“Merciful Gods.”
Looking around them, it was obvious that the Gods had been anything but merciful. It had been Natalie Durant who’d put a voice to her shock and horror, but the faces of the rest of the team looked equally stunned.
The National Institutes of Health team, headed up by Dr. Stephen Connor, had been on the trail of an outbreak of bacterial meningitis. No one was really surprised when their search brought them to a large encampment of farming slaves. This type of camp migrated with the readiness of the crops, the slaves being used to pick and sort the various fruit. It was menial, unskilled labor and the slaves who ended up in such operations were not highly valued. As a result, conditions in such migrating slave camps were notoriously bad. Even so, the devastation facing the NIH team was beyond anything they’d anticipated.
From what they could see of the camp as they approached, it
was organized in quadrants. Lumps of
what looked like discarded rags dotted the ground. It was only as they drew closer that the
medical team realized that these lumps were actually bodies. They were bloated and rotting in the hot
“Stop where you are,” a voice amplified by a bullhorn ordered. “You’ve entered private property.”
Frank Powell pulled the team’s SUV to a halt, exchanging a knowing glance with Stephen, who was currently riding in the passenger seat. Connor had anticipated the presence of territorial guards and came prepared. Whenever this many slaves were gathered, an owner typically made arrangements to protect his investment, even if said investment was kept in such abysmal physical condition that making an escape attempt was virtually impossible. A convoy of the National Guard accompanied the NIH team and, from the looks of it, they were going to be needed.
As Frank and Stephen exited the vehicle, Stephen took charge. “Move aside. We’re from the National Institutes of Health.”
The guard, looking ridiculously young in his body armor, licked his lips in obvious nervousness. “The NIH?”
“Yes,” Connor responded, the intense color of his vivid blue eyes almost glowing as his impatience started to brew. “We’ve traced a deadly outbreak of an infectious disease to this compound.”
“Outbreak?” The guard’s voice cracked and he took a step back. More guards began to gather and they started to shift uneasily as they observed their comrade’s agitation.
“Yes, several Citizens have died and a dozen more are sick,” Natalie had gotten out of the vehicle and joined them. “We need your help to make sure no one else falls ill.”
The guard calmed marginally. Like many men, he found a plea from a pretty woman less intimidating than Connor’s typical aggressive approach.
“Look, we weren’t told anything about an outbreak,” the young man explained earnestly. “We were just assigned here this morning to replace the normal guards.”
“Because they were sick?” Connor jumped in to ask.
The guard shrugged. “Not that I was told. The overseer just said the other guards had been compromised. When me and the rest of the replacement crew got here, the overseer and one other guy were patrolling the parameter themselves.”
Frank scowled. “Just the two of them? That’s not very much security for a camp this big.”
“They were using trucks so they could cover more ground,” the guard explained. “Besides, it’s been dead quiet ever since we got here.”
He winced at his own choice of words. Obviously, the guards had not looked carefully at just what they’d been guarding. Or, if they had, they hadn’t realized it had been a disease that had caused all the corpses. The fact that dead bodies hadn’t overly concerned them was not entirely unheard of, considering they were slave bodies. “Hey, we’re not gonna get sick, are we?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Connor answered briskly. “I’m assuming you won’t be giving us any more problems about entering to investigate?”
“Gods, no,” the guard exclaimed. “Help yourself; just give us a shot or something to make sure we don’t get sick.”
“Or something,” Connor agreed. Dismissing the guard from his mind, Stephen addressed his team. “Okay, people, we need to get started. Natalie, have some of the Guardsmen set up the hospital tent, we’re going to have to do triage as well as testing. We’ll soon have plenty samples for you to work on.”
He nodded at Powell. “Frank, you’re with me. We’re going in and see if there’s anyone left alive. And I want everyone in full protective gear. From the looks of things, I’m guessing that bacterial meningitis is only the beginning.”
Connor next directed his attention to the National Guardsmen that had been assigned to him. “Lieutenant Estwell, choose a squad to accompany Inspector Powell and myself.” He looked briefly at the camp and then back at the officer. “Better make sure they have strong stomachs.”
While everyone hurried to carry out Stephen’s orders, Connor turned to the remaining member of his team. Eva Rossi was leaning against the SUV and her eyes were haunted. Natalie stopped and spoke softly in the young woman’s ear as she started to implement her own assignment. After squeezing Eva’s hand briefly, however, Natalie moved to the rear of the SUV to start unpacking equipment.
Stephen walked over to the team’s publicity liaison. Eva was a vivacious woman, so her current disquiet was in stark contrast her normally brash demeanor. Stephen hadn’t seen that type of troubled look in her eyes for a couple of years, not since the day that Natalie had freed her.
“You okay?”
There was a lag of a few moments and then Eva shook herself all over. After taking a deep breath, she turned to meet Stephen’s gaze calmly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Connor looked at her steadily. This was hardly the first case they’d worked that involved slavery and Eva had handled them well. Despite his fondness of the former slave, he wouldn’t have her on his team if she couldn’t. Stephen suspected that this scene was affecting her so badly because the conditions were appalling, hitting home just how lucky Eva was to have gained her freedom.
“All right,” he said after considering her carefully and ultimately deciding to trust her self-assessment. “I want to find out the name of the person or persons that own this camp and the slaves in it. Citizens died because of its squalor and I want to know who’s responsible.”
Eva brightened at the prospect. “It’ll be my pleasure, Boss.”
“Dr. Connor?” Lt. Estwell had returned with additional soldiers, each outfitted in biological protective gear. “We’re ready when you are, Sir.”
Frank approached from the other side and handed Stephen a white suit of his own. Connor wrinkled his nose at the sight of it, but he sighed and made quick work of donning it. The things were hot and stuffy and didn’t breathe, making them quite possibly the most uncomfortable garment ever invented. In the conditions facing them, however, they could literally be a life saver.
Connor gave the troops orders even as he was pulling the protective suit over his street clothes. “All right, your primary purpose is to watch our backs. In situations like this, those that are sick, or even those that are afraid that they’re going to get sick, can panic.
“But they’re slaves, right?” One of the soldiers asked. “They’re not armed; it would be suicide for them to attack.”
“The fact that they’re slaves makes it that much worse,” Connor disagreed. “They have nothing left to lose and that can lead to a mob mentality. If you come across anyone that’s alive, inform Powell or myself. Your PPE will protect you and you were given inoculations as a precaution before you left the base. The next few hours aren’t going to be pleasant, but you’ll be perfectly safe from any diseases.”
Stephen shouldn’t have wasted his breath. The soldiers, as they wound their way through camp, were jumpy. He supposed he couldn’t really blame them. Their training was all about the act of killing, most of them probably hadn’t had to deal very much with the aftermath of death before. More than one had to remove their face mask in order to throw up, causing Connor to make a mental note to make sure there was a decontamination tent set up.
“I think it’s safe to assume we’ve found the origin of our bug,” Frank said quietly. With his dark skin, the medical investigator couldn’t exactly turn pale, but his complexion had turned somewhat gray.
“Natalie’s pathology tests will tell for sure, but I think you’re right,” Stephen responded, equally subdued. During his time with NIH, he’d become used to dealing with dead bodies, but the shear mass of it was getting to him too.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The sound of his own begging lingered shamefully in Miles’ head and the tears still fell as he was dragged from the main house to a truck where he was thrown into the back like a sack of potatoes. It didn’t matter that he’d begged and pleaded with his Master not to be sent to the fields, it had happened anyhow. A lesson well learned, both in the man’s cruelty and intractable nature.
*Break him.*
Two words that had sent icy fear through him in a way that the orders to be sold never had. Miles had had hope, in the beginning, that he would be sold to a caring Master. Someone who would see that he was more than the locator chip planted in him. Someone who would know that none of this was his fault. That hope, however, had long since been banished. He’d gone through several owners since his first and this newest one was a cold man, a businessman who had ample time for an ill-trained slave who hadn’t been meant for such a life.
More than enough time to play with breaking Miles in.
It had proved a fun exercise for the Master, devising new torments to heap upon Miles when he didn’t perform according to expectations. He’d been raped more times than he could remember; Claimed was the official term, but it was rape all the same. Passed around to his Master’s friends and used whenever anyone wanted him. Few on the household staff ventured to make friends with him, adding to his loneliness, though he understood it. They probably all figured that he wasn’t long for this world, with the way he was used by the Master.
And then it had gotten inconceivably worse with those two words.
*Break him.*
Miles had begged not to be sent away, knowing just how horrendous conditions were in the camps from his time as an abolitionist volunteer. He’d clung to his Master’s feet, crying and flushing with shame, but persisting, knowing that he would find his death in the camps. None of it had mattered, of course. His Master was not a man who repealed decisions, nor someone who cared if a slave was killed in line with his orders. He’d taken offense to an accidental comment from Miles and decided that he wasn’t ‘housebroken’ and couldn’t be ‘dealt with civilly’ anymore.
The ride there was bumpy and painful. He was thrown about in the back of the truck without anything to hold on to, bracing himself as best he could. They wound up on a dirt road and he was brought to directly to the field to work picking strawberries of all things. It was an activity he’d enjoyed with his family and friends, before the disgrace, but this was nothing like those times. There was no laughter, no water fights, no water at all, save a small mouthful of lukewarm, dirty water brought every few hours to keep them alive in the summer heat.
His concubine-like clothing was completely inappropriate and fast grew useless, tearing easily and exposing him to more sun than was good for such a pale complexion. They got no sunblock lotion and by the end of the day, Miles’ skin was red and tight with a burn. No one spoke to him, though that was no change, but he got a few sympathetic glances now and again, which comforted him a bit.
Then it was nightfall and he discovered that working in the fields was preferable to pleasuring the guards.
The second day was worse than the first because he had to
contend with hunger, the sunburn, and a mass of bruises and aches from his time
with the guards and sleeping on a tattered blanket on the ground. By
By the third day, he thankfully started peeling and his stomach had begun to shrink, minimizing the hunger pangs.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of back-breaking labor and ‘obedience training’ by the guards. He knew that he was growing dissociative, but couldn’t help himself. Miles wondered briefly why more slaves didn’t go crazy, if this was what went on at all the labor camps. Even knowing that he’d been singled out by the guards for repeated use, to be broken, he saw that the others weren’t treated much better.
The conditions were ripe for some kind of outbreak, his medical training noted dispassionately. Women had nowhere to dispose of their monthly rags. The human waste was officially kept in a few limited spots, but if a slave had to go while picking, he or she just went where they stood. It was humiliating, but practical, because asking the guards to go to the bathroom, such as the facilities were, was just stupid. Contagion was just a matter of time and Miles found himself looking forward to it, praying for an end to his own personal hell.
Time passed, as it always did, and Miles found himself fixing broken bones, stitching cuts, treating whip wounds, listening to the barely vocalized words that needed to get out from each and every slave. That need with him, too deep-rooted to ignore, surfaced through the fog of his slavery and Miles responded to those who sought him out. He soothed with a soft touch and gentle words, offering what the guards took so brutally. He healed what he could and gave comfort to the dying.
Slave, healer, and whore; it was a combination that he tried not to think about.
And then the contagion that Miles had at first prayed for arrived with a vengeance. At first he didn’t realize there was anything wrong, it was so subtle. People complaining of headaches and developing fevers. He was too engrossed in his own misery to recognize there was a real problem until one of the slaves fell into seizures. The old man was too far gone for Miles to help, he died from the second round of seizures right there on the field.
When a guard came to see what had happened, Miles risked the lash by saying, “It’s a contagion, Sir. Please, Sir, we must see who else is sick before it spreads further.”
He got a boot in the gut, but no lash, thankfully. From the ground, he watched the guard stalk away, towards the other guards along the sides of the fields. They were at least a hundred miles from where Miles had originally been brought, further in the middle of nowhere, and picking the latest wave of strawberries. A whole new farm of them, so far as Miles could tell, but the deplorable conditions came with them.
There was no change in the work schedule, not that he really expected one. Miles had thought that his temerity in telling the guard his opinion had been overlooked, but he was whipped to within an inch of his life that night and left bleeding in the dirt. He was dragged to D Tent by one of the other slaves as soon as it was dark. He knew they were doing their best to protect him, bringing him to the tent that was farthest from the others, hoping to keep him out of the guards’ view for as long as possible.
That night was spent in misery such as he hadn’t felt in a long time. The guards mostly ignored him now, believing him broken, only occasionally taking a turn with him and never bothering to go one right after the other. He would’ve been worried about STDs except for the fact that the guards had to be in perfect health for this particular job and didn’t really figure on surviving his time in the camps anyhow.
Gentle hands washed his back clear of blood, the water and bandages boiled per his instructions, risking the fire because it was so small and behind the tent at night. Miles had to bite his arm not to cry out as he was cared for, but knew he had to take it so that he could prepare the others for what was coming. They were all intimate with death, but this wasn’t the kind of death they were familiar with and if they weren’t ready, a panic would spread.
That was the last night that Miles got any real sleep until he collapsed two weeks later, a victim of the plague that had taken so many others. As he succumbed to the fever, headache, and vomiting, feeling like his insides were coming out, Miles knew that it wouldn’t be long before he made the journey to the afterlife.
He only hoped that his father had proceeded him there, because pacifist or not, Miles fully planned to kick the other man’s ass.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time, they’d made their way through Quadrants A-C, it had quickly become apparent that the soldiers were, in fact, unnecessary. There were precious few survivors and those that were still alive were in no condition to attack anyone. In fact, they were so far gone that Stephen doubted there was any chance they would live. He called Natalie anyway, pinpointing their location so that help could be sent and leaving a soldier behind at each quadrant to help direct the incoming teams when they arrived.
It wasn’t only the slaves that decimated by the meningitis strain, either. Guards numbered among the dead. Unlike the slaves, who remained sprawled where they had died, the camp’s guards were primarily located in the same tent, one that was noticeably superior to the glorified tarps that housed the slaves. Perhaps it was the better shelter or perhaps it was their better physical condition, but a higher percentage of guards had survived than slaves. Connor was grimly pleased; the guards would be more likely to know who was responsible for this mess and he was determined that someone would be brought to justice for the destruction of so many human lives.
In contrast, there were no survivors in the Overseer’s tent, but disease had nothing to do it. The tent, substantial enough to be more of a fabric building, was at the center of the camp. When Stephen and Frank entered it, they were greeted by the smell of blood. There were three corpses inside, two men and one woman. The older of the two men had a stained knife still clutched in his hand. It was hard to cut your own throat and his death must have been painful, judging by his expression. Not so the other two, whose faces were serene above the bloody grin of the slit in their throats.
The Overseer had obviously known who would be blamed for the sickness in the camp.
Stephen figured that the Overseer had probably been wise to take his own life and that of his family. The man’s negligence had led to the deaths of other Citizens. It was one thing to keep your slaves in squalor, it was quite another for it to impact other freeborn and unheard of for it to lead to Citizen deaths. Suicide was merciful compared to the punishment the Empire would mete out for such a crime.
Connor had left one soldier behind to guard the Overseer’s tent. Slave camps such as this migrating group were usually owned by corporations. With any luck, there would be evidence left behind that would implicate additional responsible parties and he would take no chance that it would be tampered with.
“Three down and one to go,” Frank said, voice weary.
Stephen sighed. “Let’s do it then.”
The last thing either man wanted to do was enter another quadrant full of dead slaves, but they had a job to do. With heavy hearts, they got started, getting ready to wind their way through the maze of torn tents and tarpaulins that the quadrant housed. They hadn’t even entered the last quad, however, before they realized something was different about this last section of the camp. It wasn’t just that it was the furthest set back from the main gate.
There were people and they were not only alive, but alert.
A group of slaves watched Stephen, Frank and their military escort arrive. The tents were every bit as ragged as those in the first three quadrants, torn and dirty fabric fluttering in the breeze. Thin and equally ragged people shuffled around the outskirts. Their eyes were downcast, but they were observing the newcomers carefully.
Other conditions in the quad were as different from the previous three camp sections as night from day. Where corpses littered the other areas, in this one there was a row of neatly dug graves. Campfires were burning and well tended, with vats of water being boiled. The conditions were still bad and the people living in them were obviously ill-treated, but they were alive. Sick slaves languished on the thin cots that served as beds, but not nearly in the numbers that had been seen in the other three quadrants.
Stephen walked unimpeded through the quadrant, seeing with something akin to awe that the slaves were taking care of one another. Even more surprising, they were doing so properly. Granted, they had limited resources, but even so were taking care to minimize the chances of spreading the infection.
Connor conducted a few rudimentary exams. Looking into a couple of the sickest patients’ eyes with his pen light was all he really needed to know. Their brains were swelling.
“Frank, call Natalie,” Stephen instructed. “Let her know we’ve got some more survivors who are going to need treatment.”
“She’s going to need confirmation,” Frank reminded him. “The NIH won’t authorize distribution of vaccine to slaves without the proper tests done.”
“Damn,” Connor swore. He’d forgotten about that. The other slave survivors had been so far gone that it was really a moot point for them. Disturbed, the doctor ran his hand impatiently over his short, blond hair. “Send a pair of soldiers back for a couple of the dead bodies, she can start the pathology on those. I want you back in that Overseer’s tent, looking for anything that will link this camp back to its owners – all of them.”
“What about you?” Powell asked.
Stephen smiled tightly. “I’m going to choose a live patient from here to bring to Natalie for those tests she’ll need to run. We need to show that we have an outbreak in all stages of the disease.”
Frank nodded and turned to leave, taking several soldiers with him. Stephen shooed the remaining Guardsmen out of the tent. They refused to completely leave, but he needed them out of the immediate vicinity if he had any hope of getting the slaves to trust him.
Stephen waited the soldiers had moved out of sight before turning to address the slaves. Confident now that the contagion was the meningitis and that his inoculation would protect him, Stephen unfastened his hood and pushed it back. Hopefully, his bare face would make him seem more human and approachable. “I need to know who taught you how to take care of the patients.”
Connor could almost visualize what had happened. The first wave of sickness had swept over this quadrant of the camp, just as it had in the other three. That explained the row of graves he’d seen. However, someone in *this* camp had known how to mitigate the worst of it. Transmission of the disease had been slowed down, although not entirely stopped. Now a second wave of slaves was sick and was being cared for by those that were still disease-free. Stephen would bet his last dime that his mysterious healer had tended the first who were ill and was among those that were sick now.
Stephen had to hope that even human beings who had been so ill-treated could sense when someone was trying to help them. He tried to make contact with the strangely silent and passive group, but none of the slaves would meet his gaze. Even those taking care of the sick stood mute, eyes downcast in a perfect show of submission. Stephen didn’t want submission, however. He wanted answers.
“Look, I promise you,” he tried again. “Whoever he or she is, they’re not in trouble. I know this disease has killed a number of you here, but it’s nothing compared to what happened in the other three quadrants.” A moan was quickly muffled and Stephen realized that the slaves had no real idea of how badly the rest of the camp had been hit by the disease. “Whoever taught you saved a lot of lives – your lives - and I’m guessing that he or she is one of those that are now sick, if they’re even still alive. Let me help the person who helped you. Please.”
His pleas were met with silence and Stephen almost turned away.
“It was Doc.”
“Molly, hush.”
Stephen whirled around to face the woman who’d spoken… and her fellow slave who’d tried to suppress her.
“Who is Doc?” He asked, keeping his attention on the woman. “I promise, I only want to help.” Stephen stepped closer to her, but she refused to look at him until he put a hand under her chin and gently lifted her face until he could look into her eyes. “On my word as a healer.”
She nodded stiffly to the area behind Connor. He turned around, realizing for the first time that the corner was actually curtained off. Whoever this Doc was, he or she was evidently highly regarded by the other slaves. Stephen lost no time, stepping quickly to it and carefully pulling the curtain aside.
If the young man on the cot was old enough to be a doctor, Connor would eat his stethoscope.
Dark hair was plastered against the young man’s forehead and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on the pale skin. Stephen reached out instinctively and brushed the slave’s bangs off his face. The fever was easily felt through the plastic of his protective gloves. Connor knew what he would find, even as he took out his penlight. He peeled back the young man’s eyelids and peered in. It was the same disease and, even though this patient probably only had a few hours left, Connor was confident that, with medication, he could be saved.
Connor started to reach for his phone, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. The grip was fragile and he could have easily thrown it off… if he hadn’t looked into the young man’s eyes. One look in those dark, pain-filled orbs and Stephen merely shifted until he was holding the other man’s hand.
“You’re a doctor,” the slave whispered in a cracked voice, “you have to save them.”
Maybe the woman, Molly, had been right. This slave looked far too young to be a doctor, but he certainly had the attitude of one.
“I’m Dr. Stephen Connor, from the National Institutes of Health,” he introduced himself. “We’re aware of the other patients; they’ll be well cared for, I promise.”
The young man relaxed and closed his eyes. “Good… tried to save them….”
His voice trailed off as he lost consciousness again. Stephen heard a noise behind him and turned to find that he had an audience. “What’s his name?”
Molly, the woman who’d spoken before, seemed to be the bravest of the lot. “Don’t know. I’ve just always called him ‘Doc.’”
“His name is Miles,” a man stepped from the back. “He helped patch me up after a whipping and when I asked who I could thank, he said his name was Miles.”
“He hasn’t been here long.”
“He set my boy’s arm when the Overseer broke it.”
Once their silence had broken, the slaves were eager to talk. Mostly about Miles. Stephen looked down at the unconscious young man as the other slaves finally wound down, impressed by the stories of compassion he’d just heard.
“Thank you.” Connor nodded at the slaves. “The soldiers outside will remain, to help direct help to you when it arrives. It shouldn’t be too long.”
“They won’t burn us?” It was an old woman who asked the question in trembling voice. From the sweat on her face, Stephen guessed she soon would be among those on the cots.
Unfortunately, the slave was right to be worried. These were unskilled slaves of little value. If the return on investment wasn’t great enough, the owners might in fact choose to terminate them rather than pay for the medicine.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Connor vowed. Slavery was a needed institution in the Empire, but he loathed owners who put such low value on human life.
“In the meantime,” he instructed the slaves, “keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll get help out to you as soon as possible.”
Confident that he’d done as much for these people as he could at the moment, Stephen turned back to the young man on the cot. Miles. He bent and gathered the slave into his arms. Miles was a tall man and, under normal circumstances, Stephen wouldn’t be able to pick him up. As it was, though, the sick slave was gaunt to the point of being skin and bones. He moaned softly as Connor lifted him, but seeming to sense he was safe in the doctor’s arms, Miles settled. His head fell limply onto Stephen’s shoulder, only the soft puff of his breath showing he was still alive.
“Take care of him,” Molly said softly.
“God speed,” a man added, sketching the shape of the cross in the air.
Stephen nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to speak. To find a pocket of caring and hope in the midst of so much death and desolation… it was more than he dreamed possible.
Perhaps Natalie was wrong. Maybe the Gods were merciful after all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephen ended up carrying Miles all the way to the medical tent. He had offers of assistance from various soldiers along the way, but he didn’t take them up on it. The slave was too thin to cause much muscle strain and Connor was reluctant to give up the warm weight in his arms.
By the time he made his way beyond the borders of the camp, the open space in front of it had been transformed into a staging area. One hospital tent had already been erected, the large arch-shaped airbeams holding the weight of the olive drab fabric that made up the structure. A soldier was posted at the entrance and, at Stephen’s nod, the man held the door open for him so that Connor could enter without having to juggle it and his burden both.
“Natalie,” Stephen called out as soon as he was inside.
The other doctor had been on the far side of the tent’s interior, but hurried over when she saw her colleague. “Put him down here,” she gestured to a nearby cot.
Connor obeyed, gently placing the slave on the cot that served as a medical bed. The young man whimpered a little at being jostled and Stephen automatically soothed him by placing a hand on his forehead. Natalie gave Connor an odd look, but didn’t say anything as she conducted a basic exam.
“Gods, he’s burning up,” Durant exclaimed as she checked his
temperature. “Do you have any idea of
when he started presenting?”
Stephen shook his head. “No. He’s from the second wave of infection, I think.”
“Frank said that the last quadrant wasn’t as decimated as the first three?” Natalie asked.
“No. They still got hit, but according to the other slaves, the knowledge this young man had kept it from getting totally out of control,” Stephen explained as he shed his PPE. “The disease still reached them, but the death toll isn’t nearly as high. Miles here helped keep them alive long enough for help to arrive.”
If Natalie thought it odd that Stephen already knew the slave’s name, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she asked for information about the camp. “It’s that bad, then?”
Stephen shuddered and closed his eyes. “You have no idea.”
He opened them again when he felt a hand on his arm. Natalie’s eyes were even more kind than normal when she looked at him. He tried to smile, but was too emotionally exhausted for it to be very successful.
“Well, if this young man saved so many people, he must be pretty special,” Natalie stated quietly. “We’ll have to make sure he gets the very best of care.”
Connor looked around the tent. There were a few cots already occupied, with camp guards, judging by the relatively good condition of the men. Durant followed his gaze.
“I’ve started pathology on a sampling of the corpses,” she explained. “And have tested these patients here. I just need to confirm we have active infection in the remaining part of the camp.”
They both looked down at the young man on the cot.
Stephen sighed and ran a hand over his short, blond hair. “I know, it’s just that he’s so ill, I hate to put him through more.”
At this statement, Natalie’s surprise did show. Stephen was a compassionate man, but it was unusual for him to be so deeply concerned about a patient in such a short amount of time. One elegant eyebrow went up as she commented, “Try and think of it as one more way he’s helping the other slaves.” When Connor didn’t look convinced, she added, “Besides, you know HHS won’t distribute vaccine to slaves without positive proof that it *is* bacterial meningitis. One way or the other, he has to be tested.”
“Let’s get it over with quickly, then,” Connor conceded.
A more substantial medical bed had been set up in a curtained-off corner. As Stephen carried the young man there, he couldn’t help but be struck by the parallels to the slave tent. Here, though, Miles would receive treatment that would actually save his life, he just had to get through an unpleasant test to receive it. If the Fates were kind, Miles would sleep through the procedure.
In order to prove bacterial meningitis, sample fluid would have to be drawn from the spinal column. Stephen gently laid Miles on the bed and with Natalie’s help, turned the unconscious man to his side. He held Miles in that position while Durant cut away the rags that served as the slave’s clothing, starting with the dirty length of rope that served him as a chain. As Natalie worked on the rest of his garments and pulled the remnants of a faded t-shirt from Miles’ torso, she gasped. Connor frowned, but from his position, he couldn’t see what had caused the other doctor’s distress.
“What’s the matter?” He asked impatiently.
Durant’s lips were pursed with disapproval. “There are a lot of … marks … on his back. This young man has been beaten. Frequently.”
Stephen’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say any more. He believed in slavery, it was better than having convicts languish in prisons, where they weren’t productive to society and where they didn’t learn anything. One only had to look at the crime rate in non-Roman countries to see that slavery was a good deterrent. As for those who ended up in chains because of debt, slavery gave them the option of working their way out of it. Even those who were born slaves could rise in Roman culture. However, although he believed in slavery as an institution, Connor also felt strongly that those who owned slaves had a responsibility too. If you were willing to hold ultimate power over someone else’s life, Stephen thought, then it was not something to take lightly. Unfortunately, in his opinion, far too few Roman Citizens took that responsibility to heart. Stephen couldn’t abide human abuse, slave or not.
Without further comment, Natalie removed the rest of Miles’ tattered clothing and, together, they turned the young man to his stomach. From that position, Connor got a good look at what had upset Natalie. Miles was so thin that his spine all but stuck out and every muscle could be seen. Whip marks crisscrossed his back, some old scars and others relatively fresh with bruising. Stephen didn’t know who Miles was, other than he was a compassionate man with some medical training, but Connor was convinced that Miles had been badly treated. His temper disintegrated rapidly as they fastened the restraints across the slaves’ abused body.
“Let’s get this over with,” he instructed Natalie grimly as he took up a position at Miles’ head.
The other doctor nodded and took a large syringe out of a box. Unwrapping it, she approached the bed.
“No.” The plea was soft and muffled. Stephen probably wouldn’t have heard it if Miles hadn’t started writhing weakly in his restraints. “Please, Master.”
“Damn,” Natalie exclaimed in dismay. “Stephen, he has to stay still or the needle could hit the wrong spot.” She didn’t need to explain the danger involved if that were to happen. Miles could end up paralyzed or worse.
Stephen crouched down so that their patient could see his face. “Miles, it’s all right. You’re in a hospital tent; we’re going to take care of you.”
Brown eyes that seemed all dark and pain-filled pupil regarded him with fear. “You’re, you’re the doctor.”
Connor was impressed. The slave was so ill, he hadn’t expected Miles to remember him from earlier. “That’s right. Dr. Stephen Connor, from NIH. Dr. Durant and I think you have bacterial meningitis, but we have to be absolutely certain. Then when can get you the medicine you need to make you feel better.”
“The others,” Miles pleaded. “They’re sick too.”
“We know and we’re going help them too, but before we can do that, we need to verify that our diagnosis is correct,” Stephen explained. “Will you let us do that?”
Miles tried to nod, but was brought up short by the restraints. He whimpered softly. “Please, Master,” the slave begged, “don’t tie me. I’ll hold still, I promise.”
“Stephen,” there was a warning tone in Natalie’s voice. “We can’t risk that. He has to stay perfectly still. He’ll only be bound for a few moments more.”
“Please, Master,” Miles implored. “I won’t move. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t tie me down.”
Connor came to a decision. “He’s too weak to move around much anyway,” he justified to Natalie as he stood to remove the bindings. “And I’ll help hold him.”
Durant’s lips tightened. “Very well, but it’s on your head if anything goes wrong.”
Stephen crouched again, noticing that Miles was calmer now that the restraints were removed. “All right, Miles. You need to hold perfectly still.”
“Yes, Master.”
Connor stood and put his hands on Miles’ shoulders, careful not to press down too hard. He didn’t want to panic the young man, but needed to be ready to interfere if Miles moved. Natalie swabbed the area with alcohol and both doctors were relieved that the slave didn’t so much as twitch at the unexpected cool sensation.
Durant took a deep breath. “All right, Miles, I’m going to insert the needle now. Stay as relaxed as you can and don’t move.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Stephen knew the instant the needle went in, not just because he saw it, but because of the way the body beneath his hands went utterly still. “Breathe, Miles,” he instructed.
“Yes, Master.”
The acknowledgement had been barely more than a breath
itself. Durant had inserted the needle as far as it needed to go by that time
and was slowly withdrawing the required fluid.
Seeing that Miles was keeping his promise to hold still, Stephen shifted
his hands. Instead of being ready to grab the slave as necessary, he instead
rubbed circles of comfort across Miles’ shoulders.
”Good, Miles,” he reassured the young man.
“We’re almost done, young one. You’re doing great, just a few moments
more.”
Finally, Natalie had enough in her syringe and just as carefully removed it. “There, we’re finished. You can move now, Miles. Good job.”
Miles moaned softly and curled up on the bed. Stephen combed his fingers through the sweat-dampened hair. “Bravely done, young one.
Natalie’s hand was back on Stephen’s arm. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to get him settled?” She suggested when he glanced at her. “I think it would do you good to remind yourself that you were able to save lives today.”
“Thanks, Nat,” Stephen’s smile was genuine and he immediately took his colleague up on her offer. Miles couldn’t stay where he was, however. The bed might be needed if any more patients required testing.
As Connor bent to pick up to pick up the slave again, he was surprised when Miles made a mild protest. Stephen had assumed that the young man had lapsed into unconsciousness again.
“I can walk, Master.”
“I doubt that, although I appreciate your willingness to try,” Connor responded. He hefted Miles’ nude form into his arms.
Whether it was embarrassment or a simple need for human comfort, but Miles hid his face in Stephen’s neck. The doctor would have found the action endearing if he wasn’t worried about the heat pouring off Miles. The concern caused Connor to frown as he returned Miles to the original cot.
As the slave settled on the narrow bed, Miles misunderstood the other man’s expression. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Master.’
“I’m a physician, Miles, it’s my job to take care of the sick,” Stephen pointed out to him. “Don’t waste any of your energy worrying about causing me work – you just rest and concentrate on getting better.”
Connor left Miles for a few minutes. He did a brief check on the other patients before obtaining a basin of water and a clean rag. When he returned to the young man’s side, Miles was sound asleep.
“Well, I guess there’s something to be said for having a slave as a patient,” Stephen murmured to himself. “They certainly are obedient.”
Miles didn’t wake as Connor gently cleaned him. Natalie was right; someone had abused the young man badly, the mistreatment was evident in the scars and bruises that marred his young skin. As pleasurable as Connor found the task itself, by the time he was through, his lips were thin with anger.
“Stephen.”
Connor looked up at the sound of Eva’s voice. “The HHS director is here and asking for the person in charge.”
Stephen put aside the basin; he’d done all for Miles that he could anyway. What the young man really needed was strong antibiotics, but those wouldn’t be forthcoming until the results of the test were back. He gently pulled a sheet up, offering the unconscious slave some modesty. With that accomplished, he gave his full attention to the publicity liaison’s comment.
“Well, let’s not keep him waiting,” Connor responded to Eva.
With a final glance at Miles, Stephen left the tent. It was time to get back to the business of figuring out who was responsible for this mess and making them pay for it. And if the person responsible happened to be the same one who’d put those marks on Miles… well, that would suit Stephen just fine.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The first thing that penetrated the miasma of pain was the voice. A strong voice. Honest. Caring. Worried. Sickened. Asking questions. And then there was a light touch to his forehead, strange sensation, not skin, which brought him further out of the delirium.
Opening his eyes, forcing them to open though even the dim light hurt, Miles met pale, pale blue eyes set in a handsome face. Barely able to make the words come out, he pleaded, “You’re a doctor, you have to save them.”
Those eyes were so caring as the man answered, “I’m Dr. Stephen Connor, from the National Institutes of Health. We’re aware of the other patients; they’ll be well cared for, I promise.”
Relaxing, sensing that the man was telling the truth, Miles muttered, “Good… tried to save them…”
He slid back into darkness for an interminable time, waking again when he was settled onto a bed and his body protested the jostling. Miles tried not to make noise, but a soft whimper escaped. That same, gentle touch brushed over his forehead again, soothing him. He drifted in and out of darkness until an all-too-familiar weight on his wrists told him he was being cuffed. He pulled at them, even knowing he was in no condition to get free, and begged, “No. Please, Master.”
A woman’s voice exclaimed, “Damn! Stephen, he has to stay still or the needle could hit the wrong spot.”
The doctor crouched down so that Miles could see his face and promised, “Miles, it’s all right. You’re in a hospital tent; we’re going to take care of you.”
“You’re, you’re the doctor.”
“That’s right. Dr. Stephen Connor, from NIH. Dr. Durant and I think you have bacterial meningitis, but we have to be absolutely certain. Then when can get you the medicine you need to make you feel better.”
“The others,” Miles pleaded. “They’re sick too.”
“We know and we’re going help them too, but before we can do that, we need to verify that our diagnosis is correct. Will you let us do that?”
Miles tried to nod, but was brought up short by the restraints. He whimpered softly. “Please, Master, don’t tie me. I’ll hold still, I promise.”
“Stephen. We can’t risk that. He has to stay perfectly still. He’ll only be bound for a few moments more.”
But Miles couldn’t abide it any longer, his heart felt like it was going to pump out of his chest and all he could see were the guards, leering and mocking him as they waited their turns. “Please, Master. I won’t move. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t tie me down.”
“He’s too weak to move around much anyway. And I’ll help hold him.”
“Very well, but it’s on your head if anything goes wrong.”
Miles breathed a sigh of relief as the restraints were removed.
“All right, Miles. You need to hold perfectly still.”
“Yes, Master.”
The doctor stood and put his hands on Miles’ shoulders, careful not to press down too hard. Miles felt area swabbed with alcohol and had a brief moment of relief that his lashes were healed enough that it didn’t hurt.
“All right, Miles, I’m going to insert the needle now. Stay as relaxed as you can and don’t move.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Miles felt the needle puncture his spine and tensed, but didn’t move. The pain was agonizing, but he knew the consequences if he so much as twitched.
That strong voice murmured, “Breathe, Miles.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good, Miles. We’re almost done, young one. You’re doing great, just a few moments more.”
“There, we’re finished. You can move now, Miles. Good job.”
Miles moaned softly and curled up on the bed barely feeling the fingers that combed through his sweaty hair. He did, however, hear the soft, “Bravely done, young one,” and felt something inside warm.
The woman suggested, “Why don’t you take a few minutes to get him settled? I think it would do you good to remind yourself that you were able to save lives today.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
As the doctor bent to pick him up again, Miles protested, “I can walk, Master.”
“I doubt that, although I appreciate your willingness to try,” the man countered, dry.
Thoroughly mortified by the condition of his body, both its filth and its weakness, Miles hid his face in Stephen’s neck. As Miles settled on the narrow bed, he caught sight of the frown on the doctor’s face and couldn’t help his fearful, “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Master.’
“I’m a physician, Miles, it’s my job to take care of the sick. Don’t waste any of your energy worrying about causing me work – you just rest and concentrate on getting better.”
And though the words were just words, knowing that it wasn’t all that likely that he would survive without the right antibiotics, Miles couldn’t do anything except obey.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“I cannot thank you enough, Dr. Connor, for NIH’s fast
response in this matter. Not only for minimizing
the loss of life, although that, of course, was the paramount concern. Beyond
that, though,
The state’s director of Health and Human Services was a small man, given to using quick, nervous gestures that made him look almost bird-like. Larry Miller’s forehead was wrinkled in concern, but whether that was due to the tragedy itself or the work it had generated, Connor didn’t know. Given his experience with bureaucrats, however, he suspected the latter.
“We were glad to be of service,” Stephen responded. He wasn’t prone to false modesty, but an inkling of a plan had begun to form in the back of his mind. For it to work, he’d need this man’s cooperation; a little humility was a small price to pay.
“We will find those responsible for this travesty,” Miller vowed. “We will find the ones whose negligence led to Citizens’ deaths and when we do, I will personally see to it that they are brought to full and bloody justice.”
Connor didn’t doubt it. Miller sounded like he had the conviction of a man planning on running for public office.
“Frank Powell, our investigator, has determined that the camp and its slaves are corporately owned,” Stephen informed the director.
“Not any more they’re not,” Miller shot back. “Based on the information your team
forwarded, I’ve been authorized to take possession of the entire
operation. As of two hours ago, the
slaves, the camp, the whole kit and caboodle, belong to the state of
“Tracing the true owners might prove difficult,” Stephen cautioned. He’d chatted with Frank via cell phone on the way to meet the HHS director. “Powell said that the overseer left a letter that implied that the responsibility for the camp went higher up than was obvious.”
Miller sighed and scratched his forehead. “Isn’t that always the case?” The man no longer sounded like a politician, merely like a tired public servant. “We’ll have as many of the slaves questioned as possible before they’re put down. They probably don’t know much, this type never do, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Put down?” Eva repeated softly. The publicity liaison had been mostly silent since introducing Miller to Connor.
“The antibiotic isn’t that expensive, Mr. Miller,” Connor quietly pointed out. He lightly stepped on Eva’s foot as she leaned forward. He needed the young woman to stay in check. The situation wasn’t irretrievable, not yet.
“Oh, it’s not the cost of the medication,” the director
explained absently. “It’s the recovery
time. Caring for sick slaves is very
expensive and fruit-pickers are hardly the cream of the crop, pardon the pun.” Miller smiled at his own joke, but when
neither Connor nor Rossi responded in kind, the expression faded. “It’s a simple Return on that Investment
equation. With the state of
Stephen’s thoughts went back to Quad D and the care the slaves quartered there had given one another. Of their concern for Miles. Return on Investment didn’t cover their value, not by a long shot.
Connor opened his mouth to protest the director’s callousness, but Eva beat him to it. Her strategy, however, was unlike anything Stephen had contemplated using.
“If you’re measuring their value as field laborers, I completely agree,” she commented nonchalantly.
Miller tittered nervously. “They *are* field laborers, Miss. How else would you count it?”
Eva had him right where she wanted him – and she knew it. Stephen relaxed. Eva was the best at what she did and he had no doubt that her plan would work, even if he didn’t know what that plan was yet.
“Publicity,” Eva all but purred. “You can’t buy publicity like this. Conditions at the camp will get out, you know that. All it takes is one do-gooder with a camera phone. And when that happens, the abolitionists will be all over this scene like white on rice.”
Director Miller winced. He’d seen enough of the camp to know that Eva was completely right.
“If you terminate the surviving slaves now, it’ll just make
the state look like the bad guys,” Eva pointed out. “But, if you care for them, see to it that
they’re nursed back to health… well, the public – even the abolitionists - will have to assign the blame where it
rightfully belongs, with the owners of the camp.
“Hmmm…” Miller thought about it. “I bet we could even fine the camp owners for the fees involved in the slaves’ care.” His face brightened. No doubt some of those fines would go to his own coffers. “Miss Rossi, you’re a genius.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Eva responded demurely. “You’re the one making the wise decision to spare the slaves.”
Miller looked at her hopefully. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a
job?”
Stephen hid his smile. Eva would never leave Natalie, but Miller didn’t know that.
“Oh, no thank you, Director Miller,” Eva turned him down gently. “I’m afraid I’ve grown to love the travel associated with my NIH work.” She took the director by the arm. “Come on, we’ve got a press conference to arrange.”
“Press conference?” Miller repeated. “Oooh. I like the sound of that.”
“You’re very photogenic, I can tell,” Eva assured him as she led the bureaucrat out.
Connor chuckled quietly enough that Miller couldn’t hear him. The director hadn’t known what hit him. Eva chose that moment to turn to look at Stephen, however, and the expression in her eyes killed his laughter. Her face reminded him of just how close those slaves had come to being disposed of.
“Good job,” he mouthed at the young woman.
She nodded minutely before returning to lavishing praise on a man who’d seriously contemplated exterminating several dozen people just because taking care of them would cost too much money. Eva obviously had no intention of letting the bureaucrat out of her sight before he’d publicly outlined his plans for the slaves and was unable to back out of it.
Eva had won a victory for the slaves whose status she had once shared, but it had cost the young woman. Eva was so good at playacting that sometimes Stephen forgot the toll the more unpleasant personas could take on her. Acting nonchalant about the extermination of slaves and then buttering up their would-be executioner would haunt her, no doubt about it. Connor could only hope that Natalie could comfort her later.
As fond as he was of Eva, however, Stephen didn’t regret what she’d done, not when he realized that Miles would have been one of the slaves “put down.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For the next several hours, Stephen’s time was taken up with
coordinating efforts between NIH and HHS.
His team’s responsibility was discovering the disease’s origin. Others
would have the dual tasks of caring for the sick long-term and cleaning up the
site. Given the number of patients
involved, though, the hand-off was shaping up to be a bit trickier than normal.
The team would likely be in
Eventually, however, the doctor was able to pull himself away from administrative details and had a chance to go and check on someone that he’d already taken to thinking of as “his” patient. When he got to the hospital tent, however, Natalie was already tending to Miles. The slave remained unconscious and there were fever-bright patches of red on each cheek. The other doctor was sitting at the young man’s bedside, wiping his face with a wet cloth. Stephen was unprepared for the visceral reaction the sight caused him. He wanted to stride over and rip the cloth out of Natalie’s hands, despite knowing that she was devoted to Eva.
It took some effort, but Connor was able to stifle that response and speak to the other doctor in a normal tone of voice. “How’s he doing?”
Natalie looked up. “His temperature hasn’t broken yet.” When Stephen frowned, she hastened to explain. “He only received the vaccine about 45 minutes ago.”
Stephen sighed. He
knew as well as Natalie that the antibiotic would need longer than that to
work. “Are we going to have enough ceftriaxone
to go around?”
Durant put the cloth aside and stood, stretching her back until it cracked. “We weren’t prepared for this big of an outbreak. Eva’s arranging for those who are presenting to be sent here. Hopefully, we’ll have enough to inoculate them. HHS has got a larger shipment on the way. It should arrive with the relief team.”
“Good.” Connor looked at Miles regretfully. He wanted to stay, but duty took him elsewhere. “Can you handle things here? I want to work with Frank on the investigation.”
“I’ll be fine. Lieutenant Estwell is lending me his squad’s medic and I thought I would draft the slaves that aren’t presenting yet to help care for those that are too far gone.” Her face hardened. “Besides, if it means catching the bastard responsible, I’d be happy to handle the triage alone.”
Stephen nodded and, with a last look at Miles’ flushed face, he left the hospital tent. This time, as he made his way through the camp, he was prepared for what he saw. Or, rather, he was prepared for what he expected that he would see. Connor was surprised to find that the bodies had already been moved. It wasn’t difficult to remember the pathetic corpses of the slaves, however, and Connor’s mood as he approached the Overseer’s tent was somber.
“What do you have for me?” Stephen demanded to know as soon as he got inside and saw Frank.
Powell didn’t seem surprised, either by Stephen’s entrance or his abrupt manner. “The Overseer knew he was screwed, no doubt about that. I told you about the letter.”
“Where he indicated that the responsibility for the condition of the camp went pretty high up?”
“Yeah.” Frank handed a letter, encased in a clear plastic
evidence bag, to Stephen. He waited
until the doctor had read it before adding an additional comment. “Kind of cryptic, isn’t it?”
”I’d say so,” Stephen handed the letter back to Frank impatiently. “Why would he bother, if he wasn’t prepared
to reveal everything? It wasn’t like he
had anything left to lose?”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Powell disagreed with him. “The other two bodies found in here were his wife and son.” Frank handed Connor a framed picture. On the photo were the three people whose corpses Stephen had seen earlier and one other person, a young woman. The family resemblance was unmistakable. “My guess is that the daughter wasn’t involved in the family slave business, probably is even married. The Overseer would have to know she wouldn’t be pulled into the justice proceedings, but whomever *is* ultimately responsible could still kill her if the Overseer talked, even though the Overseer himself is dead.”
Stephen looked at the dried splotches of blood on the floor. What would it have been like to know that killing your wife and son was preferable to what the future held in store? He shuddered.
“Keep on it,” Connor instructed.
“Will do. I hope to have the replacement camp guards talking soon.”
Stephen was mildly surprised. “Really? They claimed not to know anything when we arrived. What makes you think they’ll offer up anything now?”
Frank’s grin was a flash of white against his dark skin. “I put them on body detail. It didn’t seem fair to make the soldiers pick up the corpses, not when we had some camp employees physically capable of doing it.”
Connor’s answering smile was not a pleasant one. “I’m surprised they didn’t make the slaves do it.”
“I may have told them that the slaves that were still alive were too sick to do it,” Powell looked at Stephen blandly. Both men knew that Quad D would have had enough able slaves to accomplish the grisly task.
Stephen nodded his approval. “Making them intimately aware of the results of their employer’s behavior might make the guards more inclined to talk. Especially since they could have gotten sick and died themselves.”
Frank shrugged. “That’s the idea. We’ll have to wait and see if it works.”
“Keep me updated,” Connor directed. At Frank’s ready acknowledgement, Stephen moved on to the next item on his internal to-do list.
It was not hard to find the Health & Human Services Director. The fact that it had only been a couple of hours since she’d proposed the idea, not to mention that the camp was located out in the middle of nowhere, hadn’t stopped Eva from organizing an impromptu press conference that was well attended by all of the major players. All Stephen had to do to find Director Miller was look for the bright lights.
Stephen knew from the pleased look on the man’s face that it
had gone well, but he asked anyway. “How
did the press conference turn out?”
Eva answered before Miller could. “Larry was brilliant. I was right; he’s very good at this kind of thing. A real natural in front of the camera.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Miller said with false modesty. Connor couldn’t help but notice that the man hadn’t protested Eva’s use of his first name. “But I think it’s safe to say that it was a success. Eva was right; the state came out smelling like a rose. Any outrage over this unfortunate incident should be directed at the camp owners.”
“Where it belongs,” Stephen concurred. He then went on to
use the opening that Miller’s statement provided him. “Speaking of owners, if I understand correctly,
the state of
“That’s right,” Miller confirmed. “The camp’s operation was deemed a hazard to public health and the owners, whoever they turn out to be, automatically have forfeited their possession to the state.”
“And how soon will they be available for re-purchase?” Connor ignored Eva’s startled reaction and instead focused on Miller’s response.
The director was studying him with a sly expression on his face. “Saw something that caught your fancy, eh?”
“There’s a young man with medical training,” Stephen explained stiffly. “He’s already proven that he can keep his head in dangerous situations. I could use a helper like that in my line of work.”
Miller stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I tell you what, the state is very grateful to you and your team for your swift resolution of this meningitis outbreak. It would be my pleasure to offer this young man to you as a token of our thanks.”
Connor shook his head. It was important to him that he own Miles outright. “That’s very generous of you, Director Miller, but NIH policy prevents me from accepting gifts for anything I do for my job, even from another public servant. I insist on paying for him.”
The other man shrugged. “So be it.” The director dug in his suit jacket and, finding the business card he needed, handed it to Stephen. “This is the assistant that is handling the slave paperwork back at the office. Call her with the slave’s identification number and I’ll have her draw up the contract. I’m assuming the average price for a slave his age will be acceptable?”
“Very,” Connor confirmed.
Stephen stood and looked at the card in his hands as a stunned Eva led the director away. He couldn’t really blame the young woman for being surprised. Connor had showed no inclination to own slaves, not since Manfred had died. The old man had been with Stephen’s family while he was growing up and Stephen’s parents had made a gift of him when Connor graduated medical school. He’d offered to free the old man, but Manfred had begged him not to. After a lifetime of servitude, he just wasn’t capable of dealing with life on his own. Stephen had seen to it that the old man’s later years were filled with enough tasks to feel useful, but not so many to tax him past his endurance. Manfred had died before Eva had been around and Stephen had just never seen the need to replace him.
Not until now.
Connor hardly knew Miles, but something told him that the young man would be important to him. Stephen hadn’t stopped to analyze his feelings, just acted on them to make sure that Miles would be coming home with him. Now that he’d made the arrangements, though, Stephen was almost as stunned as Eva had been. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do with a slave, although his reasoning to Miller had been sound. Stephen didn’t know if helping would his NIH investigations would be the only capacity that Miles would fill in his life – but he was looking forward to finding out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Unfortunately for Stephen, he didn’t have a lot of time to explore his new status as Miles’ owner. The couple of days following his discussion with Miller were every bit as hectic as Connor had anticipated and he didn’t have nearly as much time to devote to the slave as he would have liked.
The investigation had yielded limited results. The necessary permits for the placement of the camp had been in the Overseer’s name, but the contracts for the slave labor had been made out to a company called Sweet Pickin’ Farms. Keeping in mind what the Overseer’s note said about someone with a lot of power being involved, Powell had kept digging and finally turned up a holding company, West Coast Labor Limited, but that was as far as he got.
The replacement camp guards had known something of value after all, the name of the middle manager at the holding company who’d sent them out to take the place of the original guards. The middle manager, however, wasn’t saying a word, even under some rather intense ‘persuasive’ questioning. A judge was in the process of determining whether the man would be allowed to commit suicide or whether his whole family would help him pay for his negligence.
The means by which the meningitis had spread had also been determined. All it had taken was one slave with weakened immunity to develop the meningitis and the close, filthy quarters had helped the virus spread to the rest of the slave community. As for it getting out to the Citizen population, that was attributed to the farm’s truck drivers. The men were often rewarded for a speedy run by being allowed to choose a slave for an hour or two’s pleasure. The close contact and exchange of fluids allowed the virus to infect the truck drivers, who then infected those they came into contact with.
Since the practice of rewarding employees with access to slaves for sex was typical, Connor hoped that this incident would lead to new legislation. Immunizing slaves was common sense as far as he was concerned. Besides the benefits to public safety, even the most mercenary owner should realize that keeping his property healthy was only protecting his investment.
Caring for the sick had taken longer than Connor had expected. It was a sad truth that normally this many slaves that were ill would have been put down and it was hard to find medical personnel willing to take on the project. Eventually, however, the HHS had ordered their medical relief staff to step in and take over, in large part because Director Miller had made such a public announcement that the state government would be succoring them.
The press conference Eva had arranged for Miller had worked even beyond her expectations. Not only had the abolitionists not blamed the state for what had happened, but they were also actually praising the government for a change. Stephen was heartily glad that his own purchase of Miles was finalized and official. Because of what this group of slaves had gone through, they’d become symbols for the abolitionists’ cause. When they went up for auction, they’d no doubt be purchased quickly by abolitionists and Connor was glad he hadn’t had any competition for his ownership of the young man.
As for Miles, Stephen had been too busy to spend much time with his acquisition. Not that Miles was aware of his new status anyway. The slave’s fever had broken and he was on the mend, if weak. Every time that Connor came by, Miles was sleeping peacefully. It was the best thing for him, but still Stephen was frustrated. Miles didn’t even know that he now belong to Connor and Connor was eager to see his reaction to the news.
Stephen had been pleased at his team’s response to the purchase. Natalie had kissed Connor on the cheek, exclaiming happily that Miles was a ‘real sweetheart’ and she was glad that he would be owned by a person who would treat him decently. Stephen wasn’t really surprised that the other doctor had grown attached to the young man. Natalie had cared for Miles while Stephen was too busy to attend to him and, at this point, probably knew the slave better than Connor did. Whatever jealousy flared at that remark was dampened by the fact that her comment actually verified his judgment, since Natalie had a good sense for character. Frank had grinned and slapped Stephen on the back, claiming heartily that it was ‘about damn time’ that the doctor had indulged himself. There was little doubt, apparently, in the investigator’s mind of what use Connor would be putting his slave to. Eva, once she got over her initial shock, was even happier than Natalie. Seeing the camp and its occupants had affected the ex-slave badly. No doubt she was glad that at least one of abused slaves would be in happier circumstances.
The two days after Stephen had purchased Miles passed
slowly, full of excruciating administrative details and inconclusive
investigations. Finally, though, the team had been given the go-ahead to leave
for home. With a lighter step than he’d
had for days, Stephen walked through camp on his way to inform the rest of his
staff. After that happy task was
completed, he could start preparations to move Miles. The slave was no longer contagious and it
would be safe to transport him. He was a
bit worried about Miles being strong enough to travel, but had already decided
he would take time off and stay in
“Stephen, wait up a minute.”
Connor slowed but didn’t come to a complete stop. It was Eva who made the request and he was anxious to talk to her. The only information in the records about Miles had been his registry number and Eva had offered to do some digging. Stephen was happy to be the young man’s owner whatever the slave’s background information turned out to be, but was eager to learn the details.
“Did you find anything out?”
Stephen’s steps slowed even more as he saw the dismay on Eva’s face. He finally stopped completely and pulled the young woman to a space between two tents that had been set up for the NIH team’s use. “What’s wrong?”
“Miles’ full name is Miles McCabe,” Rossi stated quietly.
Connor frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Eva took a deep breath. “McCabe as in Montgomery McCabe, his father. Papa McCabe was part of the Freedom for Everyone abolitionist cell.”
Freedom for Everyone. The abolitionist cell that had been
behind the bombing of
Denied permission to commit suicide, they and their families were condemned to slavery. That wasn’t the worst of it. The cell members themselves were castrated or neutered, depending on their gender. Then, once their Chains were permanently welded around their necks, they were forced to watch while each member of their families were publicly Claimed by *their* new owners. The whole event had gone on for weeks and had been televised, eclipsing the Olympics in the ratings. Even now, almost three years later, the DVD set of the highlights was on the best seller lists. Stephen even had a copy, although he’d never watched it. It had been a birthday gift from his wife; yet another piece of evidence of how far apart they’d drifted as a couple.
“Was Miles involved in the cell itself?” He asked Eva, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat.
“No.” She didn’t point out that if he had been, he would have been castrated too. Eva had helped care for Miles and knew that he was intact. “According to the records, he’d had a falling out with his father and hadn’t even seen him since starting college. He was barely 20 when it happened.”
Stephen closed his eyes. At the age of 20, Miles would have legally been his father’s property, regardless of how long it had been since they’d even spoken.
“Does his record show anything of medical training?” Connor asked.
“Only that he’d just finished his second year of medical school when the bombing happened,” Eva replied.
“At 20?” Stephen quizzed. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Rossi asserted. “Apparently he was some kind of child prodigy.” She brandished a folder. “I have the whole thing here if you want to read it.”
Stephen did, but not at the moment. He was having a hard enough time adjusting to what he’d just learned. “Later.” Suddenly, Connor was more eager to see Miles than he was to break the homecoming news to the rest of the team. “We’re officially done here and our plane leaves early this evening.”
“Stephen, that’s wonderful.” From the relief in her tone and on her face, Eva was just as eager to leave this place as Connor was.
“Do me a favor and tell Natalie and Frank?” Stephen requested. “I want to check on Miles.”
“Sure, Boss,” Rossi answered. She tucked the folder under her arm. “I’ll just save this for you to read on the plane.”
“Thanks, Eva,” Stephen responded, but his mind was already elsewhere as his feet eagerly took him in the direction of the hospital tent.
By this time, there were several hospital tents. The original tent housed the guards and Miles, with the rest of the slaves segregated in the other tents. Thanks to the antibiotic, no new patients had started presenting symptoms and there had been no further fatalities. Guards were placed around the slave tents, but so far hadn’t been needed. It was unlikely that they would be. These people were too happy to be alive to rebel.
As Stephen entered the tent that Miles was in, he was thinking of ways to break the news to the slave that he’d been purchased and was about to be moved across the country. The thoughts so preoccupied him that he didn’t realize at first that Miles’ cot was surrounded. Connor stopped abruptly. He recognized the group of men standing around Miles as the guards they’d been treating for meningitis. They hadn’t been nearly as sick as Miles and were already much improved. Earlier he’d been pleased that they were recovering so well, but now he wasn’t so sure. The men didn’t look like they’d approached Miles for any friendly reason. Wanting to learn more about the situation before stepping in, Connor was silent as he approached the tableau.
“What kind of uppity slave are you, thinkin’ your good enough to be in the same tent as free men?” The first guard asked.
Stephen heard a murmur from the cot, but couldn’t distinguish what Miles had said.
“Not good enough, boy.” The second one said, evidently not pleased with Miles’ answer. “What do you think, gentlemen? Think we should find something else for this pretty boy’s mouth to do?”
All four of the men were opening their belts just about the time Stephen reached the group. He dropped a hand on the shoulder of the nearest one and spun him around.
“You didn’t ask what *I* thought,” he snarled.
“Aw, hells, Doc,” The first one said, recognizing Stephen from the times he’d checked on the patients. “The boss lets us help ourselves to the merchandise whenever we got a need. Figured that’s why the boy’s here, to comfort us while we recover.”
The other three snickered and one of them piped up with, “He’s camp merchandise and we’re camp employees. We got a right to pleasure ourselves on him.”
Stephen bullied himself so that he was between Miles’ cot and the nearest of the guards. “That’s where you’re mistaken. I’m his lawful owner and have been since shortly after he was placed in this tent.”
The men shuffled and stared at one another. Three of them seemed cowed, but the second one set his jaw belligerently. “Our job is to protect Sweet Pickin’s property. How are we supposed to know that what you say is true?”
Obviously, the guards were not privy to updated information about the camp’s status. Stephen didn’t find that reason enough to be reasonable, however.
“I can prove it on your body if you like,” he growled, pulling himself up to his full height, “Are you Challenging me?”
The guard took a good look at Connor. Stephen might be a healer and a man who used the strength of his mind to do his job, but he was still athletic. He hadn’t let his physique decline since he played college football and cut an imposing figure.
“Um, no Sir.” The guard said, backing down and stepping away from the cot. “No Challenge at all, Sir. He’s all yours.”
“I’m glad we have that settled. I suggest you don’t forget it again.” Stephen looked at them coldly. “Now, since you’re feeling well enough to gang up on a sick man, I think you’re ready to leave your beds. Get out. Now.”
He watched as the four men trailed out of the tent, not relenting an inch until they were gone. The door flap had barely slapped closed when he sensed movement behind him. Connor turned just in time to catch Miles as he fell from the bed.
“What are you doing?” Stephen asked sharply. He hadn’t meant for the question to come out quite that roughly, but was still high on adrenalin from the showdown with the guards.
“I heard you say you were my new Master,” Miles stated. He slid out of Stephen’s hands and fell to the floor. Once there, he did his best to prostate himself, but he was too weak to do much more than lie there and pant.
“That’s not necessary,” Stephen tried to explain. He reached for Miles again and, this time, managed to keep a grip on him. Even the minimal effort of trying to get out of bed had exhausted the young man and he lay limply in Stephen’s arms.
Connor set Miles back on the cot and watched while the slave tried to get his breathing under control. He’d gotten into the habit of brushing Miles’ hair off his forehead in order to check his temperature. Stephen stretched a hand forward to do the same thing, this time with the intention to comfort, but Miles flinched away from him.
“I’m sorry about that,” Connor apologized. “I should have told them that you were mine before now. They never should have laid a hand on you.”
Miles wouldn’t look at him. “It’s all right, Master. I’m used to it.” Stephen could see one tear running down the side of the slave’s face. “I c-c-an pleasure you now if you like, but you might find the ride a bit bony.”
Stephen put a hand under the younger man’s chin and forced Miles to look at him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Miles. In fact, you’re only now recovering from a serious illness. The only thing I’m going to ask of you for the time being is to rest and concentrate on recovering.” He smiled kindly at his new possession. “Think you can manage?”
“Yes, Master.”
Connor would have like to have seen a glimmer of belief or trust in the young man’s eyes, but there was none. In fact, even delirious with fever, Miles had been more comfortable with Stephen when he was ill. There was nothing Connor could do about it for the moment, though, except try to prove to his slave by his actions that he was a kind master.
“That’s great,” Stephen pretended that Miles’ response had been more enthusiastic. “We’ll be leaving for home soon. I’ll see if I can find you some clothes; the last thing we need is for you to catch a cold now.”
“Yes, Master.”
Stephen sighed and decided not to push it. He patted Miles’ shoulder in a friendly way, trying not to let it hurt when the slave flinched again. Without a further word, he got up to leave the tent. A last look over his shoulder before he walked out showed Miles laying flat on his back, staring at the tent’s top. The totally expressionless look on the slave’s face was at odds with the trail of tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and disappearing into the dark hair.
Not the most auspicious of starts, but Connor refused to let it deter him. This was, after all, only the beginning. If his master/slave relationship with Miles hadn’t started out on the best foot, at least they had nowhere to go from here but up.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Rather surprised to wake, some unknown time later, Miles found himself on the receiving end of gentle attention from the pretty, long-haired doctor who worked with Dr. Connor. He knew that he was free and clear of danger from the lack of lethargy in his limbs and the clear-headed way he could finally think again.
Smiling at him, the woman introduced herself as she took his temperature and brushed elegant fingers through his hair. “Hi there. I’m Dr. Natalie Durant, but you can call me Natalie.”
There was no way he could do that, so he just nodded, figuring that silence was better than risking an inappropriate remark. But then he had to ask about the others and dared a soft, respectful, “May I ask how the others are doing, Mistress?”
“A good many of the ones in your quadrant were saved, Miles, and it’s all due to you. They’ve been treated and are recovering fully,” she replied, her smile growing.
Relieved, Miles managed to return the smile.
“I’m going to get you some broth to drink, see how your stomach handles it.”
And while he’d been a vegetarian from an early age, Miles knew better than to turn down any form of sustenance. The meat never sat right, metabolized poorly, and chicken was even worse, but he would eat what he could get.
The next couple of days passed quietly and while he wondered why he was being kept from the others, Miles didn’t question it. He never saw Dr. Connor, which was a vague kind of disappointment, but Dr. Durant was pleasant, soothing company. She always seemed to know what he needed, even before he did. And when Miles met her lover, a freed slave named Eva, he understood where her compassion and patience with him came from.
It was towards the end of the third day after his fever broke that trouble arrived in the form of the healed guards. One minute he was alone and resting comfortably, and the next, his cot was surrounded by the faces from his nightmares. They weren’t the same guards as before, the others were all dead, but they wore the same uniform and had the same hard, sneering expressions on their faces.
“What kind of uppity slave are you, thinkin’ your good enough to be in the same tent as free men?”
Knowing that nothing he said would make a difference, Miles answered respectfully, “I’m sorry, Sir, I was kept here by the staff. They didn’t tell me why.”
Miles’ heart sank on hearing the angry answer…
“Not good enough, boy. What do you think, gentlemen? Think we should find something else for this pretty boy’s mouth to do?”
He could hear the terrifying sound of belts being undone when an unfamiliar voice snarled, “You didn’t ask what I thought.”
Miles listened in stunned amazement as the doctor argued with the guards over who he belonged to. And then his heart just about stopped when the phrase ‘Challenging me,’ echoed through the air. The guards backed down, but Miles was too far into his panic to think about anything as they left except that he needed to show the proper obeisance. His muscles were too weak, of course, and the other man caught him as he fell.
“What are you doing?”
The panic grew at the sharp tone and he said, “I heard you say you were my new Master,” as he slid from the doctor’s arms to try and prostrate himself, but could only lie there and pant.
He was grabbed carefully but firmly about the shoulders and hauled back onto the cot as Dr. Connor said, “That’s not necessary.” When the other man reached for him, Miles instinctively flinched away, anticipating a blow that never came. And then, to his shock, came an apology.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have told them that you were mine before now. They never should have laid a hand on you.”
Miles wouldn’t look at him, the tears slipping out despite the fact that he should have known this was coming. “It’s all right, Master. I’m used to it. I c-c-an pleasure you now if you like, but you might find the ride a bit bony.”
A hand lifted Miles’ face so that their gazes met, and the doctor promised with a smile, “I’m not going to hurt you, Miles. In fact, you’re only now recovering from a serious illness. The only thing I’m going to ask of you for the time being is to rest and concentrate on recovering. Think you can manage?”
There was no way that was possible, but he agreed, “Yes, Master.”
He stared up at the ceiling as the other man left the tent, willing himself to feel nothing and feeling fairly confident that he showed far less than he did actually feel. If only he could stop crying.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephen closed the file quietly. Eva had been true to her word and given him Miles’ dossier once they were on the plane. It had made for disturbing reading. Eva had already told him the worst of it, the horrific way that Miles had been introduced to slavery. In the three years that the young man had been Chained, he’d had a series of owners. Nothing indicated that their interest in him had anything to do with his medical background and, given the scars that the young man sported, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out the uses that Miles had been put to. The last owner had been the holding company that owned the camp where Miles had been found. According to the records, Miles had been purchased by West Coast Labor nine months ago. Stephen couldn’t figure out what Miles had been doing in that agriculture camp. As either a pleasure slave *or* a partially trained doctor, he was far too valuable to be in that type of operation.
Miles himself was sleeping as their plane winged its way
back to
After conferring with Natalie, Stephen had opted to sedate Miles for the flight. The slave’s face had been expressionless as Connor injected him, but his eyes were worried. Stephen had done it anyway. It wasn’t because the young man was out of control after his run-in with the guards. Connor would say that the slave was almost *too* much in control of his emotions. Rather, it was due to the meningitis. Miles was still recovering and in a lot of pain. The recovering man wouldn’t admit it, but he clearly was suffering from a massive headache and probably would be prone to them for the near future. Miles had come close to death because of meningitis and his recovery would take some time.
Miles moaned softly in his sleep and Stephen patted him in reassurance. “It’s okay, Miles. You’re safe with me.”
His voice soothed the young man and the slave subsided back into deeper slumber.
The slave was dressed in Stephen’s extra clothes and they were much too big for him. The two men were close in height, but Miles was painfully thin and Connor’s clothes were far too baggy on his lean frame. Frank had had to use his pocket knife to poke a new hole in the belt, otherwise, the jeans would have slid right off Miles’ slender hips. There had been a few moments of embarrassment at the airport when Stephen realized that Miles’ was no longer Chained since they’d removed the rope back at the camp, but a quick trip to the gift shop had taken care of that. A simple silver Chain was now around Miles’ neck, but it was only temporary. Connor wanted to put more thought into what kind of Chain to use with Miles on a permanent basis. This one would make do for now.
The clothing and Chain issues brought home to Stephen just how ill prepared he was to own a slave… and they were just the beginning. He was barely settled into his apartment himself, now he would need to make it comfortable for two. Not to mention, he had yet to assess Miles’ medical skills and how they would best fit into Stephen’s NIH work.
“Buyer’s remorse?” Frank asked.
Stephen looked across the aisle at Frank. Director Miller’s office had booked them on a commercial flight and Stephen hadn’t had the energy to protest when he realized the seats were in First Class. It was only the NIH team that occupied the area and Stephen had his suspicions about that too. He and Miles sat on one side, with Frank on the other. The women were behind Frank, cuddled together underneath a blanket.
Frank’s question prompted Stephen to look down at Miles. The young man was again sleeping soundly, curled up against Connor’s side. Compared to that sensation, the issues Stephen had just been thinking of didn’t see quite so important.
“Not a chance,” Connor replied to his colleague, a smile playing around his lips. His expression turned suddenly sheepish. “Haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell Lisa yet.”
Frank’s answering smile faded. “I thought she was in
Stephen shrugged, not appreciating the reminder that his estranged wife and son were off the continent for another month. “She’ll have to come home sometime.”
“Your problem was letting her talk you into moving out of the house in the first place,” Powell pointed out. “She’s *your* wife, that’s your decision, not hers.”
“It was an arranged marriage,” Stephen pointed out. “She’s already given me our son, Jack. I’m not expecting her to love me. That would be greedy.”
It had been a hard realization to come to, that Lisa didn’t love him the way he’d grown to love her. She might claim that his job took him away too much and prevented them from being close, but Stephen didn’t entirely believe it. Love would have found a way. It had with Stephen’s parents. They were so utterly in love that it was hard to realize that theirs had been an arranged marriage and they hadn’t even met until the day of the wedding.
It saddened Stephen that his marriage hadn’t turned out the same. At least he had his son Jack… and maybe, now, Miles too.
“The woman don’t know how lucky she has it,” Frank grumbled, flipping his magazine open with a snap. “You ought to give her that divorce she wants, that’d teach her.”
Connor shook his head. “No. Jack deserves to have two parents. I’m not going to cut her out of his life.”
“So you’ll live half a life yourself?” Frank asked skeptically. “Sounds damn lonely to me.”
As Powell turned back to his reading, Connor couldn’t help but silently agree. His separation from his wife *was* lonely, but no more lonesome than their marriage had been. Miles shifted more closely in his sleep, causing Stephen to smile, despite his melancholy.
He had a gut feeling that, with Miles, his days of being lonely were over.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miles made it to Stephen’s apartment under his own power, but it was a close call. Stephen had insisted on a wheelchair at the airport, but seeing how uncomfortable using it made the young man, had let him walk from the cab inside. Miles was still ridiculously weak and the sedative in his system didn’t help his coordination either. Even so, the slave had been doggedly determined about not letting Connor carry him. He was panting and shaking by the time they got there, but he made it on his own.
Stephen set his bag down by the door, giving Miles a chance to catch his breath. As he did, he looked around his apartment, trying to see it from the slave’s eyes.
He had to admit that it was pretty bleak.
Connor had only moved into the space a couple of weeks before. He’d left his house when his wife, Lisa, asked him to, but had done so reluctantly. At first, he’d lived at NIH headquarters, but eventually gave in to the inevitable and rented a place. At the time, he thought the three bedroom apartment had been a bit excessive, but he’d fallen in love with the view. He had really only needed two bedrooms, one for him and one for his son when he visited. Now that extra bedroom would come in handy. Or, it would be if it had a bed in it.
Stephen hadn’t been in the apartment long enough to settle in. So far, the décor consisted of a stereo, a beat-up leather couch and piles of unpacked boxes. There wasn’t even anything on the windows and, even though he hadn’t checked yet, he knew the refrigerator was empty. Not exactly the most welcoming of homecomings.
“Pretty bad, huh?” Stephen said awkwardly to Miles.
The slave was slumped against the closed door. “I’ve seen worse,” he responded quietly.
Stephen just bet he had.
“Look, let’s get you to bed,” he suggested, noticing that Miles was swaying with exhaustion.
Connor took the young man by the arm and led him down the hallway. Miles followed docilely until they reached the bedroom. Once Stephen turned on the light, the slave led the way to the bed and flopped face down. Connor thought that perhaps the exhausted man had simply been overcome with weariness, but that idea was belayed by the way Miles lifted his ass into the air.
Miles was still ill, partially sedated, and obviously apprehensive about his new owner. What he was displaying was nothing more than a survival instinct. Stephen knew that, but he had to admit that he liked what he saw.
“Hey, none of that,” Connor said. He walked over and patted Miles on the ass before gently pressing the young man flat to the bed. “You’re in here tonight because it’s the only bed I have at the moment and I am not putting a meningitis patient on the couch or the floor.”
Miles half turned to look at him, eyes wary. “Why are you doing this?” The slave belatedly realized that he’d not only questioned his master, but had neglected to address him properly. “Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-…”
“It’s all right, calm down.” Stephen smiled and perched on the edge of the mattress. “I know you haven’t had much evidence to the contrary lately, Miles, but there’s still kindness left in the world.”
The young man didn’t look convinced. As tempted as Connor was to stay and continue trying, he knew it was fruitless. Miles had been though too much to be won over by mere words. He would have to hope his actions eventually persuaded Miles that he meant him no harm.
“Try and get some sleep,” Stephen instructed. “It’ll all make more sense tomorrow.”
He got up and headed to the door. Once there, Connor turned around and took one last look. Despite his distrust, Miles’ eyes were already half-lidded with exhaustion and Stephen didn’t doubt that he’d be asleep within moments. Stifling a smile, Connor turned the light off and closed the door.
Yawning, the doctor made his way down the hallway. He felt woefully unprepared. Viruses, he could deal with. Outbreaks? No problem. But a half-starved, emotionally scarred slave was a little out of his league.
Once in the kitchen, Stephen went to the refrigerator and opened it. It was as cold and empty as the rest of the apartment. He was still staring into its interior when a knock came on the door. Too tired to be more than mildly curious, Connor went to answer it.
“Don’t you ever make any offerings to Hestia?” Natalie asked as she brushed by him. “This place is awful.”
Stephen watched with bemusement as Eva followed her lover into the apartment. Both women were carrying laden grocery bags and were halfway to the kitchen before he could even offer to help carry anything.
“What are the two of you doing here?”
“We know you too well, Stephen,” Natalie answered. “There’s probably nothing edible in this place.”
“We stopped and picked you up some essentials,” Eva added as she set her bags down and immediately started unpacking them. “We figured you had enough to deal with right now.”
Connor leaned against the doorframe and watched the women make short work over storing the groceries, Natalie tisking under her breath as she got a look at the state of his kitchen. He didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated that they’d been right, his shelves were pretty bare.
“You know, we’re gonna have to start calling you ‘Old Mother Hubbard.’” Eva teased. “You’d think a doctor would be more concerned about nutrition.”
Stephen took the joking in good stride. He couldn’t help but compare Eva’s easy manner with Miles’ wariness. Then again, Eva wasn’t a slave anymore.
“Eva,” Connor started carefully. “Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions? From before you were free.”
From the quick glance that passed between the two women, he had a feeling that this had been anticipated too.
“That’d be fine,” she replied. Leaving Natalie to finish fussing with the groceries, Eva leaned against the counter and gave him her full attention.
“When you came into the household of a new owner,” Stephen asked, “What worried you?”
Eva smile had a shadow of bitterness in it. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, Stephen. A slave with a new Master is worried about everything. Will she be Claimed by just him or his friends too? What prompts a beating and what prompts a whipping? Will there be enough food?”
Stephen started pacing. “Fair enough. What worried you the most, then?”
She bit her lip as thought about it. “Honestly? Just knowing what to expect. Even if your new Master is a bastard, you can deal with it if you’re prepared. It’s the not knowing that keeps you awake at night.”
“I’ve reassured Miles that I’m not going to hurt him.” Connor sighed. “But somehow I don’t think that’s enough.”
“A slave’s definition of ‘hurt’ isn’t always the same as the Master’s,” Eva shrugged. “You’ll just have to keep showing him that he’s safe with you until he believes it and that might take a long time. In the meantime, tell him specifically what his responsibilities are.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Stephen responded, half in exasperation and half in hope.
Natalie had finished putting the goods they brought away and came to stand next to Eva. Wrapping an arm around her lover’s waist, the doctor nuzzled behind Rossi’s ear for a moment before addressing her colleague. “Nothing about this is going to be easy, Stephen, but then nothing worth doing ever is.” She watched him in concern. “I thought you’d owned slaves before?”
“Never like this,” Stephen responded, shaking his head. “My family always had them, but our slaves weren’t so badly mistreated as Miles. At least, I don’t think they were. I wasn’t involved in any of the actual purchases.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Natalie stated. “You have a good heart, Stephen.” Seeing Eva yawn, she smiled fondly. “We better get going. It’s been a long week.”
Stephen saw them to the door and said goodnight. Eva kissed him on the cheek. “Miles is a lucky man.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know about that,” Connor refuted.
“You care,” she countered. “That’s probably more than he’s had since he was Chained. Everything else you can work out.”
There didn’t seem too much he could say to that and, in a contemplative mood, Stephen bid the ladies a good night. After they left he wandered back to his bedroom and peeked in. Miles was curled up into a ball and sound asleep. Connor stood and watched him for a few minutes, but left when the slave started to show signs of restlessness. Miles needed sleep more than Stephen needed to drink in the sight of him.
Still restless, he wandered to the spare room closest to his. It was the one he’d determined would be his son’s. Nothing of Jack was in the room yet and it ached with emptiness.
Moving with a purpose, Connor returned to the living room and picked up the phone. His boss, Kate Ewing, was going to be surprised to hear from him this late at night and she was going to be downright shocked when he asked for two weeks off. Stephen didn’t care. He’d already made the mistake with his wife of not putting her first and Lisa had not hesitated to make it clear it was too late for a second chance. Miles wasn’t his wife, of course, but something was telling Stephen that he would be every bit as important in his life. Connor wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Nightmares plagued Miles on the journey from the familiar to the unknown, even sedated. Whenever it got bad enough for him to rise through the murky levels of the sedative, however, he was comforted by a warm, rumbling voice and gentle touches, soothed right back down into darkness.
When he woke for real, it was in the airport with a new Chain around his neck. Not the scratchy rope one from the camp, but a simple silver one. Even though he protested the necessity at the wheelchair, he used it until they were in the cab and stopping in front of the apartment building that was to be his new home. Fortunately, his new Master didn’t mind the insistence, which Miles knew instinctively from the kind glint to the man’s gaze.
The apartment, when he could breathe well enough to notice, was practically bare. There were boxes all over as well, indicating that it was a new residence. There were a couple of awkward exchanges of words before the doctor motioned him towards the bedroom. His body was so exhausted and weak, he could only follow where his new Master led and flopped down on the bed. Hopefully the other man didn’t really care if he stayed conscious through the Claiming, because Miles sincerely doubted that would happen.
To his surprise, he was gently chastened and pushed so that his ass was no longer in the air. Without thinking, he looked back at those pale eyes and asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Barely a second passed before Miles realized what he’d done and, in a panic, exclaimed, “Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He was astonished yet again when all he got was a smile and the reply, “It’s all right, calm down. I know you haven’t had much evidence to the contrary lately, Miles, but there’s still kindness left in the world.”
There was a long moment where they just stared at one another.
“Try and get some sleep,” the doctor finally instructed. “It’ll all make more sense tomorrow.”
Miles doubted that, but firmly bit his tongue.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A soft noise got Stephen’s attention and he looked up to find a very tentative Miles standing in the doorway.
“Well, good morning, Sleepyhead,” he greeted the young man.
“I’m sorry to have slept for so long, Master,” Miles answered, walking into the kitchen and kneeling in front of Connor’s chair. “I’m not normally so slothful.”
Stephen brushed his hand quickly across Miles’ dark hair. The slave was tense and had his face demurely tilted down, as was proper. Connor put a hand under Miles’ chin and forced the other man to look at him. “I told you to get some sleep, Miles. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Yes, Master. I mean, no, Master.”
Stephen chuckled. “Come sit down and I’ll fix you breakfast.”
Miles stood but didn’t take a chair, visibly torn between obeying his Master and doing what was proper for a slave. By all rights, Miles should be fixing Stephen breakfast, not the other way around. Dark eyes were filled with confusion and Stephen finally took pity on him.
“Sit, Miles. It’s okay.”
Miles sat.
Stephen was aware of the slave, perched carefully on the edge of his chair as though afraid it would bite him. Wide, dark eyes watched his every move. Connor chatted of inconsequential things as he puttered with their food. Surreptitious glances towards his companion showed that the young man’s tension hadn’t eased at all.
It didn’t take long to make scrambled eggs and toast. Stephen soon put a plate down in front of Miles and another one at the seat across from him. A quick trip to the fridge later and two glasses of orange juice were added.
“Dig in.” Stephen sat and started eating. It wasn’t his first breakfast, but he knew there was no way Miles would eat if he didn’t too.
Given the slave’s the emaciated state, Connor would have expected Miles to eat with gusto, even if the illness had temporarily stolen his appetite. A slave who’d been as harshly treated as Miles obviously had would have learned not to pass up a meal, no matter if he was hungry or not. Instead, Miles played with his food, raking his fork through his eggs and only bringing it up for the occasional nibble.
“Miles,” Connor stated gently, but firmly, “You need to eat. I suggest you get started before the eggs get cold.”
Miles flinched. “Sorry, Master.” He did, however, start taking real bites of his breakfast.
Stephen watched him for several minutes and then decided it was time to take Eva’s advice. If letting Miles know what to expect would help him settle in, then it was a small thing to do.
“Good,” Stephen praised the slave for eating. “I don’t have a chance to fix breakfast often, you shouldn’t waste it.”
“No, Master.”
“Stephen.” Connor said succinctly. “That’s the first rule.”
“Master?”
Connor had already finished his meal and pushed his plate back. “I’ve been your owner for days, but we haven’t had a chance to clarify what the rules are and what your duties will be.” He noticed that Miles paled and swallowed hard. “The first rule is that when we’re alone, I want you to call me by my first name, which is Stephen.”
“Yes, Mast-…” Miles paused when Connor looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Stephen.”
“As you already know,” Stephen continued, “I work with NIH and my team is pretty casual. ‘Stephen’ is acceptable with them as well. In fact, the only time you need use ‘Master’ is in formal situations.” Miles frowned and bit his lip at that stipulation. Connor had a feeling he knew what the slave’s concern was. “And if you don’t know if it’s a formal situation or not, you can always refer to me as ‘Doctor’ or ‘Sir.’”
Connor watched as a fraction of the tension left Miles’ body. “I’ll think you’ll find me a compassionate Master, Miles. There will be rules and you’ll be expected to follow them, but I don’t revel in pain. Punishments will be fair and only meted out if truly deserved.”
Miles sat quietly, all pretenses at eating gone. Luckily, the slave had eaten over half of his breakfast before the tension had gotten too much for him to continue.
“As for your duties,” Stephen explained, “that will depend on how much you’ve retained from medical school.”
That got the slave’s attention. Startled, Miles responded without hesitating to think about it first. “Medical school?”
“You were in your second year, weren’t you?” Stephen asked.
The slave dropped his gaze again. “Yes, but no one’s ever been interested in my medical training before.”
“That was their loss,” Connor stated quietly.
Miles quickly raised his eyes, but dropped them just as fast. “It’s been a long time, Ma-Stephen,” he stammered. “I doubt it’s of any value any more.”
“Tell that to the slaves in Quad D,” Stephen reminded him. “I think they found your training to be very valuable.”
The young man shifted on his chair, but didn’t say anything. Connor took that as a good sign and started outlining his plans.
“I have the next two weeks off, which will give me a chance
to settle us into the apartment. You
will spend most of that time recovering.
I’m also making an appointment for you with a professor I know at
By this time, Miles was openly staring at Stephen, all slave protocol forgotten in obvious shock. “Y-you w-want me to go back to medical school?”
“Most likely,” Connor answered calmly. “Depending on how you test out and how well you work at NIH. I was impressed by what you were able to do in that camp, Miles, and especially by your concern for your patients. It would be a waste for that talent not to be used.”
He watched as the young man’s mouth opened and shut a few times. Miles, like many slaves, had developed an emotionless mask, a desperate attempt to hold something back from their owners, even if it was only their feelings. Connor watched as that hard-won mask cracked, showing the glimmer of hope the young man briefly allowed himself to feel.
And then the mask was back down.
“May I ask a question, Mast-Stephen?”
“Of course, Miles.” Stephen assured him.
Miles face was wooden as he asked, “When will the Claiming take place?”
Stephen sighed. The question wasn’t exactly unexpected. “I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you, Miles, but I’m serious when I say I purchased you primarily because of your medical skills.” He put his hands on the table and looked steadily into his slave’s eyes. “I can’t promise you that I will never take you, but I will promise you this – nothing we do together sexually will cause you pain.”
Miles didn’t so much as blink. “Of course not, Stephen. Thank you, Stephen.”
Connor smiled tightly. “I take no pleasure from an unwilling partner, Miles. When it happens – IF it happens – you’ll be as eager as I am.”
“Of course, Stephen.”
The slave’s voice was utterly bland and Connor knew that the young man was far from convinced. “Well, in any case, you needn’t worry about that for the time being. You’re still healing, Miles. It’s far to soon to be talking about Claiming.”
“I’m sorry for bringing it up, Stephen.”
Connor sighed. He preferred the shy and tentative Miles to this wooden automation. “Come on, if you’re done eating, I’ll give you the tour.”
Miles obediently got up and waited while Stephen led him to the living room. In the late morning light, it looked even emptier, the indentations in the couch making it clear where Stephen had slept. Connor didn’t comment on it. This room wasn’t really important. From there the two men walked down the hall, where Connor showed Miles the third of the bedrooms, eschewing the other two.
“This is your room,” Stephen said after he’d ushered Miles inside. “I know it leaves a lot to be desired at the moment, but we’ll get some stuff for you.”
Miles slowly turned in a circle. “My room, Master?”
“Yes,” Stephen answered firmly. “Everyone should have their own space, Miles. This is yours.” He smiled encouragingly at the young man. “And call me Stephen.”
“Sorry, M-Stephen.”
Connor noticed that his patient was swaying on his feet. “Come on, back to bed with you. Once you’re settled, I’ve got some errands to run.”
Miles looked surprised, but followed obediently. Stephen led him back to the main bedroom and watched while the slave nestled into the covers. After their conversation about Claiming, he didn’t try to help. He figured that Miles was uncomfortable enough as it was. He did, however, walk to the nightstand and scribble a number on the pad of paper there.
“That’s my cell phone number,” he explained. “I should be back by the time you wake up, but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
“Yes, Stephen.”
Stephen moved restlessly around the apartment for several minutes, waiting until Miles fell asleep before going out. He found it oddly difficult to leave the young man. Not because he was worried about Miles trying to escape. Frankly, the slave was in no condition for that, even if his record *had* indicated he had a history of escape attempts, which he didn’t. No, Connor simply was reluctant to be separated from him.
Finally, though, after he checked on the slave for the third time, he found Miles dozing and he left to do his errands. As he headed for the elevator, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger already.”
Oddly enough, Stephen didn’t mind it a bit.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The next morning was a lot more confusing than what had gone previously which, in Miles’ opinion, was pretty damn hard to do. He had a Master who wanted him for his medical skills? A man who wouldn’t Claim until he was healthy enough to withstand it, if it ever happened? Someone who wouldn’t abuse him on a whim? It was all a little too much for Miles to take in and it wasn’t just physical exhaustion that had him swaying on his feet by the end of the brief tour.
He found himself unable to sleep, despite the need to do so, and stared at the door, knowing the other man was gone. The apartment felt frightening without that soothing presence, but at the same time, Miles truly relaxed for the first time in forever. There was no one there to hurt him, lie to him, make promises that wouldn’t be kept. No one to degrade and humiliate him.
It was freedom, something that he hadn’t tasted in years.
Pushing himself upright, Miles hesitated before getting out of bed, but he did have the legitimate excuse of needing to relieve himself. He made his way slowly to the bathroom, leaning on the walls, and sat on the toilet, too weak to stand. The soft toilet paper was touched with reverence, the simple thing more than he’d had to use since he’d gone to the camps. The warm water from the sink was exquisite and he gazed with longing at the tub, but didn’t feel brave or strong enough to risk it.
Miles sighed to himself as he walked back to the bedroom, his thoughts all jumbled up about the man who’d bought him. He seemed trustworthy. None of his people feared him or had spoken badly of him in Miles’ hearing. Eva, the one he’d connected to the most due to a shared history as slaves, had gone on about how good and kind his Master was, that she only ever saw him get angry when an injustice was done. Thinking back on it now, he knew that she’d been trying to tell him without actually telling him that he’d been bought by the doctor and, also, that she’d been reassuring him that everything would be all right.
Miles wasn’t ready to believe that, but he was in a better situation than the camps and that alone was enough to give thanks. Climbing back into the bed, he sighed deeply and curled around a pillow, letting himself fall asleep.
Hoping that when he woke, this hadn’t all been a pleasant dream.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Shopping for a bed sounded a lot easier than it was. How do you pick out a mattress for someone you hardly know?
Stephen went to a ‘big box’ furniture store and made a beeline for the mattresses. He knew the size he wanted, but that was about it. Did Miles prefer a soft bed or a hard one? Luckily, a salesman saw his confusion and hurried over to assist.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?” the man smiled brightly as he greeted his potential customer.
“I’m in the market for a mattress,” Stephen explained, “but I don’t know what kind.”
“There are a lot of choices,” the salesman commiserated. “I always recommend considering the mattress you have now and deciding if you’re happy with how it suits you. That should give you an idea of what firmness to start looking at.”
“That’s the problem,” Connor admitted. “The bed’s not for me. I just brought home a new slave yesterday and it’s for him.”
“In that case, Sir, may I suggest you purchase a new
mattress for yourself?” The other man suggested. “The slave could then have your old one. Why
waste a new mattress on a slave?”
Stephen was too embarrassed to admit that his mattress was brand new too, having just moved out of the house he’d shared for the last ten years with his wife. “No, it should be for him. He’ll be spending a lot of time on it.”
The doctor, of course, meant that Miles would be resting a lot while recovering from the meningitis. The salesman, however, took a whole other meaning to Connor’s words.
“Ah, I see.” He leered. “We do have a special line of sleep products for slaves. Just over here.”
The salesman led Stephen to a corner of the show floor, where mattresses, bed frames, and headboards were displayed. All were utilitarian in appearance, almost Spartan.
“A lot of our Master clients find these models very convenient,” the clerk said with a knowing expression as he approached the nearest display. He reached up and grabbed a chain that was hanging off the headboard. Shackles, and they were attached directly to the bed. “The slave won’t be leaving this bed until you’re good and done with him, I guarantee it.” He gestured to the foot of the bed, where another set of shackles were visible. “And the footboard is similarly outfitted. It’s half price this week, with the purchase of a headboard.”
The idea of Miles chained to a bed made Stephen vaguely ill. He hadn’t forgotten how the slave had begged not to be restrained when the meningitis test had to be performed. He hadn’t been able to resist Miles’ pleas at the time and they echoed in his head now.
Without another word, Connor turned and left the store, completely ignoring the salesman trailing behind him. It was only absolute necessity that made him drive to another store. Miles would rest much better in a bed of his own and not that of his Master. Besides, that couch was not the most comfortable sleeping surface. For his own sake, as well as his slave’s, Stephen needed to get Miles a bed.
The next store was smaller and Connor wasn’t immediately accosted when he walked in. He easily located the mattresses and was relieved to notice that none of them came with shackles.
“May I help you, Sir?”
Another salesman, but this one was a lot older than the one in the first store.
“I need a mattress,” Stephen said, feeling a little déjà vu as he explained the situation again. “But it’s not for me, it’s for a slave that I just brought home yesterday.”
The salesman smiled. “Just a moment, I think Patty should be the one to help you. I think she can advise you better than I can.”
Connor went back to looking at mattresses and had just sat on one when a young woman approached him. As he looked up, he was surprised to see a thin, gold-toned chain around her neck. On it was an engraved charm that had the name of the store on it. Her name tag indicted that she was the Patty referred to by the first salesman.
“Miguel tells me that you need a mattress for your slave?” She inquired politely.
“Yes, but I’m not sure what kind would be best for him.”
“What kind of labor did he do before you acquired him?” Patty asked. “What kind of conditions is he used to?”
Stephen felt as though a light bulb had lit up above his
head. He was the doctor, he should have
thought of that himself. “He was an
agricultural laborer in a migrating camp.
“Well, then I would recommend that you not get something too soft,” the woman suggested. “If he’s not used to sleeping on something so soft, it would just do more harm than good. What you’re probably going to want to get is one of our more firm mattresses.”
Stephen not only ended up taking Patty’s advice on the mattress, but he purchased some other essentials. The apartment, after all, was still very bare. He also bought a small desk for Miles. If the young man ended up going back to medical school, then he would need a place to study.
On his way out, he made a point of stopping and speaking to the first sales person who’d approached him. The man, Miguel, turned out to not be just any salesman, but the owner of the store and Connor wanted to let him know how much he’d appreciated Patty’s help.
“She’s a gem,” the other man said, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her close. Patty’s face lit up, no fear in her expression at all. “I was a very lucky man when I brought her home.”
Stephen left the store feeling energized. Not only had he made some purchases that hopefully would make Miles feel more at home, but he’d also seen the type of Master/slave relationship that he craved. Miguel and Patty worked together with mutual respect and obviously cared about one another. From the adoring looks Patty gave her owner, she not only felt safe with him, but cared deeply for him. Stephen craved that and began to feel that perhaps his crazy idea had a chance of working after all.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At first, it was like living with a ghost.
Stephen had paid extra to have same-day delivery on the bed and mattress, but it was worth every penny. His own back was grateful that it wouldn’t spend another night on that couch and the look on Miles’ face as he was established in his own room was priceless. The young man slept a lot as he recovered, coming out only when Stephen insisted he eat. Connor had a feeling the slave didn’t need quite that much rest, but he let it slide for a while. Miles’ recovery had more to it than just physical recuperating; his comfort level with Stephen was important too.
Connor spent the time adjusting to his knew life. With his estranged wife out of the country
with their son, there wasn’t much else for him to do. He just hadn’t realized just how much of his
life revolved around work before. He had no hobbies, few friends that weren’t job-related,
and precious little else. It was unsettling.
As Miles grew stronger, Stephen began to pry him out of his room by assigning him simple tasks. Washing dishes, unpacking boxes and keeping an inventory of the groceries were all chores that wouldn’t tax a convalescent. Within a few more days, the slave wasn’t flinching as much around his owner, but still referred to Stephen as ‘Master’ about half the time. Connor didn’t have the heart to come down on him for that. He knew that by having Miles to address him so casually, he was asking the young man to break three years of very harsh training.
Stephen found himself with a hobby after all - watching Miles sleep. He found a reason to peek in on him at least once every night and during every nap, even though his patient was far beyond the need for such close scrutiny. As far as he could tell, Miles was unaware of his observation and Stephen wanted to keep it that way. So far, Miles was sleeping curled up in a fetal position. As the days went on, that position loosened a little, although Miles always – always – slept facing the door. The way Connor figured it, if he ever observed Miles sleeping sprawled across the mattress, he’d know the young man had finally learned not to be so wary of his new home and the man who’d brought him there.
Some of Stephen’s other purchases started being delivered, including a bookshelf for the living room. It was one of those furniture pieces that had to be assembled and Connor asked Miles to help him. Not with any heaving lifting, but in handing him parts and helping to decipher the instructions. It was the first time the two had worked together closely and it turned out to be a real breakthrough. The prolonged ‘safe’ contact with Stephen helped ease Miles’ tension.
“Hand me the screwdriver, please.”
“Yes, Sir,” Miles responded, handing Stephen the appropriate tool.
‘Sir.’ Well, it was better than ‘Master” and Connor didn’t object. “Thanks.”
A few minutes later the bookshelf was completed and the two men stepped back to admire their handiwork. Unfortunately, it didn’t look exactly the way that the floor model had at the store.
“Damn,” Stephen muttered. One shelf was less than straight. In fact, it was decidedly crooked.
“It looks like my first practice incision.”
It took everything Connor had not to gape. Miles had not only offered a personal tidbit, but he’d made a joke. Stephen didn’t want to draw too much attention to it and risk making the slave self-conscious, but neither did he want the comment to go unnoticed.
He grinned at Miles. “Mine too.” He slapped the younger man on the shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t quit my day job. C’mon, let’s fix it.”
Fixing it was easier said than done, since half of the bookshelf had to be disassembled to get to the shelf. They persevered, however, even if accompanied by some cursing on Stephen’s part. Thankfully, for Stephen’s patience, their second attempt did the job.
“Thank you for your help,” Connor said to Miles.
The slave looked up from where he was gathering the tools and smiled shyly. “Of course, Stephen. I’m yours. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
Connor moved to the side of the living room and dragged a box over. “I think you’ll like this next task.” He made another trip across the room and a second box joined the first. “Now that the shelves are up, they need to be filled. I want you to go through these boxes and organize the books as you put them on the shelves. You can arrange them in whatever order makes sense to you.”
“Yes, Stephen.”
“And take your time, this doesn’t have to be completed today.” Connor instructed as he moved towards the kitchen. “You’re still getting your strength, all that lifting might get to be too much for you.”
When there was no answer, Stephen turned to look behind him. Miles had opened the first box and taken out the book that was on top. It was a medical text, Grey’s Anatomy, a reference familiar to all medical students. The young man was sitting on the floor, the tome in his lap. Miles stroked reverent fingers across its cover, tears falling unheeded down his cheeks.
Stephen didn’t bother to repeat his admonishment, choosing instead to give Miles some privacy by removing himself to the kitchen. Once there, he puttered around a bit, trying to figure out something to fix for lunch. Nothing sounded good and, after several minutes, he had to admit that he had a craving for fresh air.
Connor peeked into the living room. Miles was kneeling and digging through the boxes. Already, several distinct piles had been made. It was only when he realized that the young man’s cheeks were dry that Stephen made his way into the room.
“I think it’s time that you had a chance to get out of here for a while,” Stephen stated as approached the slave. “We’re going out for lunch.”
“Out?” Miles repeated. His eyes darted to the door.
“Yes, out.” Stephen responded firmly.
He looked at Miles critically. He’d bought Miles some clothing early on, but not much. It didn’t make a lot of sense to outfit the slave with a wardrobe until he had a better idea of the young man’s true size. That would have to wait until Miles had gained some more weight. Since Miles had yet to leave the apartment, a couple of pairs of sweats had sufficed. Today, though, the slave was wearing jeans and a sweater and that would be perfectly presentable for the restaurant Stephen had in mind.
“The books can wait, Miles,” Stephen said kindly. “Come on, I’ll get you a coat.”
It wasn’t that cold outside, but Miles had little by way of natural insulation. Stephen loaned him one of his jackets. It was too big and the sleeves came down past his hands, but it would keep him warm.
Once Miles was outfitted, Stephen led the way out of the apartment and down the hall. As the duo got on the elevator, he realized that Miles was standing closer to him that he’d ever had before. In fact, the slave was standing almost *too* close. As they arrived at the lobby level and made their way to the street, Stephen figured out why.
Miles was not only a slave, he was a very attractive slave. He was still frail as he recovered, but his condition was improving. As they walked, Stephen couldn’t help but notice the looks of appreciation his young man was getting, some of them downright predatory. Miles had his eyes downcast, as was proper, but he clearly sensed the attention. As Miles’ owner, Stephen found the appreciation flattering, admiration of his slave was a good reflection on him. He could see how a slave, however, might feel vulnerable, particularly in a new ownership situation.
Connor considered Miles as they walked. On one hand, he appreciated that the slave found safety in his presence. On the other, he wished he could do more to reassure him.
“You’re safe with me, you know,” Stephen said quietly. They were waiting at a stoplight, waiting to cross the road. A burly man had just walked by, visibly undressing Miles as he stepped past.
“Yes, Stephen,” Miles whispered in response, but Connor doubted his sincerity.
The restaurant was on the far side of a park, which was part of the reason that Stephen chose it. Miles needed to build his strength and a gentle walk would be good for him. By the time they reached it, however, the young man was slightly out of breath. Connor resisted the urge to take the convalescent by the elbow and support him. He had every right to, but didn’t want to undermine the rapport they’d been building.
“Can I get you a table, Sir?”
Stephen turned at the sound of the voice. The restaurant’s hostess was looking at him expectantly. “Yes, for two, please.”
The woman looked at him brightly. “Yes, Sir.”
She led the two men to a table in the corner. Miles moved to take a position on a cushion on the floor, but Stephen intervened. A quick hand gesture directed Miles to a chair, although the slave wouldn’t sit until Connor did. The hostess placed a menu in front of Stephen and moved to leave. Stephen stopped her with a quick grab to her wrist. “My companion will need a menu too.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Another menu was placed in front of Miles, who didn’t move to touch it. Even after the hostess walked away, the slave looked at it as though it was a snake that was about to strike him.
“It’s a menu, Miles,” Stephen teased. “You use it to decide what you want to order.”
Miles looked up at him, confusion radiating from him. “Y-you want me to choose?”
“That’s the idea, yes.” Connor watched as Miles’ gaze dropped to the laminated pages of the menu. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a restaurant, hasn’t it, Miles?”
The slave shrugged and lifted his eyes to meet Stephen’s own. “Since I’ve sat at the table and looked at a menu, yes.” The slave’s attention drifted to a nearby table, where a thin young slave knelt on a cushion and ate tidbits from her Master’s hand. From the look of her, far too few of those had been fed to the unfortunate woman. Miles shuddered almost imperceptibly, but Stephen saw it.
“That’s not you,” Connor reassured him, reaching out to cover Miles’ hand with one of his own. The slave’s skin was cold. “Not any more. I told you, I take the responsibility of seeing to your care very seriously.”
“”I-…” Miles struggled for words and Stephen took pity on him.
“That’s alright, you don’t need to believe me right now,” Stephen assured him. “But you will soon.”
Their waiter arrived and introduced himself, placing glasses of water in front of both men and pointing out the specials. Stephen took pity on Miles and didn’t try to draw him into conversation while the young man read the menu. From the furrow in Miles’ brow and the way he bit his lips, picking out his own lunch was proving to be a difficult task.
After a few minutes, the waiter came back. “Have you made a choice, Sir?”
“Yes, I think I’ll have the shrimp scampi,” Stephen said, closing his menu and handing it back to the server.
“Very good, Sir,” the man answered. “And for your boy?”
Stephen looked at his slave. “Miles?”
Miles left off chewing his lip in order to answer. “I’ll have the eggplant parmesan.”
When Miles stated his choice, something clicked for Stephen, but he waited to comment until the waiter left. He handed the young man a piece of bread from a basket on the table and waited until the slave was nibbling on it before asking his question. “Miles, are you a vegetarian?”
The young man dropped his bread onto the plate and started shredding it. “I’ll eat whatever you want me to, Master.”
“That’s not what I mean, Miles.” Stephen said gently but firmly. “If you have an eating preference, I need to know. My concern is for your health, especially helping you regain it. If offering you vegetarian food helps stimulate your appetite, then that’s information I need to know.”
“Yes, Master,” Miles whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll eat whatever you want me to.”
Stephen reached out and covered Miles’ hand with his own, stopping the slave from further mutilating his innocent slice of bread. “I know you’ve obediently eaten everything I’ve provided, I just wish I would have known to give you food more to your liking.” He sighed as he realized the hand underneath his own was shaking. “Miles, I realize that you’re not used to having a Master who actually cares about what you want, but I do. For that reason, I’m not going to punish you, but from now on, if there’s information about you that could affect your health, you should let me know right away.”
“Yes, Master.” Miles glanced briefly up at Connor. “I’m not allergic to anything.”
Stephen smiled. “That’s good to know.” Point made, he changed the subject. “So, do you know any vegetarian recipes?”
Miles looked up from underneath lowered lashes, visibly trying to judge the sincerity of the question. Apparently, he liked what he saw in his owner’s expression, because he actually smiled a little as he answered. “No, not really. I’m not much of a cook.”
“That’s okay, I am.” Connor claimed. Seeing Miles’ look of surprise, he laughed. “My family believed that if you had to put yourself through college, you would appreciate the experience more. I did it as a cook.”
Despite the rocky start, the conversation flowed from there and remained smooth throughout lunch and the walk back to the apartment. To Stephen’s delight, he found that Miles had been a college football fan and a good audience for Connor’s tales of being a player during his university years.
Miles was yawning by the time they returned home, but Stephen didn’t take it personally. It had been an eventful day for a man still recovering from a near-fatal illness. “Go take a nap, you look like you could use it.”
The slave smiled and ducked his head. “Thank you, Master,” he said shyly as he turned to go to his room.
Stephen waved a hand at him. “Don’t mention it. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“No, not that,” Miles hesitantly corrected him. “For everything today. It’s the first time in a long time that I felt like me… and not just a slave.”
Miles fled down the hallway before Stephen had a chance to respond. He stood alone in the living room, a big, goofy grin spread across his face.
Something had been built today – and it was much more than a bookshelf.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The bright lights bothered Miles and he blinked away protective tears. At least, he told himself that his tears were merely a reaction to the bank of lights shining down on him and not because he was afraid.
“C’mon, boy. Show time.”
Miles stumbled as the man yanked hard on his chain. He refused, even in the depths of his mind, to refer to the brute as his ‘owner’ or ‘Master.” It was only a quick reach for the arena wall that kept him from a fall.
“Careful, boy. Don’t want no bruises before we even get started.”
Whether he wanted to or not, Miles found himself pulled out of the shadow of the staging area and into the spotlight. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but what really caught Miles’ attention were the two benches placed in the center of the raised platform. Each was covered in a pristine white sheet and workers were just finishing hosing off the floor.
Miles’ mind skittered away from the meaning of those white cloth-covered shapes. He was very glad that he hadn’t been fed that morning. If he had anything in his stomach, he’d be embarrassing himself right now.
“Now, don’t be shy, boy.” The man chuckled, the evil sound of his laughter slithering past the noise of the arena audience.
Another man stepped forward and grabbed Miles’ arm, pulling him to the front of the stage. Over the distortion of the arena’s sound system, Miles could discern his father’s crimes being listed. The crowd hissed and Miles saw his fathering being led out. It was hard to recognize him. Montgomery McCabe had been gelded and Claimed the week before. Along with the rest of his family, Miles had been forced to watch.
In the face of his father’s suffering, it had been hard to be angry with him. No doubt his father was going to be made to watch his wife and son’s public Claiming and entry into the slave life. Miles only hoped his sisters would be spared from being forced to witness it. They were both older than Miles and adults in their own right. Neither would have been pulled into their father’s punishment, even if they hadn’t already been married. It was a mercy for which Miles had been profoundly grateful.
“Miles!”
The young man’s head twisted around at that familiar and beloved voice. His mother was being led out from the other side of the stage.
“Mom!”
Miles choked as his chain was abruptly pulled, stopping him from going to his distraught mother. As he fell to his knees and struggled to breath, the crowd cheered.
“Hang on there, pretty boy,” the man controlling him bent and whispered in his ear. “You’ll be spending quality time with dear old mommy in just a minute.”
Miles’ mind froze as he was manhandled to the benches. He was made to stand next to one and the second man strode over. As Miles was held, the man ripped off the young man’s pants with a dramatic flair. The crowd shrieked its approval. With a crushing sense of dread, Miles realized that the men controlling him were wearing togas and their interest in the proceedings was made clear by the large cocks jutting out from underneath the short garments.
“No,” he whispered.
He’d know this was going to happen, had been told the very day he was arrested for simply being his father’s son. They’d even isolated him in the slave pens, so he’d be ‘fresh’ for this moment. The guards had taken great pleasure in describing to him what would happen, but it hadn’t seemed real.
It was all too real now.
Miles vaguely realized he was yelling as the men forced him over the bench. He could hear his mother’s cries in the background, but couldn’t tell if she was screaming because of what was happening to him or if she was going through the same torment. He fought as hard as he could, hands and legs becoming tangled in the sheet that covered the bench. The sheet became his enemy too, the cloth thirsty for the blood of his Claiming...
“Miles….”
At first, Miles thought the voice was his mother’s, simply because its tone meant safety.
“Miles.”
Then he realized it was a man and thought briefly that it was his father. He quickly discarded that notion. He’d learned not to trust his father, even before the man had made the error in judgment that ruined Miles’ life.
“Miles!”
The third time, the call of his name was accompanied by shaking. Miles’ eyes popped open. Stephen Connor stood above him, large warm hands still on Miles’ shoulders. The light spilling behind from the hallway made a halo of the doctor’s blond hair. Not for the first time, Miles thought Stephen looked like an angel.
“Miles, are you all right?”
The question prompted memories of his dream and Miles felt himself start to shake. He hadn’t had the nightmare about his first Claiming in a long time, but that didn’t lessen its impact.
“No,” he whispered in absolute misery. Without explaining further, he turned and vomited on the floor.
Even in his misery, Miles was aware of the strong body supporting his as he retched. When his stomach was empty of its contents, Stephen helped Miles lie back against the pillows. Miles knew he should be moving to clean up the mess, but he couldn’t do anything. Limp from both the dream and the vomiting, he lay placidly as Stephen felt of his forehead.
“You don’t have a fever,” the doctor said as he sat back on his haunches. Miles was relieved that his owner hadn’t sat on the bed. He knew he would have endured it, but it would have been hard to bear that intimacy at the moment. “I don’t think you’re having a meningitis relapse.”
“I’m sorry, Ma-Stephen,” Miles said, correcting himself at the last moment.
Connor looked at him strangely. “All I want you to do right now is clean yourself up.” He pointed towards the hallway, clearly indicating he wanted his slave to make use of the bathroom.
Miles swallowed. He’d been waiting for Stephen Connor to Claim him, dreading it despite how kind the doctor had been. With resignation, he slid out of the ruined mess of his bed and padded barefoot down the hall.
Hard-won experience had taught Miles not to keep a Master waiting. Despite how his limbs still shook from the vestiges of his dream, he made quick work of his shower. Toweling off, he maintained eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom’s large mirror. He didn’t recognize the pale man staring back at him, the wide frightened eyes seeming to belong to a stranger.
After he was dry, there was nothing left to keep him from his duty. Miles belatedly realized he’d brought nothing clean with him to change into. He shrugged; it didn’t matter. Clothes weren’t needed for a Claiming anyway.
Reminding himself that Stephen Connor was the kindest Master he’d ever had, Miles wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked past his room to the Master bedroom – only to find it empty.
Miles stood for a minute, contemplating the rumpled bed as though it had betrayed him Then, with a deep sigh, he headed back to his room. So much for having his own space, being Claimed there would ruin it as a sanctuary. He shouldn’t complain; he’d had it for a few days anyway. It was more than he’d had since been Chained.
When he reached his room, however, Miles was in for a bit of a surprise. His bed was sporting fresh sheets and his Master was on his knees, scrubbing the floor.
Stephen looked up as Miles entered the room. “There you are. I thought maybe you got lost.”
“I thought you wanted….” Miles fumbled, gesturing vaguely towards Stephen’s room.
Connor smiled at him. “No. I just didn’t think you could sleep again until you’d had a chance to get clean.” He stood and gathered the soiled sheets.
“Master, I should be doing that,” Miles protested, surging forward to take the nasty bundle.
Stephen snorted. “I’m a doctor, Miles. I’ve seen more body fluids than I can shake a stick at. I’ll take care of this, you go back to bed.”
Miles hesitated and Stephen’s voice grew more firm. “That’s an order, Miles.”
The doctor waited until Miles had crawled under the covers, not commenting on the way the towel stayed firmly in place.
“Good night, Miles,” he said pleasantly as he turned out the light.
“Good night…. Stephen,” Miles responded.
After the nightmare he’d had, Miles expected to have a hard time falling asleep. He was wrong. He started drifting off almost as soon as he heard Connor’s quiet footsteps fade away.
It was if Stephen had cleaned the foul remnants of the dream as he’d cleaned the floor. Miles didn’t understand it, but then, he’d been in a constant state of confusion since becoming the possession of one Dr. Stephen Connor.
He just didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephen was out the door first thing in the morning. When Miles had finally emerged from his room, the slaved had looked every bit as hag-ridden as Stephen felt, with dark circles under those expressive brown eyes. The night before, Connor had checked on the slave about an hour after they’d each returned to their beds. Miles had been sleeping peacefully enough, but the fear caused by the dream lingered in the pinched expression on the young man’s face.
The slave’s cries had roused Connor from a sound sleep and brought him running from his bed. From the manner in which the young man had writhed and pleaded, there had been little guesswork involved in figuring out what his nightmare had been about. Stephen had spent the rest of a sleepless night trying to figure out how to reassure the slave that such violent Claimings were all in the past.
Time, of course, was the best healer, but Stephen didn’t have the patience for that. He was able to fall asleep only when he had the idea of getting a Chain made for Miles. Whether he knew it or not, Miles was a favored slave; it was time he looked the part. Not only should it reassure the young man of his place in Stephen’s life, but could also serve as a warning to the others who admired Miles’ handsome looks. Connor had not forgotten the predatory glances his slave had gotten the day before. The looks were okay, as long as no one tried to touch Miles. That was something that Stephen simply would not abide.
Even though it had been years since he’d owned a slave, Stephen knew exactly where to go to find a Chain. The best Chain work was to be found at a family-run shop downtown. He left Miles with instructions to continue work on stocking the bookshelves and headed for the store.
Deciding where to shop had been easy. Choosing a Chain was not. Stephen was not a ostentatious man and, from what he could tell, neither was Miles. He wanted something special, he just didn’t know what. The shop had a dizzying assortment of ornaments and it didn’t look for Stephen to realize he was out of his depth.
“May I be of assistance?”
Connor looked up gratefully at the sales person, an African-American man who appeared to be about Stephen’s age.
“I hope so,” he responded, relief coloring his voice. “I need to get a chain for a favored slave, but I don’t know where to begin.”
“Male or female?”
“Male.” Stephen tried not to think of Miles, clad only in a towel. While still a little frail, the young man’s formerly emaciated form was beginning to fill out nicely.
“We have a nice variety over here, Sir.” The sales associate brought Stephen to a case lined with deep blue velvet.
‘Nice’ was an understatement. The display was full of glittering jewelry. Connor saw at least a half dozen different gemstones, set in Chains of all sorts of sizes and styles.
“Do you see anything you like?” The store clerk asked politely.
Stephen ran a hand over his hair. “They’re very attractive, but a little … flashier … than what I had in mind. Miles wouldn’t be comfortable wearing anything like that.”
The other man smiled in understanding. “Why don’t you tell me more about him? Maybe that will help me direct you to something a little more appropriate.”
“Well, he’s tall and has dark hair. Pale skin.” Well, it was becoming pale now that Miles was away from that horrible farming camp. “He’s been through a lot, but it hasn’t broken him, not completely. He’s shy, but compassionate. Smart. Sweet….”
Stephen trailed off, belatedly aware that he was gushing. By the smile he was getting from the sales person, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Miles sounds like a special young man,” the other man responded.
“You must think I sound like a teenager with a crush,” Stephen said sheepishly.
The clerk shook his head.
The display case they were standing at was close to the cash register
and he pulled a small photo in a magnetic frame off the side of the
counter. “This is
“What would you suggest?” Connor asked, impressed by the man’s understanding.
The clerk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You said he has dark hair and pale skin, right?” At Stephen’s nod, he made up his mind as to what to suggest. “We’ve got something new that should be striking on a man with that coloring. Black zirconium.”
“Zirconium?” Stephen repeated. “The imitation diamond material? That’s not going to work. It’s too gaudy and, besides, if I wanted Miles in diamonds, I’d buy him the real thing.”
The salesman smiled as he unlocked a case behind the counter. “You’re thinking of cubic zirconium. Black zirconium is actually a metal and it’s in the titanium family. I think it would meet your requirements of being special, but not too flamboyant.”
As soon as Connor saw it, he realized that the man knew what he was talking about. The Chains were black, almost a cross between onyx and black pearl. Some were glossy and some were matte, but all were breathtaking.
Stephen smiled. “Perfect.”
Connor ended up picking a Chain in a rather simple style, since the black zirconium itself was so striking. It was easier choosing a name plate; since the black zirconium was so new, there simply weren’t that many choices. In short order, he’d picked out a beveled oval shape that complimented the chain. The salesman promised he’d get the silver interlay of Connor’s name done in the style the doctor had chosen within the hour, which fit in perfectly with Stephen’s plans.
With a much lighter heart, Stephen left the store for his next errand and pulled out his cell phone. The Chain, he was sure, would offer Miles some reassurance and time would do even more to help the young man find his equilibrium in his new life. Until then, though, he knew someone who might be able to help. Someone so persuasive, that surely she’d be able to convince Miles that it was all right to feel safe with Stephen, even if it was just a little.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miles fit the last book on the shelf with twin feelings of satisfaction and disappointment. Satisfaction in that he’d completed his task and that it had turned out well. The disappointment came from the fact that he’d enjoyed the chore and was sorry to see it end. Handling medical texts had brought back happier times and, for the first time in a long time, he’d felt like Miles McCabe again. The task and feeling alike couldn’t last, though, and when the last box was finished, Miles was brought back to the reality that he was a slave and that his time was not his own to manage.
The apartment felt achingly empty without Master Stephen’s presence. Not that Connor was a loud man, but he had a tendency to fill a room anyway. Miles still felt nervous about the night before. His Master had asked if he was feeling well, but that was the only way he’d referenced the dream. Any other owner Miles had in the past would have beaten him soundly for waking him up, let alone cleaning up his mess. Then again, the only thing Miles could expect from Master Stephen was the unexpected. With that in mind, he was trying his best not to trust the man. Sure enough, as soon as he expected kindness from Connor, his Master would show his true colors and turn out to be as much of a bastard as all of the others. It was only a matter of time.
The Master had left unusually early and instructed Miles to continue to work on the bookshelf. Connor had been gone longer than previous errands and Miles didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was finished with his chore. After last night, going back to bed held little interest, but he didn’t quite dare turn the television on either. Exploring was out of the question. In an apartment, he couldn’t see the Master approach and it would be too easy to be caught.
In the end, the slave decided that the books were the safest option. He found one of the texts that had been on the reading list for his last semester, the semester he’d only just started when he’d been caught up in the aftermath of his father’s association with the abolitionist cell. Miles took the book and curled up with it on the couch. He was still there an hour later when his Master returned. In fact, he was so deeply engrossed in what he was reading that he didn’t even hear the key turn in the lock.
“It’s good to see you enjoying yourself.”
Miles startled so badly that he dropped the text. He jumped off the couch and was on his knees with his head bowed before the book hit the floor. “I’m sorry, Master. I finished what you told me to and had no other assignments. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”
The slave heard the other man sigh deeply and tensed as Connor put a hand on his head. His Master only ruffled his hair, however, before bidding him to get up. “That’s not a problem, Miles. I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Thank you… Stephen,” Miles winced as he realized that in his haste to explain, he’d once again forgotten to address his owner by his name, as he’d been instructed to.
Connor studied him carefully. “Those sweats are fine for around the house, but you’ll need to change. The outfit you wore yesterday should be fine.” Stephen glanced at his watch. “If you hurry, you should have time before she gets here.”
Miles had already been moving to his room, but hesitated when his owner threw in that last phrase. He wondered who ‘she’ was, but wasn’t quite brave enough to ask. Something of his puzzlement must have shown in his face, though, because his Master explained anyway.
“Eva Rossi is on her way over and you’ll need to be dressed to accompany her,” Connor stated. “The two of you are going to have a busy afternoon.”
The young man’s heart dropped. He’d been lent out to his owners’ friends before, but usually not so soon and rarely to a woman. He was thankful for the latter, as he had a difficult time performing with a female. Being Claimed by a male merely necessitated his physical presence, not his willing participation. As his disappointment grew, Miles became aware that he’d broken his own rule. He’d begun to trust Stephen Connor, after all, but now the man was showing his true colors.
“Miles, is there something wrong?”
Miles took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “Master, I need to warn you. I have a difficult time servicing women. I can’t seem to summon the proper… enthusiasm… necessary to perform. I’ve been punished for it before, but nothing seems to help. I don’t mean to be disrespectful or disobedient, but I thought I should warn you.”
From the blank look on his owner’s face, it took a minute for his words to make sense. Miles could pinpoint the exact moment they did, because the other man started to blush.
“No, Miles,” Stephen choked out. “That’s not what you’re going with Eva to do. She’s simply going to take you shopping for clothes.”
It was Miles’ turn to gape. “Shopping?”
Connor smiled and Miles realized there was a twinkle in those pale eyes. The choking a minute before hadn’t been anger, it was an attempt to hold back laughter. “You can hardly go to NIH dressed in sweatpants, Miles, and that one pair of jeans you have would wear out pretty quickly. Eva’s going to help you pick out some things that are more appropriate.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Now get moving, she’ll be here any moment – and I advise keeping that ‘servicing’ comment to yourself. Eva has some rather strong preferences.”
Miles hurried to obey, mind whirling. He’d had Masters decorate him before, so the clothing part wasn’t new. But picking out something for himself? That didn’t make sense. A slave’s appearance was supposed to be a reflection on his Master and, besides, wouldn’t his owner want Miles attired to please his own sense of style?
His confusion didn’t slow Miles down, though, and he was just tying his shoes when he heard the door open. After running fingers through his hair, trying to tame it, he hastened back to the living room.
“There he is now,” Steven said as Miles entered. “We were just talking about you.”
Eva smiled at the slave. “Nice things, of course.”
“Hello, Miss Rossi. It’s nice to see you again.” Miles said, eyes dropping automatically to the floor.
“None of that,” she responded with a laugh, “I told you before to call me Eva.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Stephen smiled ruefully. “Good luck with that, Eva. Miles has a hard time using first names.” He turned his attention towards Miles. “Eva will look out for you today, but I want you to have this.” He handed Miles a small, thin leather case. “These will identify you as mine and that you’re authorized to act on my business.”
Miles opened the case and found his papers. He took them out reverently and saw that his name was inscribed, along with his registration number. He’d never had papers before, usually his Masters didn’t let him wander too far from the bed and they’d never been necessary before.
“Thank you, M-… Stephen.” He carefully stowed them in his jeans pocket. It’d only been a few minutes since Connor told him he’d be going out with Eva, but he’d already had time to worry. It was one thing to be out with Master Stephen without papers, quite another to be out with Miss Rossi without any official identification.
“You’re welcome,” Stephen answered. “And I also have something else for you.”
Miles watched while his master walked over to his coat and took a small box out of his pocket. He felt a frisson of dread spike through his belly. No doubt Connor had a new Chain for him, a pretty one. He hated the hypocrisy of that. A Chain was still a chain, no matter how fancy it was.
“I thought it was time you had something to indicate your status,” Master Stephen explained. “You’re important to me, Miles, and I wanted you and everyone else to know that.”
Connor extended the box and opened it. Both Miles and Eva bent forward to see what was inside, but it was Miss Rossi who exclaimed in delight.
The Chain was black, with the pure sheen of fine metal. Miles had never seen its like before and he thought he’d seen more than his fare share of fancy Chains. He only spared a minute for the Chain itself, though. It was the oval disk suspended on the chain that caught his attention. It had ‘Connor’ written on it in simple lettering with silver inlay. That wasn’t unexpected. What made Miles catch his breath was the symbol that accompanied the letters, a caduceus, the universal sign of a physician.
Miles blinked quickly as his eyes filled with tears. True, the caduceus was there due to Stephen Connor’s status as a doctor and not his own, but still…. To go from a glorified whore to wearing a healer’s symbol, it was almost more than Miles could take. With reverent fingers, he stroked its gleaming surface.
“Would you like to wear it?” Stephen offered softly.
Miles nodded. “Please, Sir.”
With Eva watching, Stephen lifted the Chain out of the box. Miles turned around so his owner could fit it around his neck and couldn’t help but shiver when he felt Connor’s hands brush against his nape. The metal felt cool against his skin at first, but soon warmed up.
“Wow, that looks really nice,” Eva commented. “There’ll be no question of Miles’ most favored status while he’s got that on.”
“That’s the idea,” Stephen said with satisfaction. He visibly admired the Chain on Miles for a few moments before shaking himself. “Look, you two have a lot of stores to hit. You better get going.”
“Come on, Miles, you heard the man,” Eva chirped, brandishing a small piece of plastic. “It’s not often I get to shop on someone else’s credit card. Let’s hit the mall before the man changes his mind.”
Despite the papers and the Chain, Miles was reluctant to leave. As confusing as he found Master Stephen, he couldn’t deny the fact that he felt safer with the man than he did out and about without him. Connor picked up on his unease, squeezing his shoulder as he handed the younger man his coat.
“It’ll be fine, Miles,” Stephen said in a quiet voice that was only meant for Miles’ ears. “Eva is more resourceful than she looks. Even in the unlikely event that the papers and the Chain aren’t enough to protect you, she’ll look out for you. Just do whatever she says and you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, Stephen.”
Connor patted him on the arm. “Eva, you better count on stopping and feeding yourselves. He’s reluctant to admit it, but Miles is a vegetarian. Make sure he gets something he can tolerate.”
“Okay, carrots instead of cow, got it.” Eva acknowledged.
“Have fun,” Connor instructed, walking them to the door.
Miles didn’t bother to respond. Shopping hadn’t been a lot of fun when he was free; he doubted the experience would improve as a slave. His steps were heavy as they left the apartment and, as he turned to get into the elevator, he saw Stephen standing at the door, watching. He ducked his head as Connor waved at him, embarrassed to find the gesture reassuring.
The car ride was awkward, but Eva didn’t seem to notice. She chatted away as though she and Miles were old friends. She clearly didn’t expect Miles to respond and he was grateful for that. Of all the people he’d met since coming into contact with the NIH team, Eva seemed to have the best grasp on Miles’ situation. The fact that she had herself been a slave no doubt gave her a greater understanding. While he didn’t feel quite as safe with her as he did Master Stephen, Miles at least figured she would be more sympathetic.
A hour later, in the middle of the men’s department of a trendy store, he wasn’t quite so sure.
“Miles, you have to have *some* sort of preference,” Eva exclaimed in exasperation.
“I want to wear what pleases my Master,” Miles responded, as he had been doing for the last half an hour. Each time the young woman pointed out an outfit or style, Miles remained noncommittal on whether he liked it or not.
“And you don’t care what it is?” Eva’s eyes narrowed skeptically as she contemplated him.
“No.”
“Okay,” Miles didn’t feel better when he saw the bright smile that went along with Eva’s sudden capitulation. “Then you can try this, this and this.”
In short order, Miles had an armful of clothing and was headed into the changing room, with strict instructions to show Eva each outfit after he donned it. As he put the first one on, he realized what she was doing. Sighing, he stepped out of the dressing room. The pants he was wearing were a good two inches too short, the white short-sleeved top was too baggy and the bowtie was completely out of date. When Eva saw him, though, she cooed as though he didn’t look like a reject from the science club.
“You look great,” she complimented him. “Stephen likes the intellectual type.”
“If it pleases him, then it pleases me,” Miles said stoically.
Eva cocked her head to the side. “Good. Now try the second one.”
The next outfit was the opposite extreme. The cargo-type pants were baggy and hung down so low that his underwear showed. The black mesh top was short and left his bellybutton showing. As Miles stepped out of the dressing room, he didn’t know whether to tug his shirt down or his pants up.
“Sexy,” Eva commented. “This look will go over well in the NIH offices. What do you think?”
“If my Master likes it, then it pleases me,” Miles ground out.
Eva nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say. Now try the last one.”
The last one was the worst of the lot; Miles didn’t think that spandex came in lime green. When he came out this time, he didn’t bother to hide his dismay.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he asked, appalled enough by the outlandish clothing that he forgot his normal shyness.
His companion laughed. “I thought that one might be too much. Seriously, Miles, Stephen sent you shopping with me so you’d feel free to pick out things that you’d like to wear, that would make you feel comfortable. Is that such a hard thing to do?”
Miles shrugged, his eyes fixed on the floor. “It’s been a long time since I had a choice in my clothing, Eva. Usually whatever I wore was to please my Master and my only concern was to make sure I knew how to get out of them quickly.”
He heard Eva sigh. “I suppose I can understand that. Things have changed for you, Miles. It’s just going to take a little time for you to believe it.” She paused and then came up with an alternate idea. “Say, before you were a slave, what did you like to wear?”
The question caused Miles to flinch; for those not born to slavery, talking about life before they were Chained was usually a no-no amongst slaves. He knew that Eva was a little put out with him over the whole wardrobe thing, though, so he didn’t take offense.
“I don’t know,” he answered reluctantly. “I usually didn’t go for such trendy stuff. I liked clothes that were a little more earthy.”
“I should have guessed,” Eva responded. “All right, I know just the place.”
It only took a few moments for him to change clothes and then the two of them walked to another store. This one marketed itself as outdoorsy to urban upwardly mobile types who were more likely to walk on the moon than to take a nature hike. There, Miles finally let his preferences show. Eva blew through the store like hurricane, not letting Miles pass by anything that he even remotely liked. He lost count of the number of times he was sent back to the dressing room, with each armful of clothing larger than the last.
“I didn’t think this store held this many sweaters,” Miles muttered under his breath as he changed his garments yet again.
“I can help you get dressed,” a voice wafted over the dressing room door.
Miles froze. He was in-between outfits and was wearing only his boxers. “No, that’s okay, thank you. I’m fine.”
The door opened anyway, revealing another customer. A large, male customer. “I’ve been watching you, boy.” The stranger growled. “I don’t think that little lady can handle you. Seems to me she needs somebody to help settle you down.”
Miles retreated as far back into the little changing cubicle as the limited space would allow. “Please, Sir. My Master sent me here.” He turned to fumble at his pants, laying in a pile on the floor. “I can show you my papers.”
“Don’t care about your papers, boy.” The newcomer said, taking advantage of Miles’ position to grope his ass.
“Well, maybe you should.”
Miles closed his eyes in relief at the familiar voice. Thankfully, the stranger dropped his hands as both men turned. Eva was standing in the doorway, eyes blazing, looking much taller than her petite frame would account for.
The other man held up his hands as he eased away from Miles. “Hey, no harm, no foul, lady.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said icily, one eyebrow raised.
Another man entered the fray. “Is there a problem here?” According to the newcomer’s nametag, he was the store manager, a fact that was not lost on Eva.
“What kind of rinky dink place are you running here?” She turned her anger on the manager. “I should be able to bring a perfectly behaved slave here without worrying about him getting accosted in the dressing room.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss,” the manager answered. “We run a respectable establishment, I assure you. Your property should be perfectly safe here.”
“Hey, I didn’t do nothing!” The first man protested.
“Only because I got here before you could,” Eva retorted. She turned to the manager and gestured to the pile of things waiting to be paid for and then to the other man’s empty hands. “Whose version of events is more valuable to you?”
It took the manager less than a second to make up his mind. By this time, two security guards had arrived. In the bustle of removing the man who’d made trouble for Miles, Eva was able to whisper to the slave. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responded, shaking a little bit.
Eva took his hand and squeezed it. “Hang in there. I’m going to try and make sure that somebody pays for this.”
When the troublemaker was gone, Eva focused all of her attention on the manager. “Perhaps we need to discuss what would help me to forget this little incident.”
Thankfully, Eva took her negotiations outside the dressing room. Miles sat on the chair for a moment and his face in his hands. His fingers went to the Chain around his neck. Touching it made him feel better, almost as though Master Stephen was there with him. In a way, maybe he was. Connor hadn’t sent Miles on this errand on his own, he’d sent a champion of sorts with him and Miles felt guilty for having doubted Eva’s abilities in that regard earlier.
Taking a deep breath, he got up and started getting dressed. By the time Eva had wrangled the manager up to a 25% discount, Miles had regained his calm. He was glad, though, when she suggested they take a break and have lunch. He didn’t think his nerves could handle much more shopping.
A little while later found him doing something he thought he’d never do again, sitting across from a pretty girl and ordering lunch.
“So, you’re a vegetarian?” Eva asked.
Miles spooned a little more banana milkshake into his mouth and savored it before answering. “Since junior high.” He didn’t know why, but it was much easier to be relaxed around Eva and he rarely forgot to call her by her first name.
“That’s got to be hard to manage when you’re a slave,” she said.
The milkshake suddenly didn’t taste so good. “I didn’t get a choice,” he responded softly. “I learned pretty quick to eat whatever I got and be thankful for it, but my body never did get so it processed meat products well. I … managed.”
Eva nodded. “I take it Stephen’s a little different?”
Miles snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“What do you mean?”
“Master Stephen’s unlike any Master I’ve had or have heard about,” Miles responded, a hint of the confusion he’d felt for days evident in his voice. “He’s kind and gentle and generous…”
“You say that like it’s a problem,” Eva laughed.
“I don’t understand him!” Miles cried out in frustration. Realizing he’d gotten overly emotional, he tried to get a hold of himself. “I don’t know what he wants from me.”
“Maybe he just wants to help you,” Eva suggested.
Miles shook his head. “He *owns* me, Eva. It’s been my experience that Masters usually like to use what they own.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.
Eva put her hand over Mile’s. His was so cold that hers was almost hot to the touch. “And maybe he’s a good guy, Miles, just like he seems. You’re going to have to learn to trust people again.”
“Maybe,” Miles answered grudgingly. Silently, he told himself that trust was like freedom, a thing in his past.
“There’s one thing I need to warn you about,” Eva said with some hesitation. When Miles looked sharply at her, she explained. “It’s nothing too terrible, just that Stephen’s *really* intense about his job.”
“You say that like it’s a problem,” Miles teased, using her earlier words against her. Even with Eva, he wouldn’t have dared so much, but he was anxious to get away from the emotionally laden subject area they’d wandered into.
Eva chuckled. “When I say ‘intense,’ I mean *really* intense. Stephen gives 150% on the job and he expects everyone else to do the same.”
“He’s a good doctor.” To his mild surprise, Miles found himself defending his owner.
“Of course he is,” Eva assured him. “It’s just he can get a little … snarly … when we’re working a case. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn’t take it personally.”
Their meals arrived then and the conversation turned to other matters. As Eva chattered on, Miles got to know the NIH team through her words. Frank Powell was sometimes gruff, but had a heart of gold. Kate Ewing was the ultimate boss and could be a bitch. And Natalie Durant was described in such glowing terms that, if she hadn’t been a pagan, Miles would assume that she was a saint.
Like in the car on the drive to the mall, Miles let his companion’s words wash over him. Oddly enough, it had made him feel better to know that Stephen could be a little demanding at work. That flaw, if it was one, made him more human. Somehow, more real. Mostly, he thought about how Eva had described Natalie and knew he would never feel about Stephen Connor that way.
But even as he thought it, his fingers returned to the Chain around his neck and stroked it reverently.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Miles, it’ll be okay. Try to relax.”
The two men were walking through the campus of
“I’m sorry, Stephen,” Miles responded. “It’s just that I know how important today is. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Stephen pulled Miles to the side of the busy sidewalk, out of the way of those people bustling off to class. He put his hand underneath the slave’s chin and gently made Miles look at him. “There’s nothing to worry about. Today is just an assessment, to find out how much you’ve retained from medical school. There is no pass or fail here; no disappointment. Do you understand?”
Miles’ eyes darted off to the side. “I’m trying to, Master. It’s just that I know you want me to be able to work at NIH and be productive.”
Connor shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that, Miles. You *will* be with me at NIH, no matter what the results are here today. The assessment is just to figure out in what capacity you’ll be working, that’s all.”
Stephen had dropped his hand to Miles’ shoulder and kept it lightly resting there. He could feel the tense body underneath relax slightly at his words. “Come on,” he instructed the slave. “We don’t want to keep Dr. Chimienti waiting.”
They continued heading to the proper building and Stephen resumed surreptitiously watching his companion. Miles seemed a little more comfortable, but still looked worried. Connor had thought he would be more enthusiastic. With Eva’s help, he’d gotten copies of the slave’s school transcripts. Miles had been an excellent student. In fact, despite being admitted to the university at a younger age than was normal, Miles had been near the top of his class. It was a shame his education had been interrupted.
He hadn’t lied to Miles, the slave *would* be working with him at NIH. It remained only to discover in what capacity. Gods knew, they needed the help. NIH had been hit by the same budget cuts the rest of the government had seen. When their last resident had finished her rotation with the team, she’d moved on, realizing that the work wasn’t quite right for her. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to replace her. There was no chance, of course, that Miles would test out as a full doctor or probably even at the same medical school level he was before he was Chained. But, after what he’d seen at the camps, Stephen was hoping that the slave could at least be cleared to assist with patient care, freeing up other personnel for actual investigative work.
Sooner than Miles probably liked, they reached their destination. Stephen knew exactly where to go, Dr. Chimienti had been his advisor when he was in med school. He led Miles down the corridor and stopped just outside the office.
“We’re here,” he announced. “Just remember what I told you, there’s no pass or fail. I’m not going to be disappointed or angry, no matter the outcome. Okay?”
Miles licked his lips nervously before answering. “Yes, Master.”
Connor nodded, choosing to ignore his slave’s continued uneasiness. “Good.”
He turned and knocked on the door, opening it when he heard a faint order to come in. As he entered the office, Stephen felt a sense of déjà vu come over him. How many times had he come here for help when he was a student himself?
“Stephen, my boy, you are a sight for sore eyes!” A voice greeted him. “You’re also late. Haven’t you learned not to lollygag by now?”
Connor almost laughed as he saw Miles’ eyes go round with surprise. Dr. Irene Chimienti had a tendency to affect people that way, especially on their first introduction to her. His med school advisor was beginning to show her age, but was spry enough as she moved around her desk and came over to greet him. Connor bent to accept a kiss on each cheek, sincerely glad to see Irene again.
“I’m sorry, Irene,” he apologized, even though he knew perfectly well they’d been on time. A little early, even. “I know how valuable your time is.”
“Ah, well,” she responded fondly. “I can’t resist it when you flutter those baby blues at me. You’re forgiven.” She turned to Miles, her smile fading as she looked him up and down. “Stephen, I was under the impression you were bringing a med student to me for assessment, not a child.”
Miles blushed and looked down, which didn’t make him look any older. Connor sighed. “You saw his transcripts, Irene. Miles was admitted into university classes early, but he’s no child.”
“No, after three years of slavery, I suppose he’s not,” she said quietly. The doctor walked slowly over to Miles. She was so petite that she only came to the young man’s chin, but there was no question about who was the more intimidated. “Relax, youngling, I don’t bite. Ask your Master, if you’re unsure… although I’ll admit that I was tempted when he did so poorly on his Ob/Gyn rotation.”
It was Stephen’s turn to blush. “Now, Irene, I’m not sure Miles needs to know about that.”
He didn’t appreciate his former mentor’s teasing, but he did appreciate the way Miles’ head came up a little. The slave was looking at the female doctor from under his lashes, a look of curiosity on his face. Stephen resigned himself to more teasing; it would be worth it if it made Miles more comfortable.
“Ah, there you are,” Irene crowed as she realized that Miles was looking at her, if shyly. “So, you wanted to be a doctor, did you now?”
Miles glanced quickly at Stephen, who nodded his permission.
“I still do, Mistress,” Miles stated quietly.
Irene cocked her head to the side and considered Miles for several moments, unblinking. Then she shook herself and turned to Connor. “You can leave now, Stephen. Come back for him later this afternoon.”
Even though this had been his idea, Stephen was loathe to leave. “I can stay….”
“Nonsense, my boy,” Irene interrupted. “Despite your opinion, the world does not revolve around you, Stephen. Nor does it rest on your shoulders – that’s Atlas’ job. Your young man and I shall be fine. In fact, we shall get along famously.”
Connor glanced at Miles. For once, the slave was looking directly at him and Stephen was taken aback by the naked need he saw there. That expression told Connor a lot. Miles wanted this – badly. And it was no wonder. Three short years ago, he’d been a student with all of his life ahead of him, just starting down the path to achieving his life’s goal. Then it was swept away from him by his father’s crime, leading to a horrific existence. Then, in a span of days, Miles had gone from a brutalized, ill slave to being back on campus. Miles didn’t have a hope of regaining his freedom, but he had a chance to regain a former dream, to become a doctor.
If anyone was capable of determining if that dream could be made a reality, it was Irene. Connor decided to leave them to it.
“All right,” he conceded. “Miles, you have my cell phone number. Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll be back late this afternoon.” He gave Miles a stern glance, tempered by a smile. “And, Miles, I expect you to obey Dr. Chimienti.”
“Yes, Master,” he answered promptly. Stephen was glad to see that the young man didn’t seem uncomfortable. Like many before him, Miles had quickly figured out that Irene’s bark was worse than her bite.
“I’ll watch out for him, Stephen. I’ve been keeping my eye on impetuous young men since before you were born.” Irene spoke up. “Now, shoo.”
Stephen chuckled ruefully. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he walked out, Connor could hear Irene already starting to quiz Miles. In a way, he didn’t envy the younger man. Irene would be exceedingly thorough in assessing Miles’ medical knowledge. There truly was no right or wrong for the outcome, but by the time she was through with him, Dr. Chimienti would know all there was to know about Miles McCabe. As much as he would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall for that interview, Stephen had other errands to run.
The first stop was NIH.
“Hi there, stranger.”
Connor turned at the sound of the happy greeting to see Natalie walking towards him. His colleague’s face looked more relaxed than he’d seen it in some time. “Nat. I’d ask you how you’ve been, but the absence of my presence has obviously been good for you.”
Natalie shook her head. “It just so happens that, with you out, there didn’t seem to be any reason for the rest of us to be here, so the whole team took time off. This is my first day back.”
“
“She wasn’t happy about it, but we were already working short,” Durant explained. “Besides, Frank and I pointed out how long it’d been since we had a break and Eva dug up some statistics about how having staff with so much unused personal time off can be a tax liability. She gave in after that.”
Stephen shook his head, almost feeling sorry for the woman. “Well, you certainly look well rested.”
“Oh, I am.” She looked beyond Stephen and, apparently not finding what she was looking for, frowned. “Where’s Miles? I thought he’d be with you. How is his recovery going?”
Connor answered her last question first. “He’s regaining his strength, if a little more slowly than I would like.”
“You have to remember that he was probably in pretty bad condition to begin with,” Natalie reminded him. “Eva’s had nightmares about that place ever since we were there.”
“She’s not the only one,” Stephen admitted. “But, Miles *is* getting better. He’s spending the day with Irene Chimienti.”
“Oh, dear,” the other doctor exclaimed. “That woman can be a bit much for the healthy to take.”
“I think Miles will be just fine,” Stephen assured her. “Besides, I needed an objective party to
assess Miles’ medical knowledge. I intend for him to come to work here.”
Natalie’s forehead wrinkled. “Have you
talked to Kate about that yet?”
Stephen shrugged.
“It’s not really up to her. I’m a Citizen, I have a right to have my
slave accompany me.”
“True,” Durant conceded, “but with his background, I don’t know if she’ll okay him working with patients or not.”
“With whose background?”
Both of the doctors turned at the new voice.
They’d reached the labs and their immediate superior, Kate Ewing, was
waiting for them. Natalie shrugged an
apology to Stephen; she hadn’t gotten around to warning him yet that
“My slave,” Connor said, deciding not to dance around the issue. “I just procured one and I wanted to notify you that I would be bringing him with me when I come back to work.”
She took the chair behind the desk, leaving Stephen the one in front. He felt like he’d been called into the principal’s office and didn’t care for the comparison much at all.
“In the time I’ve worked at NIH, has anything like this ever
happened before?” She shook her head, but he went on before she could say
anything. “In fact, my service record at
NIH should stand on its own, should it not?”
“Stephen, no one is disparaging your dedication to the job,”
Ewing tried to placate him, “it’s just that we’d rather our doctors not get
into the habit of rescuing sick slaves. It’s not what you’re there for. Now, I
do understand there were extenuating circumstances.”
“You could say that,” Connor responded. “Actually, how I obtained Miles is beside the point. He was a second year medical student before he was Chained; I’d like to see him cleared for working with patients. I can’t imagine you would argue against that, we’ve requested a new hire for the last couple of months.”
Kate sighed and sat back in her chair, tapping out an irregular rhythm with the pencil dangling from her fingers. “It’s not that easy, Stephen. This young man of yours, he has convict slave status, doesn’t he?”
Stephen laughed, softly and bitterly. “The rumor mill certainly has you well informed.”
She grimaced. “You have to admit, it’s gossip-worthy. The untouchable Stephen Connor, not only purchases a new slave, but does the unthinkable and actually takes time off to settle him in. If there’s an unusual interest in your slave, Stephen, you have only yourself to blame.”
“Speaking of blame,” Connor said, switching the subject back to Miles. “If the rumor mill informed you of his convict slave status, then surely you know that it wasn’t his crime that got him Chained; it was his father’s.”
Stephen growled with impatience. “I’ve spent a lot of time with this young man. He’s as compassionate a person as I’ve ever met. I worry more about the public’s impact on *him* than the other way around. And if you don’t believe me, perhaps Irene Chimienti’s opinion will carry more weight?”
Kate paused. Stephen
hadn’t expected to use his connection to his mentor that way, but didn’t
hesitate. Irene was somewhat unusual in
that she was an unmarried female in a position of some authority. That she’d managed to become highly respected
in the medical field was in large part due to her own expertise and
personality. At least a small part, however, was due to the power of her
family. The Chimienti’s were rumored to
be distant cousins of the emperor himself.
Kate Ewing, another female in an authority position in a male-dominated
profession, had to respect Irene for what she’d accomplished in her career. If
that weren’t enough,
“Very well,”
“Good idea,” Stephen agreed. That had actually been his plan
all along, but for different reasons than Kate’s. Miles wasn’t ready to work directly with the
public yet… but Stephen wasn’t about to admit that to
With a final nod to his boss, Stephen left and headed to his
own office. He wasn’t officially back to
work for a couple of days, but it wasn’t even lunchtime yet and he had most of
a day to fill. He’d barely made it
through his emails, though, before he stopped and made a phone call. His
discussion with
“Sam?” Stephen said, once he made it past the receptionist and had been connected with the man he wanted. “I have something I need you to look into.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Stephen,” his lawyer responded, “But I hope you’re not pursuing a divorce. My advice to you on that is the same as when you spoke to me about a legal separation – it’s not a good idea.”
Connor was surprised to realize he hadn’t thought of Lisa in days. Jack, yes, his son was always in his thoughts, but not his wife. “No, it’s not that. I need you to check out something in slave law for me.” Stephen went on to explain Miles’ situation. “I was wondering if convict slave status has ever been overturned. Miles was obviously innocent of any wrong doing and was less than a year away from being an adult in his own right. Given the compassionate nature of his studies, I wondered if there was any way that he might be freed.”
On the other line, Samuel Stein sighed. “I doubt it, Stephen. When
“Sam, can you at least check?” Connor persisted.
The lawyer gave in. “Okay, okay, Stephen, I’ll look into it. It’s your money, after all. But, trust me on how far to push, okay? A lot of times in cases like this, there may have been a stipulation that Miles couldn’t be sold to anyone with abolitionist ties; you may not want to draw too much attention to yourself on this or you could lose him.”
Connor swallowed. He didn’t want that, not after seeing the shape Miles had been in before he’d come into Stephen’s possession and, especially, not after all the promises he’d made to the young man about his safety. “Use your best judgment, Sam. I don’t want to overlook any chance Miles might have for freedom, but I don’t want to jeopardize his place with me either.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam promised.
After bidding his lawyer goodbye, Stephen went back to work catching up on emails, memos, and other business he’d missed. There weren’t any new cases yet, so the time went slowly, even though he went on a long lunch with Natalie. All the time he was eating, Connor was kicking himself for forgetting to tell Irene that Miles was a vegetarian. He was tempted to call, but stopped himself. Irene didn’t like to be interrupted and, besides, Miles *was* in good hands with her.
Eventually, however, the day was over and Connor was headed
back to the university to pick up his slave and get an early report on how the
assessment went. When he got to Irene’s
office, however, there was a large note on the door. ‘Stephen, don’t knock, just come in - quietly. Everyone else, come back tomorrow.’
Stephen didn’t know whether he should be worried or not, but he did as instructed and opened the door softly. Irene was again behind her desk and, as she saw Stephen enter, she put a finger to her lips. Connor looked off to the side and saw Miles curled up on the couch, asleep. Irene took Stephen by the arm and led him out of the office.
“What happened?” Connor asked.
“Poor boy got hit by a massive headache,” Chimienti explained. “Meningitis is bastardly stuff. The pain pills you left with him didn’t seem to be working sufficiently, so I gave him something a little stronger.”
Stephen knew Miles had been plagued by headaches, but the slave hadn’t complained of them. “Thank you… but why didn’t you call?”
She gave him a shrewd look. “Because you would have already been on your way back here. Besides, I think part of the problem may have been stress. He never mentioned any pain and I didn’t notice anything wrong until the testing was all but over.”
“That sounds like him,” Stephen commented ruefully. “So you were able to conduct the assessment? Do you have any results?”
Irene sighed. “Do you want the good news
or the bad news first?”
That didn’t sound encouraging. “The good news,” Connor said.
“The good news is that he’s brilliant,” Irene explained. “Oh, he’s a little rusty on the finer details, but from what I can tell, he’s retained most of his bioscience coursework. We’ll have to wait until those infernal computer scores are back, but I was quite heartened by the responses I got during our verbal interview. I think he may need some tutoring and, of course, we’ll need to see him in action as far as clinicals are concerned, but I’d say you’ve a decent second year medical school student on your hands.”
Irene Chimienti’s ‘decent’ would be ‘outstanding’ or ‘excellent’ to anyone else. “So what’s the bad news?” Stephen asked.
“He’s… tentative,” Irene stated slowly, as though she were
struggling for words. “For doctors, a
certain amount of arrogance is a good thing. I don’t know if your young man
ever had an abundance of that, but I suspect he had the strength of his
convictions. That’s been beaten down in him.”
“After what he’s been through, can you really blame him?” Stephen asked heatedly.
Irene held up a hand. “I did not mean it as a criticism, Stephen, and I only said that it had been beaten down in Miles, not necessarily beaten *out* of him.”
Stephen groaned in frustration. He had to admit that Irene raised a legitimate concern. A doctor needed to be confident, if for no other reason than to instill faith in his patients. “So what do we do now?”
“Please tell me that you hadn’t planned on having that boy seeing patients already,” Irene chided him. When Stephen just shook his head, she looked at him askance. “Stephen, just how well have you thought all of this out?”
Connor rubbed his fingers across his face. “I thought I’d start him out in the lab and, depending on how your assessment went, move him into patient care later. I want to keep him close until he acclimates, but eventually thought I’d send him back to med school to finish out his degree.”
Irene pursed her lips. “That wouldn’t necessarily be a kindness, Stephen. A physician that is a slave has a somewhat perilous position. You know as well as I do that diagnosis is an art form as much as science. It would be easy for him to be punished harshly for an honest mistake. Malpractice could be lethal.”
Connor shook his head. “A slave does what his Master orders him to do; that should protect him to a certain extent. You can’t tell me you haven’t had any students that were slaves?”
“A few,” Irene admitted. “But they don’t have an easy time of it. You remember how competitive medical school is. Slaves are an easy target; the other students can be a bit… difficult.”
“Working for NIH, Miles would be protected from the worst of the potential for malpractice,” Stephen pointed out. “If I can just get him that far.”
“I believe that if Miles had a strong sponsor, it would ease his time in medical school,” Irene commented. “When he’s ready to return, I would gladly take him on as a student.”
Stephen was honored. Dr. Climienti hadn’t taken a personal interest in a student for years. “Irene, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”
She smiled. “Between the two of us, we should be able to rediscover the boy’s backbone and, until then, you can be arrogant enough for the both of you. If memory serves me right, that shouldn’t be much of a stretch for you.”
Connor smiled, putting one hand over his heart to acknowledge the hit. “I can’t thank you enough, Irene. I think this will work perfectly for Miles.”
“Yes, well, I do have a known weakness for attractive young men,” she responded. “Besides, it will be a relief to work with a student who actually appreciates his education and doesn’t act as though the Gods owe it to him. And thanks to this Information Age we’re in, we should be able to arrange some video seminars and the like. That way Miles can catch up as time allows. If I know you, Stephen, you’ll be running him ragged in that NIH work of yours.” Irene stopped and smiled. “Were you aware that your old partner in crime is now a professor here at Wellstone?”
Stephen’s forehead creased in concentration. “Who?”
“Charles Pacer,” she answered with a smile. “I’m sure that he’ll be interested in helping out. He never could resist one of your projects.”
“Chip?” Stephen exclaimed in delight. The man was Connor’s old college roommate and best friend from medical school. They’d lost touch over the years and it would be good to see him again. “Irene, that’s perfect. I can’t wait to tell Miles.”
Dr. Chimienti patted Stephen on the arm. “Perhaps you should go collect him. I’m sure he’d rest better at home.”
Home. Connor liked the sound of that. He kissed his mentor’s cheek. “Thanks for everything, Irene. I’ll be in touch regarding setting up those video sessions.”
“And I’ll write up my report and send it to you at NIH when the computer-scored portions of the tests come back. I’m sure the results will be very favorable indeed.” With a final clasp of Stephen’s hand, Irene left to present a late lecture.
With a lighter heart, Stephen walked the few steps back to Irene’s office and quietly pushed the door open. Miles was still soundly asleep, although he looked cramped on Irene’s small couch. Connor smiled at the young man fondly before squatting down next to him.
“Miles,” he called quietly. “Time to go.”
The slave murmured indistinctly, but didn’t wake.
Connor tried again, this time gently shaking the other man. “Miles, wake up. It’s time to go.”
“Wha-…?” Miles came awake with a start. He looked up at Stephen with dazed eyes that widened as he realized it was his Master trying to get his attention. With a lurch, Miles tried to get up, but still more than half asleep, he stumbled and half fell off the couch.
“Hang on there,” Connor laughed as he caught him. “It’s just me, Miles. Careful.”
“I’m sorry, M-master,” Miles mumbled as he tried to straighten. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do,” Stephen assured him. “Dr. Chimienti gave you something for your headache and it was stronger than what you’re used to. How is your headache?”
Miles struggled to focus. “Better? I can’t feel my head, anyway.”
Stephen chuckled. He’d have to have a talk with Irene about how to medicate Miles. Hopefully, though, the young man would be well past the aftereffects meningitis by the time he saw Irene again. Connor wrapped an arm around Miles’ waist and helped guide the slave out into the corridor. They hadn’t gotten far, however, when Miles stopped to ask a question.
“Master, did I do all right?”
“You did great, Miles,” he assured the slave. “In fact, I’m very proud of you.” Miles sagged a little against him in relief. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Home. Stephen *really* liked the sound of that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Stephen had assumed Kate Ewing was exaggerating the interest in the NIH offices about his purchase of a slave. He was wrong. As he led Miles into the building and to the area his team worked, curious faces peeked at them in thinly veiled fascination. People Stephen barely recognized made a point to come up and tell him how happy they were that he was back. Connor wasn’t fooled. They may have been speaking to him, but their eyes were on Miles – much to the slave’s discomfort. Miles didn’t quite hide behind Stephen, but he didn’t put himself forward either and his eyes remained firmly fixed on the floor.
Even Connor was jumpy by the time they got on the elevator.
“Don’t worry,” Stephen reassured the slave. “This notoriety should settle down in a day or two.”
“You’re obviously a very respected man, Master,” Miles observed in a soft voice.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Stephen’s smile was self-depreciating. “I don’t normally get that type of attention just for walking into the building.”
The elevator brought them to their destination and Stephen started giving Miles a tour. They’d spent the last couple of days going over NIH procedures and slave etiquette, so Miles was well prepared. As Stephen showed him the offices and labs where that served as their headquarters, Connor felt renewed. Seeing the place through Miles’ eyes gave him a fresh perspective. Similarly, as Stephen expounded on the work NIH did, he realized anew how much he loved it. It had been a long time since he’d been comfortable articulating that; Lisa had made him ashamed of how much his work meant to him.
“Here are the labs, where you’ll be beginning your work at NIH,” Stephen ushered Miles into the area. Natalie’s domain. “Before I forget, here’s your pass.” He pulled a small card out of his pocket. It was attached to a lanyard and he solemnly put it over Miles’ head and adjusted it so it lay flat on the slave’s chest. “This indicates that you have my permission to work here. If anyone gives you any trouble, show them this or your collar. They all know my name around here.”
“Miles!”
Eva and Natalie came over to greet them. Eva reached them first and grabbed Miles in a quick hug. Stephen tamped down on his jealousy, telling himself that he was glad the young man had a friend. Natalie was a little more reserved. When her lover released Miles, she took both of his hands and peered intently into his face.
“How are you feeling? Any more headaches?”
Miles glanced briefly at Stephen, who nodded encouragement. “I’m much better, Mistress, thank you. The headaches are almost gone.”
“I thought I told you before to call me Natalie,” Durant chided with a gentle smile. She turned to Connor without missing a beat. “He’s far too thin, Stephen.”
Stephen protested his innocence. “He didn’t think to tell me he was a vegetarian until a few days ago. We’re working on it.”
“Yeah, well, if he has to rely on your cooking, he’s never gonna get fat.” Unnoticed, Frank had joined the group.
Stephen grinned at his friend. “I don’t know about that, I know my way
around a kitchen pretty well. I don’t have many vegetarian recipes, but we’ll
figure something out.” He turned to the slave.
“Miles, do you remember Frank Powell?”
“Yes, sir, it’s good to see you again.”
Frank gave a Miles an odd look, but his smile was friendly enough. “You sure are looking better than when I saw you last.” He slapped Connor on the shoulder. “And any man that can get this workaholic to take a few days off is all right in my book. Welcome to the team.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Miles, you’ll be working with Natalie for the time being, so she’s going to show you the ropes. I’ll be by to collect you for lunch – unless we get a case before then.” Stephen made to go, but turned to look at the young man. It was ridiculous, because his office was only a few steps away, but it was hard leaving him.
“Go on, we’ll be fine,” Natalie assured him. Then, as to prove her point, she launched into a lecture. “All right Miles, we follow basic laboratory procedure here. I took the liberty of requisitioning a lab coat for you . . . . “
Stephen shook himself and headed for his office, Frank in tow. When they got there, Frank plopped himself in a chair while Stephen busied himself with hanging up his coat.
“You know they’re gonna spoil him rotten,” Frank warned.
Stephen shrugged. “That’s okay, Miles could use a little spoiling.”
Frank watched him intently as Connor finished fussing with his jacket before sitting down in the chair behind his desk. “You haven’t taken him yet.”
It wasn’t exactly a question.
The doctor blushed. “The man’s been ill, Frank. Did you expect me to pounce on him while he’s still sick?”
Powell snorted. “I *expect* you to take care of your own damn needs once in a while.”
“That’s not what I bought him for,” Stephen protested.
Frank shook his head in disappointment. “You and that sense of honor of yours. If you’re not careful, this relationship’s gonna end up just like your marriage to Lisa.”
Connor frowned. “How’s that?”
“With someone other than you calling the shots,” Frank answered. “And you in a cold bed.”
“It’s just not in my nature to force someone,” Stephen explained. “It doesn’t matter if I own them or not.”
“C’mon, Stephen,” Powell retorted. “I know you, you’re not going to bend Miles over an exam table and fuck him bloody. Even if you took him every night and twice on Sundays, you’d still be treating him better than any Master the kid’s ever had.”
Stephen tried hard not to think of Miles’ lithe young body or the way the young man had begun to fill out, now that he was getting food that his body would accept. From the first, though, it was Miles’ courage and compassion that had drawn Connor’s interest. It was all too rare a combination. As he’d begun to get to know the slave better, he was equally taken by Miles’ intelligence and thirst for knowledge. To Stephen’s delight, Miles was slowly becoming comfortable enough to let his sense of humor show and Connor already knew he’d do almost anything to prompt one of those shy smiles.
In short, Stephen was smitten and simply ‘taking’ Miles was no long an option. If, indeed, it ever had been.
“Being better than the animals who hurt him before isn’t enough, Frank. Not nearly enough.” Movement caught Connor’s eye and he looked out the glass wall of his office. Another doctor was arriving, his slave in tow. “Or would you rather I act like Aldo?”
Aldo Parravinci was the leader of another NIH emergency
response team, one that consistently came second to Connor’s team in terms of
success rate. Parravinci always had at
least one slave in attendance and there were some grumblings about that. Not that he owned slaves or brought them to
work with him, that was his right as a Master and a Citizen. A lot of people did the same. No, the problem with Parravinci was that he
tended to ‘use’ them at work – roughly.
It was something of a distraction and distressing to the more
tenderhearted of the staff. In fact,
there had been so many complaints that
“You’re missing my point,” Powell responded, frustrated. “On your worst day, you could be nothing like Parravinci. He sees his slaves as possession; you see Miles as a person.”
“Which is why just using him is wrong,” Stephen retorted.
Frank got up, sighing. “Look, do what you want.” He smiled ruefully. “You will anyway. Just… keep what I said in mind, okay?”
“Will do,” Stephen promised. “And, Frank? Thanks.”
Stephen watched as his friend left the office and made his way down the corridor. He wasn’t offended at Frank’s advice; he knew that the other man was just looking out for Connor’s best interests. Still, it was frustrating that Powell couldn’t understand.
Shrugging off the conversation, Connor buried himself in his work. Even with coming in while Miles had his assessment with Irene, Stephen still had a lot to catch up on. Luckily, not every day at NIH included a medical crisis. It was one of those days where a case didn’t come in and Connor put the time to good use. The morning flew by and Stephen treated the whole team to lunch. Miles took some good-natured teasing from the others about his veggie sandwich, but to Stephen’s pleased surprise, it didn’t cause the slave to retreat into his shell. He didn’t tease back, but it was a start and that was all that Connor could ask for.
The afternoon was eaten up by budgetary meetings and, before Stephen knew exactly where the time went, it was over. Miles’ first day at NIH had been almost anticlimactic.
The doctor shrugged his coat on as he walked out of his office and headed off to the labs to collect Miles. Once he got there, though, he stopped. Through the window, he observed for a few moments. Both Eva and Natalie were there, speaking with the slave. Eva must have said something particularly witty, because all three of them starting laughing. It was a bittersweet moment for Stephen. While he was glad to see the young man so at ease, he couldn’t help but wish Miles were more like that with him. Even Irene had won Miles’ trust more quickly than Connor had and she was a formidable woman.
Eva… Natalie… Irene….
Stephen almost saw the light bulb go off over his head. The people he’d seen Miles most comfortable with had been women. It stood to reason that most of Miles’ previous owners had been men and Stephen knew that the scars on Miles body were nothing in comparison to the scars on his soul. No wonder Miles had been reluctant to open up to him, trusting any man at this point must be a huge risk for him. Stephen could only do his best and hope that, some day, it would be enough.
Another burst of laughter came from the lab and Connor looked up from his musings to see the other three chuckling again. Miles was obviously having a good time and was as relaxed as Stephen had ever seen him.
Connor smiled and turned back towards his office. He’d decided to stay and let Miles enjoy himself for a little while longer. He grinned ruefully as he thought about what Frank might say about his actions.
Eva and Natalie, it seemed, weren’t the only ones tempted to spoil Miles.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What a difference a month made.
Miles could scarcely believe it. Four short weeks ago, he’d been wasting away in an agricultural camp, praying for death. Now, he was clean and well on his way to being healthy; hadn’t been Claimed or raped by anybody the entire time he’d been with Master Stephen; and, miracle of miracles, was actually being encouraged to pursue his medical studies. It was almost too much to take in.
His time at NIH was almost dreamlike. He wasn’t the only slave there and, Stephen had been right, the curiosity about him had died down after a day or two. It wasn’t so much his presence that had caused the attention as much as who he belonged to. Evidently, Stephen Connor had a reputation for being somewhat aloof. Miles couldn’t believe it. Obviously the people Dr. Connor worked with didn’t know him well, because Miles thought his owner was as far from aloof as it was possible to get. There was no doubt that he was intense about his work, but Stephen’s intensity was matched only by his compassion for his patients. Miles knew firsthand about the man’s caring nature and had been surprised to hear Connor referred to as cold.
As for the work itself, it was easily the most rewarding thing Miles had done in the last three years. At first it had been hard to think of himself as capable of doing anything but warming someone’s bed, but the things he had learned in med school came back to him. His session with Dr. Chimienti had started the process and every day he spent at NIH brought back a little more. It was almost as if a corner of his mind had been shut away when he’d become a slave, maybe because thinking of his shattered dreams had become too painful. It was only now with his change in circumstances that it was opening up.
His coworkers were vastly different than the other people Miles had encountered since being Chained. For one thing, they didn’t treat him like a slave. Instead, Miles felt like just another valued member of the team. There were exceptions of course, most notably, Dr. Parravinci. That man made him feel unclean and Miles tried to make sure he didn’t encounter him unless someone else was around. For the most part, though, the rest of the NIH staff treated Miles as they would anyone else. Miles had no doubt their behavior wasn’t out of any deference to his own self, it was most certainly out of respect for Dr. Connor. Despite the way Stephen had shrugged off Miles’ comment that very first day at NIH about Connor being highly respected, it hadn’t taken long for Miles to realize he’d been right. Some people might refer to Stephen as aloof or cold, but they all respected his abilities as a physician. In fact, Connor’s abilities at diagnosis were legendary, as was his tenacity at tracing an outbreak or illness to its source.
Stephen Connor. It all came down to him.
Miles wasn’t exactly sure when he’d started losing his wariness around Stephen. Maybe it was when he discovered that his owner checked on him every night after he went to bed. At first, realizing that Connor came to his door to watch him had freaked Miles out. He figured that the inevitable Claiming was soon to follow. Trying to put it off as long as possible, he’d feigned sleep. To his surprise, the watching remained just that – simple observation. Night after night, Stephen checked in on him and Miles pretended to sleep. Somewhere along the way, Miles had gone from being afraid of those silent, nightly visits to not being able to sleep until they occurred. He didn’t have the faintest idea of how that happened. Stephen Connor was his *owner,* for God’s sake. If there was one thing Miles had learned about the men that purchased him, it was that they only had their own satisfaction in mind.
Seeing Dr. Connor with his patients had been a revelation. Miles soon discovered that his Master’s compassion wasn’t reserved only for the slave that he owned, but for anyone in need. If Stephen seemed aloof at times, it was due to the focus he brought to his work and, maybe, a need to shield that great heart of his. As for his caring, it didn’t seem to follow class lines. Slaves received the same devotion as those that were free, at least, if their owners allowed it.
Miles had been grateful for Eva’s warning, that Connor could be intense while on a case.
Driven was more like it and Miles had yet to find out why. Stephen had Miles sit in on the team’s brainstorming sessions, although he hadn’t asked him to chime in with an opinion. Miles was grateful; he wasn’t sure if he was up to it yet. If Stephen was a stern taskmaster, though, he was hardest on himself. While the doctor made sure that Miles always ate and got enough rest, he often worked through the night himself. Luckily Stephen’s office had a comfortable chair and Miles had often dozed on it while his Master continued to research. Miles favorite part of the day, though, was the ride home. He and Stephen would discuss the case in detail, away from the stress of the office, with Connor explaining the finer points that Miles didn’t understand. It was every bit as informative, and a lot more exhilarating, than anything Miles had learned in medical school. Miles knew *he* benefited a lot from those conversations; he just couldn’t figure what Stephen got out of it.
He still didn’t understand Stephen Connor, but Miles was
beginning to trust him. That was frightening. His owner was his enemy… wasn’t
he?
A beeping noise interrupted his musing. Miles was currently the only one in the lab and was running a test for Natalie while she conducted an autopsy. It was his first time working alone and Miles wanted to live up to the trust Natalie was showing in him. He got up and checked the equipment, pleased to see the first phase of the test was successfully complete.
After making a notation on the paperwork, Miles went back to his seat. The first study set had arrived from Dr. Chimienti and he’d been eagerly devouring it all afternoon. It was easy to see where Connor got his high standards; Miles could tell she was going to be an exacting teacher. He hoped he was up for the challenge, he didn’t want to disappoint Stephen or Dr. Chimienti either. With that in mind, he bent his head to his work.
“Well, if this isn’t a pretty picture.”
Miles looked up at the sound of the greasy voice. It was Aldo Parravinci. The doctor was leaning against the door of the lab, looking Miles up and down as though the slave was already nude. He didn’t need to think twice about it; Miles was up out of seat and on his knees in a heartbeat. He knew men like Parravinci all too well.
“Ah, and obedient too.” Parravinci sauntered into the room. He circled Miles, lips pursed in appreciation.
Miles kept his eyes down, tracking the other man’s movements by watching the expensive Italian shoes pace by. “Please, Sir. I’m doing the work my Master left me.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Parravinci murmured. “Of course the ever-diligent Dr. Stephen Connor would have an equally diligent slave. How very appropriate.”
“Sir, would you like to see my pass?” Miles asked. “It will show that I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, Sir.”
“I’m sure it will,” the doctor responded. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Connor. If you were my slave, I’d be doing *you*.”
Miles kept his head down. Men like Dr. Parravinci were predators and Miles knew the man was goading him. If Parravinci could get Miles to do something wrong, he could force Stephen to punish him, maybe even participate in the punishment himself.
“Then again, it’s common knowledge that Stephen couldn’t keep his wife,” Parravinci continued. “Perhaps he’s incapable of ‘doing’ anyone.”
Since it wasn’t a question, Miles kept his mouth shut. Parravinci was playing a game of cat and mouse with him, but Miles was used to being the mouse. He wasn’t about to give the other man a reason to say that Miles was anything but the perfect slave.
“Or does he use you when no one is around to see?” The doctor leaned close and whispered in Miles’ ear. He didn’t touch the slave, but puffs of his hot breath ruffled Miles’ hair. “Does he have you suck him off behind that desk of his, hmmm? Maybe he fucks you here in the lab, that would explain why you spend so much entombed down here.”
The words made Miles sick to his stomach, the ugliness of the images they conjured was an insult to the care he’d received since belonging to Stephen. He forced himself not to react, not even to twitch. That was what Parravinci wanted and Miles was determined not to give the asshole any sort of sign that he was having an affect.
The shoes came to a stop directly in front of Miles.
“Really, I can’t say as I blame Connor,” Dr. Parravinci drawled. “You’re attractive enough, if a little skinny for my taste.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Miles said softly. He didn’t dare let the compliment go unacknowledged.
“So obedient… maybe Connor would be willing to lend you to me. What would you say, boy, would you like to spend an afternoon with a real man?”
Miles couldn’t stop a shudder. He flinched, half expecting Parravinci to be offended, but the man chuckled.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do about that. I’ll have to work quickly, though. Who knows when Connor will need to use you to test some serum or other cure.”
That statement was outlandish enough that Miles looked up at him through his lashes. Parravinci smirked at him.
“What’s the matter, boy?” The other man taunted. “Didn’t your blessed Dr. Connor tell you the real reason he bought you? Every NIH team has a guinea pig, a handy slave that we can test things on. I think Connor’s last test rat died a few weeks before he bought you.”
Miles felt the blood drain from his face. “He wouldn’t do that.” He wanted to tell Parravinci about how caring Stephen was; about how concerned he was about Miles’ well being; how he treated Miles as a person, not a possession. He didn’t, though. He didn’t want the other man to mock him for it. “If that was true, why would he do everything he can to get me healthy? Educate me?”
Parravinci shrugged. “Every lab rat starts out healthy, so the doctor knows that the illness induced is the only one present. As for the education, well, there’s no reason you shouldn’t make yourself useful.” He leered. “That is, in addition to the work you do on your back.”
Every instinct Miles had was telling him that Dr. Parravinci was lying to him. Perhaps Miles didn’t understand Stephen Connor the way he wanted to, but he knew the man well enough to know that he would never countenance using a human being as a lab rat. Miles didn’t know why this other doctor was torturing him this way, but he renewed his determination not to let the creep know he was getting to him.
“If you say so, Sir.” He responded meekly, head bent once again.
For some reason, Miles’ response made Parravinci chuckle again. The doctor ran a hand over the slave’s dark hair. “You don’t believe me, but that’s all right. You will, in time.”
Miles breathed a sigh of relief as Dr. Parravinci and his expensive Italian shoes moved away. Even after the man left the lab, though, Miles remained kneeling for a few minutes. Only when Parravinci didn’t come back did he feel safe enough to rise. Moving like an old man, Miles blindly felt for his chair and almost fell into it.
He’d been a fool, lulled into a false sense of security. He might be cleaner on the outside than he’d been in the camp, but his soul felt every bit as dirty. He was still a slave, still a whore. New clothes and medical school hadn’t changed that a damn bit and even an idiot like Parravinci could see it.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t the threat of being a lab rat that bothered Miles. The very idea of Stephen Connor doing something like that was so patently untrue that it was almost funny. It was the other threat that Parravinci had mentioned that had him sick to his stomach. Just the thought that Connor might share him with that sleaze, not to mention anyone else, shook Miles to his core. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t true either, that Stephen had shown him nothing but kindness and would never let anyone hurt him. It was a harder notion to dismiss than the lab rat idea, though. It had happened too often in Miles’ past and experience was a bitter teacher.
Miles started to shake. He tried to put it out of his mind as a complete fabrication of Parravinci’s sick imagination. No matter how he tried, though, the thoughts coiled in his mind like a snake. He was still trembling when Natalie came back.
“That’s all done,” Durant said as she strode into the lab. She pulled up short when she caught sight of Miles. “Are you all right?”
He shrugged, hiding his hands below the table. If only he could stop shaking. “I’m fine,” he lied.
Natalie looked closer and put a hand under Miles’ chin, tilting his face up to look at her. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Miles flinched. He hadn’t slipped up and called her that since his second day at NIH. His hope that Natalie hadn’t noticed was dashed when he saw her lift one eyebrow skeptically. He sighed deeply and tried again. “I do have a headache,” he admitted.
Natalie reached over and felt of his forehead. The likelihood of a reoccurrence of the meningitis was slight, but Miles had soon learned that the NIH doctors didn’t leave anything to chance.
“Well, you don’t have a fever,” she stated. “Where’s your medication?”
“In Stephen’s office.”
“You’d better go get it,” Natalie instructed. Miles had obediently gotten up and was already moving to obey when she changed her mind. “On second thought, why don’t you lie down for a while? I can type up my autopsy report in here and keep my eye on the test too. You’re pale, I think you could do with some rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miles left the lab with a sense of relief. He felt tainted and was afraid Natalie would be able to see it. He’d briefly considered telling her about Parravinci’s visit, but ultimately decided against it. The man had only talked to him and not touched, except for that one stroke to his hair. Besides, he didn’t want his own doubts about Connor discovered.
When the slave reached his Master’s office, he was disappointed to find it occupied. He wasn’t sure he was up to facing Connor any more than Natalie. Stephen was sitting behind his desk, working at the computer. He looked up as Miles hovered around the door. “Miles, are you okay?”
“I have a headache,” the slave answered simply.
“Ah,” the doctor opened his desk door and took out a familiar bottle. Getting up, he walked over to Miles and reached to feel his forehead. “No fever.”
Miles could have told him that Natalie had already done that, but he didn’t. In spite of the shame that Parravinci had inspired, Stephen’s hand on him felt good.
“Here, take two of these and then I want you to lie down for a while,” Stephen ordered. “You’re white as a sheet.”
Stephen let the young man use his own water bottle to take the pills and then walked Miles over to the leather chair that took up the corner of his office. The slave curled up on it, like he had already done several times since his Master had been bringing him to NIH. There was something almost magical about Stephen’s office; in its cozy walls, Parravinci’s words seemed less harsh. Somehow, further away and more clearly falsehoods. Miles felt the tight knot in his belly loosen a bit. Stephen spread his lab coat over the slave and Miles snuggled under it. By way of his coat, his Master surrounded him and his scent wafting off the garment enveloped him.
He watched as Connor returned to his desk and his work. The doctor looked over at him and, seeing Miles was watching, smiled in reassurance. “Go to sleep,” he instructed gently.
And to his profound disbelief, Miles found he had no trouble obeying. Curling around Stephen’s coat like it was a security blanket, he let the safety of his Master’s presence seep into his soul and carry him off to sweet dreams.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Miles, I cannot believe you were that irresponsible. I gave you explicit instructions about the quarantine – instructions which you didn’t follow.”
“But….-” the slave tried to defend his actions, but Connor wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
“No, Miles. No excuses.” Stephen was relentless. “If that child dies because of your negligence, you’ll just have to live with that knowledge.” He ignored the way Miles’ face blanched and how those brown eyes of his filled up with tears. “You need to analyze that blanket you so foolishly let her have and pray it offers some answers.” When the young man just stood there, gaping at him, he snapped again. “Now, Miles.”
Miles turned and fled, pink blanket clutched in his hand. The slave was headed towards the makeshift lab they’d set up.
Natalie was the only other member of the team present.
“Oh, Stephen,” she murmured softly. With a shake of her head and a disappointed look on her face, Durant walked away. Stephen noticed she didn’t take *quite* the same direction as Miles had, but he had no doubt they would end up in the same place.
Connor wiped a hand across his face. When had this case taken such a wrong turn?
When the call first came in, Stephen had enjoyed Miles’
initial excitement about going to the
He’d been right.
He put Miles out of his mind as he and Frank continued to track the source down. Natalie did triage on the patients and Eva verbally sparred with the resort’s press agent. Luckily, the rest of the investigation went more smoothly than the snafu with the quarantine did. Miles’ analysis of the girl’s blanket was important to their success; the debris he found turned out to be a vital clue. Once they knew about the marijuana, the source of the epidemic had almost fallen into their laps. With the cause came the cure and, before long, they were wrapping up in preparation to heading home.
Stephen told himself that it didn’t matter that Miles wouldn’t look at him when he’d reported his results, a discovery he had every right to be proud of. Connor was able to hold on to that delusion only for a short while. Just long enough, in fact, for Eva to get hold of him.
Connor was packing away some of the equipment they’d brought when he felt eyes on him. Lifting his head, he saw Eve Rossi standing a few feet away.
“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen made a preemptive strike. “It was for his own good. When Miles makes a mistake, he needs to know about it, just like anyone else. Otherwise, he won’t learn from it.”
Eva didn’t respond directly.
“Have you ever visited a slave pen, Stephen? And I don’t mean the
sanitized selling floor, I mean the real, behind the scenes pens?”
“Once or twice,” Stephen admitted. He’d tracked contagions to slave pens before and had found it to be a most unpleasant experience.
“And were you there when a new shipment came in?” Eva pressed.
Stephen shook his head. “No.”
“Lucky you,” Eva responded shortly. “That means you’ve never heard the children crying for their mothers or seen the agonized faces of the women who’ve had their sons or daughters sold right out of their arms.”
Connor winced.
“But I have,” Eva declared. “And you can bet your bottom dollar that Miles has. *Every* slave has. Seeing that little girl’s confusion over being separated from her mother, the mother’s anguish over not being able to reach her child, it probably triggered all sorts of memories for Miles. Did you ever think of that?”
In fact, he hadn’t, but Stephen wasn’t going to admit that to Eva.
“It doesn’t matter,” Connor stated. “The fact remains that he broke the quarantine, even though he’d been warned against it, and that a child got sick as a result. I can’t afford to pamper him, Eva.”
“Pamper him?” Eva repeated in disbelief. Throwing her hands up in disgust, the young woman headed for the door. “There’s a big difference between pampering someone and shredding them, Stephen.”
Stephen stared at the door long after she left. “Damn.”
What had he been thinking? Irene called Miles tentative. He himself considered the slave wounded, maybe no longer in body, but definitely in soul. Of course Miles would have a hard time enforcing a quarantine, even if a child wasn’t involved. Connor felt like an idiot.
As much as he wanted to talk to Miles, it was obvious the slave was doing his best to avoid him, aided and abetted by the female members of the team. Stephen decided to allow that for the time being. He didn’t want an audience anyway and, from the glares that Natalie and Eva were still shooting his way, there was no way that that particular audience would be a friendly one.
All the victims had been connected to the same company, the
Connor leaned his head back and closed his eyes, not looking up as a warm body took the seat next to him.
“You look almost as wiped out as Miles.”
Stephen cracked one eye open and glared at Powell. “Not you too, Frank.”
“What?” His friend feigned innocence.
“Are you going to chastise me for yelling at Miles too?” Stephen asked. “Everyone else has.”.”
“Hell, no.” Frank responded. “In fact, if I’d heard about it earlier, I would have offered to let you use my belt to whup him with. It’s a little wider than yours and would have given you more bang for your buck.”
Connor winced. “I think I prefer Natalie’s sighs of disappointment and Eva’s lectures to your sarcasm, Frank.” He sighed. “I feel like a drowned a whole sack full of kittens.”
“That’s going a little far,” Powell temporized. “Not a whole sack, just one kitten. A tall, skinny one.”
“He’s got to learn, Frank,” Stephen defended his actions in much the same way as he had with Eva. “I’m not doing him any favors if I don’t point out mistakes.” Something occurred to Connor and he turned to look at Frank with narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you the one who was encouraging me to have sex with Miles, whether he wanted to or not? Why are you giving me a hard time for scolding him? That doesn’t seem very consistent.”
Frank lifted both hands and mimicked using them as a scale. “Hmmm. . . sex with you or being flayed alive.” One hand went up higher than the other. “I know which one I’d pick.”
Stephen snorted. “I admit I went a little too far, but I’d hardly say I flayed Miles alive.”
“That’s the problem, Stephen, you don’t see it.” Frank pointed out. “You go off on me, Natalie or Eva and we can snap back. Maybe, if you go too far, we could even quit. Miles, he doesn’t have that option.”
“Does it happen that often?” Stephen asked, dismayed that he might be that difficult to work with. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to argue with Frank about it, he’d already felt guilty enough about what had happened.
“It happens to all of us,” Frank reassured him. “I even heard Natalie snap at Eva once. It’s the work. That much pressure, people are bound to snap once in a while. You’re maybe a little more intense about it than the rest of us, but you’re the leader, you’re supposed to be. Miles’ll learn not to take it personally, he just doesn’t have a thick enough skin yet. You need to be a little more careful is all.”
Stephen nodded. “I’d pretty much come to that conclusion myself. Thanks, Frank.”
Powell gave his friend a sideways glance. “Since you’re in the mood to listen to advice, care to discuss taking Miles to bed?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Connor answered, grinning. “I’m not *that* grateful.”
Frank made a ‘hmph-ing’ sound, but an answering smile twitched his lips. In any case, the rest of the flight passed with a lighter heart for Stephen. He went back at one point to check on the patients and the rest of his team. Miles hold folded his lanky form into an airplane seat and was sound asleep, despite the awkward angle. Natalie and Eve were in the row behind, curled up together and were also sleeping. Connor looked through the overhead bins until he found a blanket. Natalie woke while he was spreading it over Miles and her smile let Stephen know she’d forgiven his earlier outburst.
By the time the plane landed, they were all exhausted. The good news was that the patients were doing better, although many of them had a long recovery ahead of them. Connor made the decision that reports and the like could wait until his team was more rested.
“Go home, “he instructed them. “Rest; you deserve it. I’ll see you back in the office on Monday.”
The doctor obeyed his own orders. Miles was too tired to flinch away from him and trudged behind Stephen on the way to the SUV. The ride back to the apartment was awkwardly silent. When he spared a glance at the slave, Stephen saw that the young man was studiously staring down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. It was obvious they needed to talk. Well, Stephen needed to talk and Miles needed to listen. That could wait until they got home, though. Connor was too tired to drive and have this particular conversation at the same time.
After Stephen had yelled at him, Miles had avoided the older man by keeping busy with tasks that always seemed to take him out of Connor’s immediate vicinity. Once they got to the apartment it was no different. No sooner had they come through the door, than had Miles grabbed both bags and disappeared. Stephen sighed and stretched, tempted to let the conversation wait until morning. Then he thought of the hurt look in Miles’ eyes and decided to get it over with sooner rather than later.
“Miles, come in here a minute, please,” he called.
The slave obeyed more quickly than Stephen expected, or maybe he’d already been on his way. When he heard Miles’ soft footsteps, Connor turned to speak, but stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Miles was nude and was carrying one of Stephen’s belts in his hand. The young man walked across to Stephen and gave the belt to him. Then he sank down in deep obeisance, all the way on the floor and with his face pushed into the carpet.
“I’m so sorry, Master.” Miles said in a hoarse whisper. “I disobeyed your order. It’s my fault that little girl got sick. I shamed you and endangered her; I beg you to punish me.”
Stephen swallowed. “Miles, please. This isn’t necessary.”
The slave made a choked sound. “I disobeyed. I proved myself unworthy of your trust and not fit for service with NIH.”
Connor reached down and put a hand underneath Miles’ elbow. “Come on, Miles, stand up.”
“I should be punished,” the young man repeated.
“I’m your Master, that’s for me to decide,” Stephen pointed out. Then he firmed his voice. “Let’s get you up off the floor.”
“Yes, Sir.”
With Stephen’s aid, Miles rose. Connor kept a hand on the young man’s arm and led him to the couch. Once there, Stephen put Miles on one side and himself on the other. He was too caught up in the slave’s misery to be distracted by the fact that Miles was naked.
“All right, now we can talk this out like civilized people,” Connor started. “Yes, you disobeyed me.”
“I should be punished,” Miles interrupted his owner. Then, realizing what he’d done, he blushed and ducked his head.
Stephen reached over and put one hand underneath the young man’s chin. After raising Miles’ face, he gently brushed away the tears running down the slave’s cheeks. “I think you’re already punishing yourself quite enough, my own.”
“I – I don’t understand.”
“You’re a compassionate man,” Connor explained. “The fact that a patient became ill because of your actions is all the punishment you need. That alone is worse for you than if I whipped you.” He was aware that Miles would probably feel better if he did beat him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The welts on the slave’s body had faded, but the scars remained. Miles had been beaten far too often, in Stephen’s opinion. “Besides, I’m equally to blame.”
Miles continued to look confused. “Master?”
“You’re not a full doctor yet, Miles, and you don’t have the experience necessary to enforce a quarantine,” Stephen stated. “I failed to take that into account and, since I was in charge of both the situation and you, it’s ultimately my fault.”
The slave frowned. “That’s not fair. I disobeyed.”
“Out of the best intentions,” Connor qualified. “And because of inexperience. Let me ask you this, the next time I tell you there’s a quarantine, would you allow someone to breach it?”
“No, Master,” Miles responded emphatically.
“Good,” Stephen smiled. “You learned a valuable lesson. . . and so did I.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” Miles said, eyes again cast down.
“And so am I, Miles,” Connor stated. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you. That’s a failing of mine, I’m afraid. You’ll have to learn not to take it personally. The cases we work on are often life-and-death situations, that’s a lot of pressure and people under such stress often lash out.”
“I shouldn’t have disobeyed.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Stephen agreed. “But, next time you’ll know better, right?” Miles nodded and then suddenly yawned. He looked abashed, but Connor merely chuckled. “My thoughts exactly. We can talk about this more tomorrow if you like, but right now we both need to get some rest.”
He got up and the slave followed suit. Miles let Stephen go in front of him, but the doctor turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “I almost forgot, you did good work with that blanket. It was the key we needed to solve the case.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” Miles responded, his pleasure about the praise shining beyond the exhaustion in his eyes.
With that, Connor knew they were going to be all right. Miles had lapsed into the more formal “Master” after Stephen’s outburst and it was relief to have him back on a first name basis. He sent the slave ahead of him and they both headed for a well-deserved rest.
He would have to be more careful, Connor thought as he made his way into his bedroom and started shedding his clothes. Someday, Miles would be more comfortable and they’d work past that tentativeness that had Irene so worried; until then Stephen would have to be more careful with his tongue. Frank was right, a harsh word from his owner was devastating for Miles. Stephen had no intention of changing his high standards, but he’d have to be a little more mellow on how he expressed them. For the time being, anyway.
With a groan of relief, Stephen crawled into bed without bothering to put his pajamas on. The soft touch of the sheets against his bare skin reminded him of the bare skin that had just been on display. He’d been too focused on the conversation to appreciate it at the time, but now as he drifted off to sleep, Stephen thought of Miles’ nude body. He’d especially appreciated the working of the slave’s taught buttocks as Miles walked ahead of him down the hallway…
Stephen’s dreams that night were very pleasant indeed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miles was worried about Stephen. Not ‘worried about’ as in afraid of the man, but truly concerned for his owner’s well being.
In the week since the incident on the
Miles couldn’t help himself from flinching the first couple of days after Stephen had yelled at him. He’d finally stopped when he realized that Connor wasn’t going to beat him – and because of the sad look that the cringes would cause in his owner’s eyes.
Everything had been going smoothly until yesterday. Something had happened, but the slave didn’t know what. All he knew was that Stephen had been unusually quiet. With Miles, anyway. With some of the others, he’d been a bit more snarly. While Miles was happy he wasn’t on the receiving end of Stephen’s temper, he was still worried. The ride from work the evening before had been silent, as was return trip this morning. True, they hadn’t had a case in a couple of days to talk about, but in the past, if they didn’t have something work-related to discuss, Stephen usually would spend the time chatting about the materials that Dr. Chimienti had assigned. Miles wracked his brain about his own behavior, but he couldn’t think of anything that would have caused his Master to act so oddly.
“What crawled up his butt and died?”
Miles looked up at Eva’s vocal entrance. Natalie was already in the lab, as was Frank. Only Natalie and Miles were really needed in order to conduct the tests for the drug trial, but the young man got the impression that the others were hiding out from Stephen.
“What happened?” Durant went over to her lover and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding Eva to a lab stool.
“I don’t know,” the young woman claimed. “He wasn’t satisfied with my report, I guess.”
“That report was fine. I proof-read it for you last night.” Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “I think I need to go have a talk with that man.”
“Whoa there, ladies,” Frank cautioned. “Did Stephen tell you that Lisa called him
yesterday? It seems she wants to stay in
Natalie deflated. “Oh, damn.” Her hands rested on Eva’s shoulders.
Stephen had mentioned his wife and son, of course, but Miles didn’t know what to think of the situation. He’d had married Masters before, but they’d all kept tight reins on their wives. Even his own father had been strict with his mother, insisting that she quit teaching to raise their children and, later, that she only work on volunteer projects that he’d approved. Miles had no experience with wives who could tell their husbands to move out and make it stick, or that felt free to gallivant around the continent.
“Stephen loves his son,” Miles stated quietly.
“Damn straight he does,” Frank responded.
“Then why?” Miles normally wouldn’t have dared to ask the toxicologist. Frank was friendly enough, but he still intimidated Miles.
Powell shrugged. “Guilt, I suppose. Stephen’s marriage to Lisa was an arranged one. Something to do about trade alliances and shipping lines.”
“Arranged marriages aren’t that common anymore, are they?” Miles asked tentatively.
“You still find them among the upper classes,” Natalie explained. “They’re often more business arrangements than anything else, but Stephen fell in love with Lisa.”
“And she resents how much time he spends working,” Eva added. “As if any doctor works a 9-5 type of job.”
Miles felt like an idiot. It was obvious that the others were familiar with Connor’s marital woes, but Miles himself was clueless. And he’d lived with the man for over a month.
“Well, I guess if that’s the case, I forgive him for being such a bear,” Eva sighed. “He really misses his little boy.”
“Yeah,” Frank said with feeling. “And if that isn’t bad enough, the man hasn’t had the comfort of a physical relationship for a long time.” He shot a glance at Miles. “A really long time.”
The conversation stuck with Miles long after Frank and Eva had left the lab. He felt awful. The ass-chewing he’d received on the island aside, Stephen had been nothing but kind to him. In fact, Miles’ nightmares still disrupted Connor’s sleep a couple of times a week. Thank God the dream about that horrific public first Claiming hadn’t returned, but it was far from the only nightmare that haunted Miles. He was often trapped in a dream, not waking until his cries woke Stephen, who’d then come into Miles’ room to check on him. With their NIH work, sleep was a precious commodity, but Stephen had yet to punish Miles or even try to make him feel guilty about it.
As the afternoon wore on, a seed of an idea started in Miles’ head. For once, he wanted to do something nice for Stephen. Not a chore, like the laundry or taking a turn at cooking dinner, but something personal. He thought about it some more before gathering his courage to speak to Dr. Durant.
“Natalie,” Miles eventually approached the doctor. “I was wondering….”
Durant looked up, an expectant expression on her face. It was still rare for Miles to start a conversation. “Yes?”
“Would it be all right….?” He tried again. “If you could spare me from the lab for a few minutes, could I go get some coffee?”
Natalie looked over at the equipment running the tests and then back to Miles’ hope-filled face. For a minute, he thought she was going to say no, but instead she smiled at him. “You’ve been stuck in here all day. Go, you deserve a break.”
“Thank you,” Miles gave her a grateful grin. Before he could change his mind, he headed for the elevators.
Coffee was everywhere at the NIH offices, but quantity didn’t always mean quality. Since Miles had pretty much been without it since becoming a slave, he’d at first thought the black goo that came out of the pots in their area was pure heaven. As his palate had again become more discriminating, though, he understood why the others considered it to be a necessary evil. Bad coffee, Stephen had even told him once, was one of the hazards of becoming a doctor. The coffee in the cafeteria was marginally better, but for a decent cup, the gourmet coffee shop across the street was where everyone flocked.
Miles hadn’t been to the coffee shop. In fact, he’d never been off their floor by himself before. Stephen always made sure he had money for food and anything else he’d need during the day, but Miles had always managed to tag along with someone else when they went to lunch or on another errand. It felt very… odd… to be out on his own. With his other owners, he’d usually spent his time in a bedroom or other space prepared for his Master’s pleasure, often shackled to a bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out in public by himself. It was a heady experience, but a little nerve-wracking as well.
Getting to the elevator, going down, and making his way through the building lobby was no problem. Miles had traveled that way often enough that he could easily navigate even with his eyes cast down as was proper for a slave. He stopped at the door, though, looking through its glass surface to the coffee shop that was across the street. It was as if it was across the ocean, from Miles’ perspective.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, not even aware that he was fingering his Chain. “Quit being a coward.”
Miles took a deep breath and opened the door, taking a step out before he lost his nerve. Oddly enough, the world didn’t stop spinning, lightening bolts didn’t streak down from the sky, and there was no general outcry about a slave going outside his bounds. Emboldened, Miles walked carefully to the corner and pressed the button on the stoplight pole that would get him a ‘walk’ symbol.
With every step, Miles’ confidence grew. In fact, he got across the street, all the way to the shop and inside it without any problems. Once there, however, there was a whole new set of issues. With dismay, the slave studied the menu, eyes widening as he realized how extensive it was. It hadn’t been too long ago that simple coffee had been out of Miles’ reach; he’d forgotten how complicated the drink could be.
“Can I get you something, honey?”
Miles startled at the voice, but settled down a little when he got a look at the woman speaking to him. She was on the far side of middle-aged and had a kind look in her eye.
“I’m supposed to get coffee for my Master,” Miles explained shyly. “But I don’t know what he likes.”
The woman behind the counter eyed Miles’ Chain. It was such a part of him now that he tended to forget how unusual it was. “Your Master work across the street?”
Miles turned around, belatedly realizing that the NIH building was as easily seen from the coffee shop as the coffee shop was from the office. She must have watched him come out and cross the street. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman smiled at him. “Well, chances are he’s been here before. What’s he look like?”
“He’s a little taller than me and athletic looking,” Miles knew his words weren’t doing Stephen justice. “Short blond hair and blue eyes. *Really* blue eyes.”
“Ah, you mean Dr. Connor,” the woman immediately identified Miles’ owner. “He likes the Hawaiian Royal Kona blend. No syrup, no milk, just straight java.”
“I’ll take one of those, then. A large one,” Miles said gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t mention it, sweetie,” the woman winked at him. “Didn’t realize Dr. C had a slave.”
“I’m kind of new,” Miles admitted sheepishly.
“Yeah, I can tell,” she winked at him as she poured Stephen’s coffee and rang it up.
Miles dug in his pocket for the money and even had enough for a tip, which he self-consciously put in the jar. “Thank you again, ma’am. I appreciate your help.”
“Anytime, sugar,” she said kindly. “Now, you take care of Dr. C. He helped clear up my bursitis once. He’s a real keeper, that man is.”
“Yes, ma’am, he is.” Miles surprised himself by agreeing with her. “I mean, yes, ma’am, I will.”
The short trip back across the street to the NIH offices was much more relaxed. Perhaps because holding the Styrofoam cup of coffee felt like he was holding a shield or maybe he’d just won back a smidgeon of his self confidence. In any case, in a few moments, Miles was back in the building and on the elevator, headed back up to his floor. When the elevator stopped to let a new passenger on, Miles just shifted to the side, keeping his eyes down as was proper. He noticed the newcomer’s shoes first, but it had barely registered that they were Italian before Miles found himself backed into a corner.
“Mmm… smells good,” Parravinci said. He pressed close, not quite touching, but definitely in Miles’ personal space.
The slave had a feeling that the man wasn’t referring to the coffee. “It’s for my Master.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Parravinci purred.
When Parravinci had imposed himself on Miles before, it had left the slave an emotional wreck. The man still intimidated Miles, especially alone in such cramped corners. Underlying Miles’ trepidation, however, anger, began to simmer. Miles belonged Stephen and was trying to do something nice for his Master. Who was this creep to interfere? His options, unfortunately, were severely limited. He couldn’t risk sassing back to the man or punishment would surely follow.
Miles lifted the hand not occupied with holding the coffee cup to his neck. He fingered his Chain in an unsubtle attempt to flaunt his favored slave status. Stephen Connor was a formidable man and Parravinci didn’t strike Miles as particularly brave. Hopefully, reminding the NIH doctor of how Connor valued him would get the creep to leave him alone. It worked. At least, Parravinci backed off a little. It was enough that, when the elevator arrived at his floor, Miles was able to inch past the man and get out.
“I’ll see you later, Miles,” Parravinci called out as the doors closed.
“Not if I see you first,” Miles muttered under his breath.
Shaking himself mentally, the slave hurried to finish his task. Coffee was best hot and he wanted to get the treat to Stephen while it was still steaming. First, though, he needed to let Dr. Durant know he was back.
“Natalie,” Miles called as he briefly entered the lab. “I’m just going to drop this off for Stephen and then I’ll be right back.”
He wasn’t surprised to see Eva there. She tended to hang out with Natalie whenever they had a break in the action. It wasn’t as if they all didn’t work insane hours during a case, so it wasn’t exactly goofing off. At the moment, the press liaison was standing behind Natalie, gently kneading the doctor’s shoulders. Both women looked over when Miles came in.
Natalie glanced down at the coffee and back up at Miles. “Sure, that’s fine.” A smile played around her lips as she added a suggestion. “Why don’t you just take your study materials and finish the day out in Stephen’s office? We’re about all wrapped up here anyway.”
Miles knew when he wasn’t needed. With a nod of thanks, the young man grabbed his pile of notes and related texts. Shoving them under his arm, he headed toward Stephen’s office. Once there, however, he had a hard time making himself knock. Peering in the blinds that hung in the glass walls of his Master’s office, he could clearly see Stephen sitting at his desk. The man was staring intently at his computer, but it wasn’t a report or other official document that had grabbed his attention. It was a photo, of a woman and a boy. The look on his Master’s face was infinitely sad and Miles instantly knew that his owner was looking at a picture of his wife and son. Suddenly, a cup of coffee seemed like a pretty meager offering.
Miles moved to turn away, but he was too late. Connor had already seen him.
“Miles, is everything all right?” Stephen asked. “You don’t have another headache, do you?”
The slave blushed. “No.” After taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he walked forward. “I thought you might like a cup of coffee.” He held it out, looking at Stephen from underneath lowered eyelashes.
Connor smiled.
“That’s thoughtful, thank you.” He took it from the young man, noticing
the logo on the cup. “And you got the
good stuff. That’s very thoughtful
indeed.” Stephen took a sip, face alight
with satisfaction as he got a good taste.
“My blend, how did you know?”
“The lady at the shop helped me,” Miles said shyly. “I think she likes you. She mentioned you helped her once.”
“Let that be a lesson for you, Miles,” Stephen said with a smile. “Always place a high value someone who can make a good cup of coffee.” His smile turned to a frown. “But you didn’t get yourself any?”
Miles shrugged. “No. I wasn’t thirsty.” The excuse sounded lame to his own ears. The honest truth was that he simply hadn’t thought about it.
“Well, you look thirsty now.” Stephen uncovered an empty ceramic mug on his desk. He blew the dust out of it, before wiping it out with his shirt tail. That done, he took off the lid of the cup Miles had brought him and poured some of it into the mug. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Miles took it. He sipped, smiling as the rich taste exploded in his mouth. “That *is* good.”
“Ah, another convert,” Connor grinned. He nodded at the schoolwork that Miles had brought with him. “Did you get kicked out of the lab?”
“Kind of,” Miles admitted. “I think Natalie and Eva wanted a little alone time.” He mentally kicked himself when he saw a shadow flit over Stephen’s face. He’d inadvertently brought up something relationship-oriented, the last thing Connor needed at the moment. “Natalie thought maybe I could study in here with you?”
“That’d be fine,” Stephen responded. “We should actually get out of here on time tonight, unless an outbreak starts somewhere.”
Miles juggled his books and the coffee as he settled himself on the chair he’d begun to think of as his. He could hear the siren call of the medical materials he was supposed to study, but his mind wouldn’t focus. He was distracted by the way he felt. Here in Stephen’s office, having the opportunity to study the medicine that had been his life’s dream, basking in the quiet company of the man who’d purchased him, Miles felt… happy? Safe? Content?
What was wrong with him?
He’d met slaves before that were thrilled to be Chained and he hadn’t known
whether to be disgusted by them or pity them.
One man had tried to explain, about how having a Master to take care of
him made him feel secure and loved. At the time, Miles had thought he was
crazy, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe,
just maybe, the difference was in having the right Master. His fingers strayed up to his Chain again and
Miles remembered that awful night he’d tried to get Connor to beat him. Stephen had called him “my own.” Back when he was free, Miles would have
assumed such an endearment was patronizing, at best, and downright demeaning at
worst. It hadn’t felt that way at all,
though. Instead, it had made Miles feel… protected… cared for.
The young man frowned. He’d never felt so confused.
“What’s the matter?” Stephen’s voice sounded curious rather than concerned. “One of the subjects Irene assigned giving you trouble?”
Miles didn’t like the idea of lying to Stephen, but there was no way he was going to admit what he’d really been thinking of. “Yes. I just don’t quite get the stuff about endocrine regulation.”
Stephen got up from his chair and moved around to the front of the desk, perching on the edge. “Okay, what’s giving you a problem? Maybe I can help.”
Since he did have questions about that particular subject area, Miles launched into detailed explanation. Worries about his own feelings could be put aside; every single chance to talk medicine with Stephen was too precious to waste. Besides, his internal philosophical debate could wait. It wasn’t like his Master had moved to Claim him, after all. Despite his early misgivings, it was obvious Miles had been wrong about his owner.
Early on, Stephen had discussed sex with Miles and, even though the subject had not been raised again, the young man had certainly not forgotten. Connor had promised that nothing they did sexually would hurt him, but after so many weeks in Stephen’s possession and not a single sexual advance or comment having been made, Miles had begun to believe it had been an unnecessary promise. He’d thought about it, of course. Part of getting to know Stephen had been pure self-interest; the better he knew his Master, the better he could please him in bed and that was usually necessary for Miles’ continued well being. Sometimes, he looked at Stephen and thought it wouldn’t be so bad. The man was attractive and athletic. Given how considerate he’d been of Miles so far, it probably wouldn’t be an overly unpleasant task. Other times, he thanked God for his owner’s abstinence. It had been years since anyone had looked at Miles as something other than a convenient fuck and he found he treasured that sensation most of all in this new life as Connor’s slave.
Dr. Stephen Connor was different than anyone who’d owned Miles before. Stephen, Miles had come to believe, could be trusted. If he Claimed Miles, he wouldn’t hurt him, but Miles would just as soon that never happen. He liked the life he had now too much to relish any change that might risk it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miles watched from across the corridor as Eva did her best to comfort Stephen through the loss of a patient. He knew that it was his place to be where Eva was, doing what she was doing, but he couldn’t quite make himself cross that distance to go to his Master. They weren’t even sure, yet, what had killed the girl, but Stephen had taken it hard. That didn’t surprise Miles, even though it was the first time it had happened since he’d been bought. So was the straightening of the other man’s spine as he clearly took something Eva said the wrong way.
Pulling back behind the corner when Stephen started looking in his direction, Miles hesitated only a moment before heading for the elevator. It wasn’t that he thought Stephen would take out the bad mood on him, not really. Ever since the first time he’d screwed up, when Miles had demanded a beating, Stephen had taken pains to remain calm.
Truth be told, he wasn’t really sure why he was running.
He reached the elevators and hit the call button, wanting to get to the lab as quickly as he could. Natalie was there with Frank, going over samples and it would be safe there. Even if Stephen showed up, he wouldn’t do anything with them around. He stepped inside the elevator and hit the button for the floor where the labs were located.
The doors were closing when he heard, “Miles, wait!”
He looked up to find Stephen jogging down the hall and even though he moved to keep the doors ajar, they closed anyhow.
Great. Now he had to worry about Stephen thinking that he had disobeyed him, on top of the normal bad mood, Miles thought with a sigh. This just wasn’t his day.
It hadn’t been, from the start. The last couple of weeks had been bad, really. There had been some kind of budgetary and staff meetings going on with Mistress Ewing and other high-level department heads. That, combined with no intellectual challenge in the form of new cases, had contrived to keep Miles’ gaze on the floor, just in case. Being cooped up all day apparently did not agree with his Master. Stephen had been sour and uncommunicative, though he hadn’t come down on Miles about anything.
Then this morning, they’d been woken far too early, at about three thirty, to come down to a case consisting of four young girls with seizures and no family history of them. Add to that the four girls being on the same cheerleading squad and they knew something was going on, but not what.
The elevator doors pinged open and Miles stepped off, then wondered if maybe he should stay there and wait for Stephen. Shaking the idea off as stupid, Stephen might not even come after him, Miles walked towards the lab where he knew Frank and Natalie waited.
“Miles! Just the person I need,” Natalie greeted him, smiling. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on these specimens for me, will you? Take them out the instant they’re done, and mark them according to this chart.”
Miles nodded and took her spot by the centrifuge, asking, “Where’s Frank?”
Moving to a microscope, she answered, “Oh, he had an idea that he wanted to follow up on. He was on his way up to get Stephen and investigate, so you must have just missed him.”
Which meant that Stephen wouldn’t be coming downstairs any time soon.
“Natalie?”
But Eva, apparently, would.
Miles glanced sideways to find the diminutive woman standing in the doorway.
Natalie looked up in surprise and asked, “Eva? What’s wrong?”
“That girl,
Miles returned his attention to the centrifuge as it came to a stop and began pulling the beakers from it before picking up a pen.
Natalie’s face fell. “Oh damn. And we still don’t know what the problem is.”
“Are you close to something?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Do you mind if I speak to Miles alone for a minute, then?”
Miles stiffened, but didn’t move as Natalie murmured an assent and left the room. It wasn’t until Eva touched his arm that he looked up from his writing. Even though there was nothing but kindness and understanding on her face, Miles didn’t relax as he stopped what he was doing.
“So what happened back there?” Eva questioned, leaning against the lab counter.
Shrugging, Miles answered, “Nothing.”
“Miles.”
“Nothing!” he insisted, dropping her gaze, then muttered, “Nothing you can fix, anyhow.”
“Well, that’s a start at least,” she said dryly.
With a sigh, Miles said, “I don’t even know why I left like that.”
Rubbing his shoulder, Eva offered, “You don’t think that maybe you were a little intimidated at facing Stephen in a mood? The last time you did, after all, you got your head bit off.”
“No, I deserved that. I’d made a mistake.”
“No one deserves that, Miles, and we all made sure Stephen knew it.”
That startled him, but there wasn’t really anything to be said about it, either. How could he admit to anyone that after all the abuse and torture he’d suffered in the past few years, after only a couple of months with Stephen, he’d begun to…
“Miles, you can’t keep everything inside, or you’ll explode one day,” Eva cautioned softly.
Uncomfortable, Miles said, “I’m not trying to, Eva, honest. It’s just, I can’t, I can’t figure things out.”
“What things? Stephen?”
“Maybe.”
Eva smiled and pointed out, “No one’s been able to figure him out, Miles, and we’ve known him a lot longer than you have. But you must know that he would never hurt you.”
“Not physically, maybe.”
The smile faded at his words and she rubbed his shoulder again. “Stephen cares about you so much, Miles, you haven’t even begun to realize just how much. You have to let the past go and start fresh with him. If he could set you free, I know that he would. You are truly unjustly enslaved and you’ve suffered horrors that no free person can imagine, I know. Believe me, I know. To let go of the walls that have kept you sane and safe inside, for so long, seems crazy in itself, but Miles, if you don’t, you’ll never be able to trust Stephen for real, or to have a happy life.”
It had been so long since a happy life had been even the vaguest of hopes, that Miles almost couldn’t grasp what she was telling him. That Eva felt it possible to be Chained and happy seemed more a testament to the bond between she and Natalie, than the likelihood that it could happen with others as well. With himself and Stephen, if he was being truthful. Looking away from those earnest hazel eyes, Miles finally said, “I don’t know if I can.”
Can let down the walls. Can trust Stephen. Can live a happy life. Can let go of the past…it was so open ended that not even Miles really knew what he meant.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Aaaah! Son of a bitch!”
Stephen slammed the pot down, an instinctive reaction to having been burned. The doctor had been so lost in his thoughts that he’d forgotten to use a potholder, resulting in a painful burn. It was the ‘perfect’ ending to a ‘perfect’ day. He’d lost a patient, a teenage girl, and it rankled. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, obviously distracting him from what he was doing. Unfortunately, what he was doing was making pasta. Cooking and inattentiveness were never a good combination.
“Here, let me see.”
Connor let Miles take his hand and walk him to the sink. Once there, the young man ran cold water over the burn.
“I don’t think it’s too serious,” Miles reassured him. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
“What?” Stephen asked. He pulled his hand from the water. Miles was right, it wasn’t badly burned. “What isn’t my fault?”
“Sandy, that girl that died,” the slave explained. “You can’t save everyone, Stephen, no matter how hard you try.”
Stephen looked at his companion. Miles was gazing calmly back, not even a hint of a flinch evident in his pose. Connor could trace the change in the slave back to a simple cup of coffee. Ever since Miles had brought him one to comfort him over his wife and son’s continued absence, Connor had sensed a shift in Miles. The young man didn’t just obey Stephen’s instructions; he actively sought out ways to help the doctor. In his shy, deferential way, he’d even become something of a mother hen.
In the wake of Miles’ concern, the day came crashing down on Stephen. The girl who’d died because Connor hadn’t figured out the cause of her illness in time to save her life. The hole in his heart that represented the absence of his son. The ache of loneliness that plagued his body, making it thrum with need.
Miles, right in front of him. Warm and sweet and caring.
The slave’s smile faltered as he watched Stephen’s smile become predatory. “M-master?”
“Shhh, Miles,” Connor crooned, stepping closer to his companion. He hooked one finger in the waist of Miles’ pants and pulled him closer, wrapping his hands around Miles’ hips as soon as he could. Stephen bent his head to Miles’, stopping just short of kissing him to smile reassuringly. Miles’ eyes were wide and he was breathing in short, choppy pants. In short, he looked good enough to eat.
And then Stephen touched his lips to his slave’s, groaning as he felt their moist length slide against his own. He tightened his grip on the young man’s hips and pulled him closer, sliding his knee between Miles’ legs. At the same time, he thrust his tongue against Miles’ closed lips, silently insisting they open for him. When Miles hesitated, Connor shifted his grip to the slave’s ass. A tight squeeze made the other man gasp and Stephen took that opportunity to slide his tongue inside.
Heat surrounded him. Stephen groaned as he plundered Miles’ mouth, exploring every inch of the wet cavern. His hands were still on the slave’s ass as they kissed, squeezing rhythmically. Only when Miles began to struggle for air did he let the younger man’s lips go. Even then, he kept a tight grip on the slave, not letting Miles retreat.
“Master….”
Stephen eased his hold a bit, making his grip on Miles more of an embrace as he felt trembling start to shake the young man’s body. He cupped the slave’s ass with one hand and used the other to force Miles to look at him. “What did I promise you, Miles? That very first morning here in the apartment?”
Miles tried his best to look away. “That nothing we do together sexually will cause me pain.”
“That’s right, Miles.” Stephen agreed. “I’m going to make you feel good, not hurt you.”
“Yes, Master.” The response was scarcely loud enough to be called a whisper.
Stephen let go of Miles only long enough to turn off the stove. Dinner could wait; he had another hunger to appease. The doctor took Miles by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Once inside, he pulled the young man into his arms and kissed him again. By this time, Miles’ shaking was a lot more noticeable. “Miles?”
“Mm-master, I don’t know if I can-can do this.”
“It’s Stephen, Miles, not Master. Not in this.” Connor put a finger over Miles’ lips, already swollen from kissing. “What did I promise you?”
“Nothing we do together sexually will cause me pain,” Miles faithfully repeated.
“And in the two months I’ve owned you, have I ever broken a promise to you?” Stephen demanded. “Lied to you?”
Miles silently shook his head.
“This isn’t about pain, Miles,” Connor pledged. “This is about pleasure.”
He took Miles’ mouth again before the young man could reply. He plunged into that pliant mouth over and over, until his body was aching with need. Breaking off from Miles’ lips with a moan, Connor moved his mouth to Miles’ neck, devouring it with hungry nips as his hands moved to strip the slave of his shirt.
Miles whimpered.
Stephen stopped himself. Fast was the pace that his body was demanding, but this wasn’t just about him. He didn’t have a true Claiming in mind, Miles wasn’t ready for that. Instead, this was a lesson, that Miles re-learn that his body could provide him pleasure.
“Miles,” he instructed hoarsely. “Take my shirt off.”
The slave moved to obey with trembling hands, not looking at Stephen’s face. Connor allowed that until the shirt was off, then he grabbed Miles’ wrists. Looking at Miles lovingly, he turned the other man’s hands over and kissed each palm. His partner shivered and, for the first time, Stephen doubted it was in fear.
He let Miles’ hands drop and reached for his lover. Miles had regained some weight since becoming Stephen’s slave, but was still a little underweight. The doctor stroked the slim torso gently, keeping his touch light. Miles shivered again.
“You are so beautiful,” Stephen whispered as he bent to kiss a bare shoulder. Miles just shook his head silently, denying the claim. Connor deliberately ran his hand across Miles’ back, which was covered in scars, some faint and some relatively fresh. “You survived, Miles. That took strength and strength is beautiful.”
Miles wrapped his arms around himself, as though to hide his form from his owner. That didn’t meet with Stephen’s approval. “Nah-uh, none of that,” the doctor chided him. “You’re beautiful.”
He encouraged Miles onto the bed and lay down next to him, trying to let his admiration for the young man show through his eyes. He stroked the soft skin of Miles’ chest, softly kissing each mark. In a way, they were obscene, reminders of past violence on the slave’s body. In another way, they were tangible proof of his strength and will to survive. Stephen went on to lave gentle kisses on each of Miles’ nipples, being tender as he caressed them. As he went on to suck each hardened little nub, Miles gave a strangled cry and made an aborted motion to reach for Connor. Stephen was disappointed when the slave instead clutched the bedspread. Miles had yet to willingly touch him and, while Connor was satisfied at bringing the slave pleasure, he longed for the time when Miles was comfortable enough to reciprocate.
When Miles started making breathy, needy noises, Stephen brushed a hand across the younger man’s groin. There was a noticeable bulge, indisputable evidence that the slave was finding pleasure in his actions.
With a final lick, Connor left off teasing Miles’ nipples. He kissed his way down the lean stomach, stopping only long enough to dart briefly into his lover’s tempting bellybutton. He left off when he felt Miles twitch. He didn’t want to bring the festivities to their conclusion too soon, but he cataloged the response for future exploration. Instead, he moved to nuzzle the waistband of Miles’ jeans.
“Stephen?”
Connor looked up. Miles’ eyes were wide, but his lips were red and swollen from their kisses, his nipples hard and pink from Stephen’s attentions. His breathing was in quick pants and a light sheen of sweat made his skin glisten. The slave was a bewitching combination of innocence and debauchery.
“What did I promise you?” He asked his slave.
Miles licked his lips. “N-nothing we do together sexually will cause me pain.”
“Good boy,” Stephen praised him. “Now lift your hips.”
Connor made short work of unzipping his lover and then, when Miles obediently raised his ass off the bed, slipped the jeans off the slender hips. The briefs soon followed and he saw the slave in all of his glory. He’d seen Miles nude before, but never when he was half hard and gasping for control.
“I don’t think you’ll find *this* painful at all,” Connor promised him and then lowered his head.
Miles cried out sharply as his owner’s mouth engulfed him. Stephen paused only long enough to hold Miles’ hips down then slid the other man’s penis into his mouth again. Miles tasted like need and Connor savored it. He circled the swollen head before sliding the shaft down his throat, loving the moans and cries the sensation caused. He didn’t want to torture Miles, though. As he continued to slurp, Stephen used one hand to roll Miles’ balls before reaching back and tickling the sensitive skin of his perineum.
The slave convulsed as he came, the strangled cry accompanying his orgasm was garbled, but could have been Stephen’s name. Connor was too busy swallowing to try and figure it out. As Miles subsided, he released the young man’s cock and kissed his way back up Miles’ body. When he got all the way to Miles’ mouth, the slave wrapped his arms around Connor, hiding his face in Stephen’s neck as shudders racked his body.
“Shhh, Miles,” Stephen crooned. “That’s what it’s like to feel good.”
“Yes, M-m-aster,” he stammered, not letting go of Connor.
Stephen shifted Miles in his arms, keeping up a continual patter of reassuring words. It tore at him, that it had been so long since Miles had experienced touch that was designed to pleasure instead of inflict pain. As Miles moved in his embrace, however, the young man brushed against Stephen and the erection that was tenting the doctor’s pants. Gulping, the young man looked at Connor.
“We’re not done yet, Miles,” Stephen confirmed. “But what was that promise?”
“Nothing we do together sexually will cause me pain,” Miles repeated.
“No pain,” Stephen vowed, kissing the young man deeply.
Connor didn’t ask for Miles’ help in taking his pants off; he figured it would be a little too much for the slave to handle. Instead, after a final kiss, he slid off the bed and made short work of jeans and underwear both, hissing under his breath as the cooler air hit his throbbing cock. He tossed the garments aside and, after grabbing some supplies from the nightstand, rejoined Miles on the bed.
The slave had turned shy again, hiding his face from Stephen. “Hey, none of that,” Connor chided. “This is about feeling good.”
“It never has before,” Miles protested.
“You’ve never made love with me before,” Stephen pointed out. “In fact, I doubt you’ve had sex in the last three years. Claimed? Yes. Fucked, nailed into the mattress, banged within an inch of your life? Yes, yes, and yes. But this?” Connor stroked the back of his hand across Miles’ cheek. “This is different, Miles. Trust me?”
Miles swallowed heavily. “I’ll try, M-master.”
“Not Master, Miles. Stephen.”
The slave opened his mouth to reply and Connor covered it with his own, swallowing Miles’ words. He kept up the deep, lingering kisses, distracting the young man from the fact that, one-handed, he’d popped the top off the lube and was awkwardly slicking up his fingers.
On a particularly deep kiss, he slid his hand in-between Miles’ cheeks, gently massaging the puckered opening they guarded. Miles gasped and another kiss swallowed the small sound. Stephen rolled so that Miles was on top of him. He used the leverage to slide their cocks together, groaning deep in his chest as he realized that Miles was again getting hard, although the younger man had a long way to go until he was fully erect. Stephen slid his hands behind Miles again, this time not just massaging Miles’ hole, but slipping his finger inside.
Miles’ body stiffened.
“Shhhhh, my own,” Connor encouraged. “No pain, only pleasure.”
He carefully thrust his finger in and out, acclimating Miles to the penetration. The opening relaxed, even if the rest of Miles body didn’t. Judging that a success, Stephen withdrew long enough to lube up another finger and then coaxed Miles body into accepting both of them.
Miles still had his face hidden in Stephen’s neck and Connor could feel the slave’s breath quicken.
“Calmly, my own,” he instructed, worried about the young man hyperventilating. “This is going to feel good. I promise… and I never break my promises.”
Stephen kept up the anal massage, scissoring and thrusting his fingers as he encouraged his lover’s body open. When he judged the slave was loose enough, he lubed and added a third finger, prompting Miles to cry out softly. Knowing that three fingers was the limit, Stephen went slowly, taking his time thrusting and penetrating as deeply as he could. He’d meant it when he promised no pain. Truthfully, there would have to be a little, Miles hadn’t been taken in months and was tight, but Connor wanted to keep it to a minimum. Certainly, it would be less than anything Miles had experienced before.
Finally, he judged Miles ready and withdrew his fingers.
“All right, my own,” Stephen instructed after one last kiss. “Let’s get you on your back.”
He scooted Miles off of him and settled the younger man on his back. Miles watched silently as Stephen unrolled a condom onto his cock and slicked it up liberally with lube. When he was done, the doctor knelt in front of the slave and pulled Miles across his knees. Miles’ penis wasn’t completely erect and Connor wrapped a hand around it, pumping it a few times. The slave’s hips came up off the mattress and Stephen grinned. Miles wasn’t nearly as reluctant as he’d started out.
“No pain, my own, only pleasure,” he vowed. Miles nodded, but didn’t reply. Technically, Stephen didn’t need permission to take his slave, but that nod meant a lot to Connor.
Stephen lined his cock up to Miles’ opening and gently slid in. Miles gasped as the hard cock breached his body and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Connor rubbed his hip. “Good boy. Feel good?”
“Burns.”
“You’re awfully tight,” Stephen said by way of an explanation, then thrust in another inch more. Miles gasped again and arched his hips a little, driving Stephen further in. Connor grabbed Miles’ cock and pumped it, using the distraction to thrust steadily until his was fully sheathed in his lover.
As his balls settled against the taut globes of Miles’ ass, he reassured the young man. “That’s it, Miles. All the way in. This will only get better from here.”
“Yes, Master.”
Stephen didn’t have the breath to remind Miles to use his first name. Instead, as he felt the body throbbing all around his own start to relax, he leisurely slid most of the way out before reversing to carefully thrust back in. Miles gasped and Stephen groaned, loving the way the walls of the slave’s ass clutched him. Connor kept his first series of thrusts slow and deep, but his body’s needs began to take over. His thrusts became harder and faster, causing him to grunt each time he plunged all the way in.
As the coupling continued, Miles’ cock began to fill. Connor smiled savagely. Supporting himself with one hand, he wrapped the other around his lover’s penis, jacking Miles off to the rhythm he was using to shove his way deep inside.
“Come for me, my own,” Stephen crooned. “Give it to me.” He tickled the tip of Miles’ now fully erect cock, teasing the sensitive tip as he banged against the slave’s prostate.
“Ahh…” Miles cried out as a second orgasm ripped through him. He clutched the bedspread as he came a second time, the fountain of his release liberally coating both his and Stephen’s chests.
Connor felt himself lose control as Miles’ body clamped down on his own. He released the other man’s spasming cock and gripped his lover’s hips, pushing his own down hard on Miles as he thrust in as deeply as he could. “Miles!” His own orgasm, as he came, was almost painful in its intensity. He felt his warmth flooding the slaves’ body, only the thin membrane of the condom keeping it in check.
With a groan of triumph, he collapsed on top of Miles, kissing the young man’s tears away as weariness overtook him. It was all Stephen could do to pull gently out of the slave and take care of the post-coital condom mess. When that was finished, he gathered Miles into his arms and drifted off to sleep.
He woke a short time later as Miles was stealthily climbing out of the bed.
“Hey, where are you going?” He asked the slave.
“I… I just thought I would go to my room,” came the tentative reply. The bedroom had grown dark and Stephen wished he could clearly see Miles’ face.
“Miles.”
He heard the young man sigh and saw him turn towards the bed, reluctance in every movement. “I can stay if you want me to, Master. Especially if you expect you’ll need me to s-service you again.”
‘Service.’ It was an ugly word for what had been one of the most intense sexual experiences of Stephen’s life.
“No, you can go if you want,” he sighed as he gave Miles permission to leave. Keeping the young man in bed with him now would not be beneficial.
Stephen watched the slave slip from the room. After Miles left, he lay staring at the ceiling for hours. He thought he’d made progress with Miles, taught the slave to trust him. He thought the young man had come to care for him, as Stephen certainly had come to care for Miles.
Had one night’s passion ruined all of that?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Miles didn’t run as he made his way to his room, but it was close. Once inside, he closed the door and locked it. That used up just about all the energy he had left. He leaned his back against the wall and found himself sliding down, finally ended up in an unhappy huddle on the floor.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Miles chanted to himself in a whisper that was barely more than an exhaled breath. He didn’t want to chance Stephen hearing him. Tears ran down his face and he angrily wiped them away.
Stephen.
Miles had thought Connor was different, but it turned out he was like all the rest. All he’d wanted was Miles’ body.
The slave wrapped his arms around himself and rocked, ignoring the pain the movement caused in his ass. What he couldn’t ignore was the satisfied ache in his nipples or the sensitive flesh of his cock. His mind flashed back to the act itself, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember being used. Instead he remembered himself clutching on to Stephen’s larger body, arching up into his Master’s touch, coming with the man’s name on his lips…
Aghast, Miles had a revelation. Had he wanted it?
Miles shook his head. No, he wasn’t a slut, he hadn’t wanted the sex. Hadn’t wanted Stephen’s healing hands all over his body, hadn’t wanted Connor to look at him with such loving eyes, hadn’t wanted to orgasm simply from the man calling him ‘my own’ and telling him to come.
Stephen hadn’t lied to him. He’d told him almost from the beginning that sex was a possibility and that he wouldn’t hurt Miles. Even Miles couldn’t say the ache in his ass constituted a broken promise, Connor had been gentle and thorough in preparing him.
So why did Miles feel so betrayed? And was it Stephen he felt betrayed by or his own body, that it had felt such pleasure from being taken? His mind was telling him that he’d been used and that the kindness he’d been shown over the last couple of months had been a sham. His body was telling him that it was very satisfied with the coupling. Was satiated, in fact. His heart didn’t know what to tell him; it was torn in two.
There was a part of Miles that wanted to go back to his Master’s bedroom and crawl under the covers with his owner. He was sure that Stephen could help him work through his confusion. He couldn’t make himself do it, though. He’d only been a slave for three years, but he’d had close to a dozen owners in that time and hundreds of sexual encounters with them. The mass of those unbearable experiences created a barrier that he just couldn’t cross. Not by himself.
Miles curled up on the floor. There was no way in Hell that he was going to lay on the bed. He couldn’t help the tears and, eventually, fell into an exhausted slumber, still huddled on the floor.
The slave didn’t realize, in the pained confusion he was feeling, that one of his hands clutched onto his Chain while he slept, as though it were a lifeline that he dare not release.
~the end~