Three conversations about one thing
Nov. 30th, 2008 01:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeSix months before the six-month jump; in other words, right after this.
"Don't do this," said Jer, his voice caught halfway, painfully, between begging and fury. "Just... please... don't."
Without exactly thinking about it, Holden slid from his seat next to Jer to his knees on the floor. Jer turned his head and looked down at him, his face deliberately blank.
"I'm not doing anything," he said, lifting his hands, empty and palm up. "I just wanted to talk about this."
"Talking is doing something," said Jer, crossing his arms across his chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture. "You of all people know that. Half of everything you do to the kids is just talk."
“Well-- yes,” said Holden. “But I’m not-- this isn’t training, Jer. I’m just-- I just wanted to put this out there. See how you felt about it.”
"Fuck you," said Jer. "That’s how I feel about it. This is not a conversation I want to have, Holden. Master. And I don‘t understand why you want to have it, either."
"Because you can‘t get used to calling me ‘master,’ for one thing,” said Holden. “And I can‘t get used to hearing it from you, either. As a matter of fact, it‘s getting even weirder as time goes on.”
Jer turned his head away as Holden continued, “And because slaves don't tell their masters 'fuck you.' And because slaves don't question their masters' decisions. And because you did maybe the best and bravest thing I've ever seen a human being do, and pretty much immediately afterwards you got chained to a bed where you couldn't reach the nurse call button, and if I'd decided to leave you to die of your wounds, nobody would have given a shit. Legally."
"But you wouldn't," said Jer, looking back at Holden, his face unreadable. "And you do let me say 'fuck you.' And fuck you sideways for making me say this out loud-- but-- I don't mind belonging to you."
“Because you take care of me,” said Bran, who had gone pale as the sheet under them, and sat up very straight; Holden sat up too, facing him. “No-- not just that. Because you love me.”
“Yeah,” said Holden. “I do. Bran? Remember how I lied to you about that, for two solid years?”
Bran nodded.
“Yes, master,” he said. “I mean-- well-- was that a lie, exactly? I thought maybe--” A tiny smile flicked at the corners of his pale mouth. “I thought maybe you weren’t trying to deceive me-- you just weren’t being very self-aware.”
Holden blinked for a moment, trying to figure out why Bran sounded as if he were quoting, and then he remembered his own speech to Bran on the subject of lying, on the night when he’d brought him home for the second time, five years before.
“You little smartass,” he said, lifting his hand, and Bran ducked his head as if to dodge a slap, but smiled without looking up when Holden ruffled his curly hair. “I think you memorize everything I say just so you can mock me with it later.”
“No, master,” Bran answered, still smiling down at his knees. “That isn’t why.”
“It was inexcusable for me to lie to you,” said Holden, resisting the urge to postpone this conversation long enough to ravish Bran in every available orifice. “And to some extent you‘re right-- I just wasn‘t admitting to myself how-- how much I felt for you. But even with what I did admit to myself, I was lying-- I was deliberately deceiving you-- when I said I didn‘t love you.” He hesitated. “I don’t think-- I’ve ever really apologized to you for that. Or asked your forgiveness.”
“Don’t, master,” said Bran, looking up with a furrowed brow. “You shouldn’t-- you don’t have to ask that of me.”
“But I do,” said Holden. “I do ask it. Will you forgive me?”
“I’m not saying you’re infallible,” said Yves, carefully closing the ledger he‘d been working in and turning in his desk chair to look up at Holden, who was pacing a little, somehow unable to sit. “I’m just saying, right or wrong, this is your call to make.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t ask for your input, does it?” Holden pointed out, and Yves shook his head.
“Of course you can ask,” he said, “and I’m happy to talk about it with you. But ultimately, it’s your decision. I don’t want you fooling yourself into thinking you can share the responsibility for it with us. We’re yours. If you do free us, then we’re responsible for our own lives-- our own decisions. Until you do, you’re still responsible.”
“I know that,” said Holden, irritated by the implication that he was trying to dodge his responsibility. “That’s why I’m trying to make the decision responsibly-- by consulting with the people it concerns most. Oh, Yves-- don‘t do that--”
Yves had lowered his head and his shoulders and slipped to his knees, assuming a suppliant pose, which he didn’t change at Holden’s protest.
“I’m sorry, master,” he said quietly, as Holden hurried towards him and dropped to his knees, too, facing the lowered head. “Please forgive my presumption.”
“Yves, come on,” said Holden, reaching out to cup Yves’ chin and turn his face back upwards, but Yves kept his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry I snapped. I didn’t mean it as a reprimand. Yves, look at me.”
Yves lifted his eyes obediently; they were brighter than they should have been.
“Yves, sweetheart,” Holden said softly. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“I wasn’t afraid of Valor either,” said Yves, simply and without bitterness, and Holden couldn‘t breathe for a moment, a pain tightening his stomach as if Yves had thrown a physical punch. “I realized, then, that sometimes I speak more freely than is entirely appropriate.”
"I‘m not even a good slave any more." Jer was hunched over, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard. "I'm old and stiff and cranky-- I’ve got no skills except sucking cock and licking ass, and you've pretty much ruined me for that last one anyway. You heard me cussing that doctor."
"If you‘re not a good slave," said Holden, “I think that might be as good a reason as any to stop being a slave. If you have the chance.”
"So what am I going to be, with my one skill set?" Jer demanded. "A back-alley whore? I can't even do that-- I'm too old.”
Holden shook his head. "Jer, I’m not talking about throwing you out on the street. You’d be welcome to keep living here-- and if you don’t want to, I’d be happy to help support you while you figure out what you do want to do.”
Jer stared at him. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” said Holden. “Slave or free, as far as I’m concerned-- and as far as Alix is concerned, too-- you’re part of this family. I don‘t want to lose you. But I think-- the choice should be yours.”
"See, that‘s where you‘re already losing me,” said Jer between his teeth. "I've never gotten to make a single decision for myself. Why the fuck should I start now? Why are you asking me? You own me. You're in charge. Just-- just--"
"Just--" Holden echoed. "Just what?"
“Don't be ridiculous, master,” said Bran softly. “Of course I forgive you.”
“Thank you.” Holden hesitated. “Do you understand why I lied to you?”
“Sort of, master,” said Bran after a moment. "I mean, you-- was it that-- you didn’t think you were the best thing for me, so you didn’t want to encourage me to love you? By admitting that you loved me too?”
“That, and--” Holden looked down. “I thought-- of course he loves me, or thinks he does. Because you were my-- you are my slave. It’s so much easier for someone-- for a certain personality type, anyway-- to think he loves the person who owns him, instead of holding on to hating him, or even-- being indifferent.”
“I could never hate you,” Bran protested.
“No,” said Holden, smiling. “I don’t think you could. You were such a sweet kid. Still are.” He hesitated again. “Still sweet, I mean. You’re not really a kid any more, are you?”
“No, master,” Bran agreed. “Twenty-three isn’t exactly old, but it isn’t a kid, either.”
Holden examined him thoughtfully. “That doesn’t bother you? Getting older?”
“No, master,” said Bran, smiling a little. “I like it. I think I’m smarter now than I was when I was a kid. And-- stronger. Better.”
“I agree,” said Holden. “But most slaves worry about getting older.”
Bran nodded. “Because they’re afraid.”
“And you aren’t afraid?”
“No, master,” said Bran calmly. “I’m yours.”
Holden reached out his hands and took both of Bran’s, looking into the boy’s gray eyes, trying to take in the implications of that answer.
“You’ll always be mine,” he said finally. “Even if you stop being my slave. You know that, right?”
Bran looked down at their clasped hands. “I don’t-- no, master, I don’t know that. I mean, I believe it, because you say it and I trust you, but I don’t know it, the way I know-- being your slave.”
“You’re all I’ve known of happiness, master,” Yves said quietly. “For the last twenty-two years, you’ve been-- as a novel I once read put it-- my good and gracious lord. If you’ve made mistakes-- well, so have I, and you’ve always forgiven me. I have no possible reason to reproach you for your treatment of me.”
“I love you too,” said Holden dryly, and Yves smiled wanly at him.
“Of course I love you, master,” he said. “Is that really in question?”
“I’m questioning everything,” said Holden. “It’s my new hobby. For example-- here’s a fun one. Does the fact that I’m all you’ve known of happiness say more about me and how great I am, or about how shitty your life has been, even though you were one of the relatively lucky ones before I got you?”
“I have a good life now,” said Yves steadily. “By anyone’s standards. I don’t have to worry about basic necessities. I take a certain degree of comfort and even luxury for granted. I do necessary and enjoyable work for a business whose aims I applaud. I live with people I love, and I have regular, fantastic, emotionally fulfilling sex with several of them. And I have plenty of spare time to devote to study-- not to mention that you give me all the books and materials I could ask for. Not very many scholars have the luxuries I have.”
“What about community?” Holden asked. “What about fellowship and exchange with your intellectual peers? What about really living up to your potential? What about finding out what your limits might be? You don't get any of that as my slave. I’m dumb as a stump compared to you.”
“You’re actually quite intelligent,” said Yves, somewhat absently. “Well above average… if you really applied yourself, you could--”
“Yves, focus,” said Holden. “Those questions weren’t rhetorical. What do you think?”
“Don’t ask,” said Jer finally. “Don’t fucking ask. This is your decision. Don’t you dare try to push this off on me.”
"I know it's my decision," said Holden. "But it’s your life."
“It’s not!” Jer snarled, actually showing his teeth. “It’s yours! It was Argounov’s and now it’s yours and it’s not fucking mine, don’t you dare act like my life belongs to me when it doesn’t and it never did!”
“It was yours to risk,” said Holden. “It was yours to give Lee. You didn’t turn to me when Lee ran out there and say ‘if it please my master, may I use the body that exists for my master’s pleasure to protect this fucking dumbass kid I’ve got a crush on--”
“And shut the fuck up about Lee, too,” said Jer. “You going to free him too? Because you can’t, because he can’t deal, and you can’t not if you’re going to free me, because then he’ll think, what, that I deserve freedom and he doesn’t? Are you freeing Yves and Bran too?”
“I’m talking to them about it,” Holden answered steadily. “As for Lee-- I can’t buy and free every slave in the world.”
“Well, the ones you already own might be a good place to start,” said Jer.
“So you do think I should free you.”
“I think you should quit mealy-mouthing and oh-what-do-you-think-ing around,“ said Jer, “and do whatever you’re going to do, so we can start dealing with the fallout.”
“That’s what you want?”
Jer looked as if Holden were managing to undercut even the most pessimistic estimates of his intelligence. “I want you to stop fucking asking me what I want! I can deal with anything-- that‘s one skill I do have, is fucking dealing with shit I‘ve got no control over-- so tell me what shit I‘ve got to deal with and I‘ll do it, but quit putting my hands on the wheel like I‘m your three-year-old and you think it‘s cute to let me pretend to steer, because it‘s not fucking cute, Holden!”
“I‘m scared.” Bran looked up at Holden pleadingly. “Master? I’m happy-- I finally feel safe now-- and now--”
“You are safe, love,” Holden said softly. “That’s not going to change if you’re free. It’s not going to change if you stay a slave, either. I’ll love you either way, and I’ll always be there for you, in any way I can. But if you’re free, then-- this growing up you’ve been doing--” He squeezed Bran’s hands, and Bran, who had gone even paler, squeezed back with knuckle-grinding force. “I get to see-- we both get to see-- what kind of a man you could become. Given time-- and freedom.”
“I’ll grow up anyway,” said Bran, puzzled. “Whether you free me or not.”
Holden nodded. “You will. But not in the same way. The choices you’ll make as a free man, the possibilities it will open up for you, even if you do-- stay with me--” His voice broke unexpectedly, and he shook his head impatiently at Bran’s concerned murmur, cleared his throat, and added, “I’m not going to lie to you for your own good again, Bran-- I’m not going to pretend I’m not-- fucking terrified. That you might-- that given the choice, a real choice, and time, and enough other options, you still might decide that this has all been-- that I’ve been--”
Bran was watching him with his brows drawn together. “Been what, master?”
“Let’s say--” Holden managed a smile-- “a youthful indiscretion.”
“Master,” said Bran reproachfully.
“I’m sorry,” said Holden. “I’m just-- I just wanted you to know-- I’m scared, too. But this is-- I think this is one of those things that it’s worth being brave for, Bran. Do you know what I mean?”
“I‘m not sure you understand just how broad a question you‘re asking,” said Yves. “I mean, there are a lot of considerations. We’ve talked about the social implications-- the fact that society considers it perfectly acceptable that you keep slaves, but if you set us free-- if you had three free male lovers living in the same house with you and your wife-- and I’m just assuming here that we’d continue to live with you, which is another consideration. I mean, if we’re free, is it really fair to expect you to continue to support us? And if you do-- if we have no other source of income, if you’re still feeding us and sheltering us-- then we’re still pretty much living by your whim, which isn’t that different from slavery anyway, so why risk the displeasure of society for a token change-- which brings me back to that first point about society: considering that your business depends heavily on the goodwill of your clientele, all of whom are slave owners, and whose goodwill you’ve already tested pretty heavily by coming out with this article about how you don’t approve of slave owners having the freedom to treat their slaves however they want-- how are they going to react if you suddenly free all your slaves and effectively declare yourself an abolitionist? Are they going to come to an abolitionist for satisfactory slave training? Which isn‘t even taking into consideration whether you‘re going to feel as if--”
Holden reached out and touched his finger to Yves’ lips, and Yves fell silent.
“These are all good points,” said Holden. “But before we start solving these problems, let’s decide whether they’re our problems or not. Let’s talk about whether you want me to free you-- or not. Because if you do, then I don’t care what other considerations there are. We’ll make it work. So don’t tell me the considerations. Tell me what happens next.”
“Master,” said Yves, “I can’t just-- there’s a lot to-- I mean, what about--”
“Tell me,” said Holden firmly, “in ten words.”
“You’re out of your damn mind,” said Jer, and his eyes flicked up with a ferocious suddenness to rake across Holden‘s face. “So this is happening.”
“I know you‘ll take care of me.” Bran was still very pale, but his eyes were steady on Holden’s. “No matter what.”
Yves considered for several minutes without speaking. Then he said, counting the words carefully off on his fingers, and looking at them instead of at Holden’s face, “There‘s a lot to figure out.”
Holden looked at the four fingers that were still folded down. They unfolded, one after the other, as Yves added, “Let’s make it work."
"Don't do this," said Jer, his voice caught halfway, painfully, between begging and fury. "Just... please... don't."
Without exactly thinking about it, Holden slid from his seat next to Jer to his knees on the floor. Jer turned his head and looked down at him, his face deliberately blank.
"I'm not doing anything," he said, lifting his hands, empty and palm up. "I just wanted to talk about this."
"Talking is doing something," said Jer, crossing his arms across his chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture. "You of all people know that. Half of everything you do to the kids is just talk."
“Well-- yes,” said Holden. “But I’m not-- this isn’t training, Jer. I’m just-- I just wanted to put this out there. See how you felt about it.”
"Fuck you," said Jer. "That’s how I feel about it. This is not a conversation I want to have, Holden. Master. And I don‘t understand why you want to have it, either."
"Because you can‘t get used to calling me ‘master,’ for one thing,” said Holden. “And I can‘t get used to hearing it from you, either. As a matter of fact, it‘s getting even weirder as time goes on.”
Jer turned his head away as Holden continued, “And because slaves don't tell their masters 'fuck you.' And because slaves don't question their masters' decisions. And because you did maybe the best and bravest thing I've ever seen a human being do, and pretty much immediately afterwards you got chained to a bed where you couldn't reach the nurse call button, and if I'd decided to leave you to die of your wounds, nobody would have given a shit. Legally."
"But you wouldn't," said Jer, looking back at Holden, his face unreadable. "And you do let me say 'fuck you.' And fuck you sideways for making me say this out loud-- but-- I don't mind belonging to you."
“Because you take care of me,” said Bran, who had gone pale as the sheet under them, and sat up very straight; Holden sat up too, facing him. “No-- not just that. Because you love me.”
“Yeah,” said Holden. “I do. Bran? Remember how I lied to you about that, for two solid years?”
Bran nodded.
“Yes, master,” he said. “I mean-- well-- was that a lie, exactly? I thought maybe--” A tiny smile flicked at the corners of his pale mouth. “I thought maybe you weren’t trying to deceive me-- you just weren’t being very self-aware.”
Holden blinked for a moment, trying to figure out why Bran sounded as if he were quoting, and then he remembered his own speech to Bran on the subject of lying, on the night when he’d brought him home for the second time, five years before.
“You little smartass,” he said, lifting his hand, and Bran ducked his head as if to dodge a slap, but smiled without looking up when Holden ruffled his curly hair. “I think you memorize everything I say just so you can mock me with it later.”
“No, master,” Bran answered, still smiling down at his knees. “That isn’t why.”
“It was inexcusable for me to lie to you,” said Holden, resisting the urge to postpone this conversation long enough to ravish Bran in every available orifice. “And to some extent you‘re right-- I just wasn‘t admitting to myself how-- how much I felt for you. But even with what I did admit to myself, I was lying-- I was deliberately deceiving you-- when I said I didn‘t love you.” He hesitated. “I don’t think-- I’ve ever really apologized to you for that. Or asked your forgiveness.”
“Don’t, master,” said Bran, looking up with a furrowed brow. “You shouldn’t-- you don’t have to ask that of me.”
“But I do,” said Holden. “I do ask it. Will you forgive me?”
“I’m not saying you’re infallible,” said Yves, carefully closing the ledger he‘d been working in and turning in his desk chair to look up at Holden, who was pacing a little, somehow unable to sit. “I’m just saying, right or wrong, this is your call to make.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t ask for your input, does it?” Holden pointed out, and Yves shook his head.
“Of course you can ask,” he said, “and I’m happy to talk about it with you. But ultimately, it’s your decision. I don’t want you fooling yourself into thinking you can share the responsibility for it with us. We’re yours. If you do free us, then we’re responsible for our own lives-- our own decisions. Until you do, you’re still responsible.”
“I know that,” said Holden, irritated by the implication that he was trying to dodge his responsibility. “That’s why I’m trying to make the decision responsibly-- by consulting with the people it concerns most. Oh, Yves-- don‘t do that--”
Yves had lowered his head and his shoulders and slipped to his knees, assuming a suppliant pose, which he didn’t change at Holden’s protest.
“I’m sorry, master,” he said quietly, as Holden hurried towards him and dropped to his knees, too, facing the lowered head. “Please forgive my presumption.”
“Yves, come on,” said Holden, reaching out to cup Yves’ chin and turn his face back upwards, but Yves kept his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry I snapped. I didn’t mean it as a reprimand. Yves, look at me.”
Yves lifted his eyes obediently; they were brighter than they should have been.
“Yves, sweetheart,” Holden said softly. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“I wasn’t afraid of Valor either,” said Yves, simply and without bitterness, and Holden couldn‘t breathe for a moment, a pain tightening his stomach as if Yves had thrown a physical punch. “I realized, then, that sometimes I speak more freely than is entirely appropriate.”
"I‘m not even a good slave any more." Jer was hunched over, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard. "I'm old and stiff and cranky-- I’ve got no skills except sucking cock and licking ass, and you've pretty much ruined me for that last one anyway. You heard me cussing that doctor."
"If you‘re not a good slave," said Holden, “I think that might be as good a reason as any to stop being a slave. If you have the chance.”
"So what am I going to be, with my one skill set?" Jer demanded. "A back-alley whore? I can't even do that-- I'm too old.”
Holden shook his head. "Jer, I’m not talking about throwing you out on the street. You’d be welcome to keep living here-- and if you don’t want to, I’d be happy to help support you while you figure out what you do want to do.”
Jer stared at him. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” said Holden. “Slave or free, as far as I’m concerned-- and as far as Alix is concerned, too-- you’re part of this family. I don‘t want to lose you. But I think-- the choice should be yours.”
"See, that‘s where you‘re already losing me,” said Jer between his teeth. "I've never gotten to make a single decision for myself. Why the fuck should I start now? Why are you asking me? You own me. You're in charge. Just-- just--"
"Just--" Holden echoed. "Just what?"
“Don't be ridiculous, master,” said Bran softly. “Of course I forgive you.”
“Thank you.” Holden hesitated. “Do you understand why I lied to you?”
“Sort of, master,” said Bran after a moment. "I mean, you-- was it that-- you didn’t think you were the best thing for me, so you didn’t want to encourage me to love you? By admitting that you loved me too?”
“That, and--” Holden looked down. “I thought-- of course he loves me, or thinks he does. Because you were my-- you are my slave. It’s so much easier for someone-- for a certain personality type, anyway-- to think he loves the person who owns him, instead of holding on to hating him, or even-- being indifferent.”
“I could never hate you,” Bran protested.
“No,” said Holden, smiling. “I don’t think you could. You were such a sweet kid. Still are.” He hesitated again. “Still sweet, I mean. You’re not really a kid any more, are you?”
“No, master,” Bran agreed. “Twenty-three isn’t exactly old, but it isn’t a kid, either.”
Holden examined him thoughtfully. “That doesn’t bother you? Getting older?”
“No, master,” said Bran, smiling a little. “I like it. I think I’m smarter now than I was when I was a kid. And-- stronger. Better.”
“I agree,” said Holden. “But most slaves worry about getting older.”
Bran nodded. “Because they’re afraid.”
“And you aren’t afraid?”
“No, master,” said Bran calmly. “I’m yours.”
Holden reached out his hands and took both of Bran’s, looking into the boy’s gray eyes, trying to take in the implications of that answer.
“You’ll always be mine,” he said finally. “Even if you stop being my slave. You know that, right?”
Bran looked down at their clasped hands. “I don’t-- no, master, I don’t know that. I mean, I believe it, because you say it and I trust you, but I don’t know it, the way I know-- being your slave.”
“You’re all I’ve known of happiness, master,” Yves said quietly. “For the last twenty-two years, you’ve been-- as a novel I once read put it-- my good and gracious lord. If you’ve made mistakes-- well, so have I, and you’ve always forgiven me. I have no possible reason to reproach you for your treatment of me.”
“I love you too,” said Holden dryly, and Yves smiled wanly at him.
“Of course I love you, master,” he said. “Is that really in question?”
“I’m questioning everything,” said Holden. “It’s my new hobby. For example-- here’s a fun one. Does the fact that I’m all you’ve known of happiness say more about me and how great I am, or about how shitty your life has been, even though you were one of the relatively lucky ones before I got you?”
“I have a good life now,” said Yves steadily. “By anyone’s standards. I don’t have to worry about basic necessities. I take a certain degree of comfort and even luxury for granted. I do necessary and enjoyable work for a business whose aims I applaud. I live with people I love, and I have regular, fantastic, emotionally fulfilling sex with several of them. And I have plenty of spare time to devote to study-- not to mention that you give me all the books and materials I could ask for. Not very many scholars have the luxuries I have.”
“What about community?” Holden asked. “What about fellowship and exchange with your intellectual peers? What about really living up to your potential? What about finding out what your limits might be? You don't get any of that as my slave. I’m dumb as a stump compared to you.”
“You’re actually quite intelligent,” said Yves, somewhat absently. “Well above average… if you really applied yourself, you could--”
“Yves, focus,” said Holden. “Those questions weren’t rhetorical. What do you think?”
“Don’t ask,” said Jer finally. “Don’t fucking ask. This is your decision. Don’t you dare try to push this off on me.”
"I know it's my decision," said Holden. "But it’s your life."
“It’s not!” Jer snarled, actually showing his teeth. “It’s yours! It was Argounov’s and now it’s yours and it’s not fucking mine, don’t you dare act like my life belongs to me when it doesn’t and it never did!”
“It was yours to risk,” said Holden. “It was yours to give Lee. You didn’t turn to me when Lee ran out there and say ‘if it please my master, may I use the body that exists for my master’s pleasure to protect this fucking dumbass kid I’ve got a crush on--”
“And shut the fuck up about Lee, too,” said Jer. “You going to free him too? Because you can’t, because he can’t deal, and you can’t not if you’re going to free me, because then he’ll think, what, that I deserve freedom and he doesn’t? Are you freeing Yves and Bran too?”
“I’m talking to them about it,” Holden answered steadily. “As for Lee-- I can’t buy and free every slave in the world.”
“Well, the ones you already own might be a good place to start,” said Jer.
“So you do think I should free you.”
“I think you should quit mealy-mouthing and oh-what-do-you-think-ing around,“ said Jer, “and do whatever you’re going to do, so we can start dealing with the fallout.”
“That’s what you want?”
Jer looked as if Holden were managing to undercut even the most pessimistic estimates of his intelligence. “I want you to stop fucking asking me what I want! I can deal with anything-- that‘s one skill I do have, is fucking dealing with shit I‘ve got no control over-- so tell me what shit I‘ve got to deal with and I‘ll do it, but quit putting my hands on the wheel like I‘m your three-year-old and you think it‘s cute to let me pretend to steer, because it‘s not fucking cute, Holden!”
“I‘m scared.” Bran looked up at Holden pleadingly. “Master? I’m happy-- I finally feel safe now-- and now--”
“You are safe, love,” Holden said softly. “That’s not going to change if you’re free. It’s not going to change if you stay a slave, either. I’ll love you either way, and I’ll always be there for you, in any way I can. But if you’re free, then-- this growing up you’ve been doing--” He squeezed Bran’s hands, and Bran, who had gone even paler, squeezed back with knuckle-grinding force. “I get to see-- we both get to see-- what kind of a man you could become. Given time-- and freedom.”
“I’ll grow up anyway,” said Bran, puzzled. “Whether you free me or not.”
Holden nodded. “You will. But not in the same way. The choices you’ll make as a free man, the possibilities it will open up for you, even if you do-- stay with me--” His voice broke unexpectedly, and he shook his head impatiently at Bran’s concerned murmur, cleared his throat, and added, “I’m not going to lie to you for your own good again, Bran-- I’m not going to pretend I’m not-- fucking terrified. That you might-- that given the choice, a real choice, and time, and enough other options, you still might decide that this has all been-- that I’ve been--”
Bran was watching him with his brows drawn together. “Been what, master?”
“Let’s say--” Holden managed a smile-- “a youthful indiscretion.”
“Master,” said Bran reproachfully.
“I’m sorry,” said Holden. “I’m just-- I just wanted you to know-- I’m scared, too. But this is-- I think this is one of those things that it’s worth being brave for, Bran. Do you know what I mean?”
“I‘m not sure you understand just how broad a question you‘re asking,” said Yves. “I mean, there are a lot of considerations. We’ve talked about the social implications-- the fact that society considers it perfectly acceptable that you keep slaves, but if you set us free-- if you had three free male lovers living in the same house with you and your wife-- and I’m just assuming here that we’d continue to live with you, which is another consideration. I mean, if we’re free, is it really fair to expect you to continue to support us? And if you do-- if we have no other source of income, if you’re still feeding us and sheltering us-- then we’re still pretty much living by your whim, which isn’t that different from slavery anyway, so why risk the displeasure of society for a token change-- which brings me back to that first point about society: considering that your business depends heavily on the goodwill of your clientele, all of whom are slave owners, and whose goodwill you’ve already tested pretty heavily by coming out with this article about how you don’t approve of slave owners having the freedom to treat their slaves however they want-- how are they going to react if you suddenly free all your slaves and effectively declare yourself an abolitionist? Are they going to come to an abolitionist for satisfactory slave training? Which isn‘t even taking into consideration whether you‘re going to feel as if--”
Holden reached out and touched his finger to Yves’ lips, and Yves fell silent.
“These are all good points,” said Holden. “But before we start solving these problems, let’s decide whether they’re our problems or not. Let’s talk about whether you want me to free you-- or not. Because if you do, then I don’t care what other considerations there are. We’ll make it work. So don’t tell me the considerations. Tell me what happens next.”
“Master,” said Yves, “I can’t just-- there’s a lot to-- I mean, what about--”
“Tell me,” said Holden firmly, “in ten words.”
“You’re out of your damn mind,” said Jer, and his eyes flicked up with a ferocious suddenness to rake across Holden‘s face. “So this is happening.”
“I know you‘ll take care of me.” Bran was still very pale, but his eyes were steady on Holden’s. “No matter what.”
Yves considered for several minutes without speaking. Then he said, counting the words carefully off on his fingers, and looking at them instead of at Holden’s face, “There‘s a lot to figure out.”
Holden looked at the four fingers that were still folded down. They unfolded, one after the other, as Yves added, “Let’s make it work."
