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 déjŕ 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 déjŕ 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.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
end part 2