the slight movement under his hand as the boy breathed. Then he opened them and said, a little more harshly than he meant to, "Yeah. Okay. So--"
"So rest," said Alix quietly. "Sleep. Let me watch over Jer and Lee, and let the police watch over Bran and Yves and Greta and Gwen. Because we-- all of us-- still need you. And you need your rest."
Holden thought about that for a while. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said again. "But I think I'm going to need that sedative."
