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[personal profile] maculategiraffe
I am BEYOND behind on comments and friendslist, guys. I'm really sorry. Online time has been in very short supply lately, and I've had so much else to do that I didn't realize how behind I had gotten. I'm going to catch up-- this weekend, if not before-- please forgive my insane tardiness on all your beautiful, lovely, valued comments, not to mention my equally horrific behind-ness on everybody else's stories.

This is sort of a reply to a comment, though, because [livejournal.com profile] roarmeow threw a vicious biting plot bunny at me in a comment, and it BIT. THANKS A LOT MIAOW.

Slave Breakers 'verse, ~1000 words, BB (before Bran).










Holden watched the road-- and, out of the corner of his eye, the boy in the passenger seat, who sat so still it was unnerving. Sam hadn't been able to sit still for more than a second in the whole painful three months of his doomed training, and now he was sitting like a statue, staring out the window. Only his fingers moved, drumming hard against the window, until he suddenly looked up, caught Holden's eyes, and stilled them.

"It's okay," said Holden, smiling a little. "It doesn't matter any more."

Sam flinched with his whole body-- his arms flying together across his chest, knees drawing up, bending at the waist-- and then pulled apart again, pressing his back violently against the seat and shoving his legs down hard against it.

"I'm sorry," he said, and swung his head again, too fast, fixing his dark eyes on Holden. "I meant-- meant-- today--"

"Sam," said Holden. "Relax. It's okay."

Sam hunched over again, folding his arms across his chest.

"Since it's the last--" he said. "Since I won't be-- seeing you again."

"No, you won't," Holden agreed lightly. "I imagine it will be something of a relief."

"No," said Sam painfully, and yanked his head back towards the window so hard that he bumped his forehead on the glass.

"It will," said Holden. "You'll see. Once the pressure's off."

"I'm scared," said Sam, his forehead shoved against the glass.

Holden nodded. "That's understandable. But there's really nothing to be afraid of. The people I'm leaving you with will make sure you get where you're going, and give you a good start. And you're a smart kid. You'll do okay for yourself."

Sam folded altogether in half at that, leaving a smudge on the window where his face had pressed, and then unbent and said, "How do you know? If I don't-- if I can't-- if I'm no good--"

"You're good, Sam," said Holden. "Just not a good slave."





He'd been as terrified as they always were, this morning, when Holden told him things weren't going to work. He hadn't cried, though, or flung himself to the floor to beg; he'd opened his mouth, turning white as milk, and then spun around and stood with his back to Holden, as if he could erase Holden from existence by sheer force of will. Holden explained everything to his back, left a silence, and then walked around him to ask if he understood.

"No," Sam said, trembling, so Holden explained again.






Sam hit his thighs rhythmically for awhile, and then said, without looking up, "You could come, too."

Holden glanced at him.

"With--" Sam chewed his lip, his hands drumming his knees. "Out of the country. Too."

"Sam." Holden kept his voice kind and level. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Why is it ridiculous for you and not me?" Sam demanded.

"Well, for one thing," said Holden, "I'm a citizen of this country, and I own property here."

"You mean you own slaves," said Sam, glaring. "You wouldn't come live in a country where everyone was free. Where you couldn't be the master."

"Not for you, I wouldn't," said Holden, a little brutally, and Sam's fingers scrabbled at the glass of the window, his eyes fixed on the road outside.





Sam had listened intently to Holden's second explanation, and then summarized, "You're going to kill me."

Holden shook his head, unsurprised; he knew how long certain expectations took to dislodge. "No. I'm taking you somewhere. A forest, a couple hours' drive north of here. Where some friends of mine live."

Sam nodded. "And they're going to kill me."

"No," said Holden patiently, hoping the third repetition of his explanation would be the one that sank in. "They're going to get you over the border, out of the country, and get you set up with something to do. There's a whole network. I don't know much; it's better that I don't. But they're good people. They'll make sure you're taken care of."

Sam blinked, several times.

"Why aren't you going to kill me?" he asked.

Holden raised his eyebrows. "Do you want me to?"

Sam ran his hands through his wildly cowlicked dark hair and made fists, tugged hard for a minute.

"You haven't failed, Sam," said Holden gently. "If anyone's failed here, it's me. But I think it's just-- I think it just happens, sometimes, and it isn't anyone's fault, really. All it means is--"

"Maybe," said Sam.

Holden suppressed a sigh, though he wasn't sure if it would have been one of frustration or of relief that there would be no more searching for consequences that could possibly curb Sam's constant interruptions and non sequiturs, no more exhausting, demoralizing fumbling in the dark for the key to the boy's good behavior. He'd officially given up. "Maybe what?"

Sam looked straight at him. "Maybe I want you to kill me."





"You okay?" Holden asked after a while.

Sam shrugged without looking up. "The fuck you care."

"I do care," said Holden steadily.

"Just not that much." Sam kicked at the floor of the car. "I love you, you know."

Holden watched the road. "I know you think you do."

Sam brought up one knee, then thumped the foot back down, hard. "But if I really loved you, I'd be a good little slave for you, right? That's what you think."

"No," said Holden. "That's not what I think. I think if you weren't so convinced that you and I were meant for each other, you might have been much more trainable. Although really, your stubbornness about this is probably more of a symptom of your overall--"

"Yves is," said Sam.

Holden resisted another sigh. "Yves is what?"

"A good little slave," said Sam, with a degree of rancor that surprised and displeased Holden.

"Yves has a good attitude," he said shortly, "and a modicum of self-control."

Sam didn't answer, and they drove in silence for a long time.

When Holden stopped the car, Sam froze, not moving a single muscle for an alarming few moments, and then rocked suddenly forward and back, sat up very straight, and put his hand on the door handle.

"We walk a little from here," said Holden, as Sam opened his own car door-- of course not waiting for his master to open his door, or even to get out first, and that was one more thing it was nice not to have to reprimand him for any more.

They met in front of the car, and Holden offered his arm. Sam looked at the bent arm as if it were a coiled snake, then grabbed it, roughly straightened it out, and clasped Holden's hand in his. Holden didn't pull away. They walked, hand in hand, towards Karl and Tara's cabin.
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