Fic: Let Mercy Come

[beanside]

Woot! WE go on vacation, and you get Deathknell!

Title: Let Mercy come
Authors: nilchance and beanside
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Never happened, tis fiction, all of it.
A/N: Many, many thanks to the lovely topaz119 for the awesome beta.



The drive up to Jeff's place seemed to take forever, Christian thought. Even the wireless playing soft jazz couldn't distract him from what he might find at the top of the mountain.

He'd known Jeff forever, it seemed. At the very least, Jeff had been part of his life forever. Morgan had bought him when he was six, but he'd already been a slave for two years at that point. His mother had been caught lifting a loaf of bread, and was destined for her own slave tattoo. With no one else left alive to take care of him, Christian was shuffled into the slave market himself.

It wasn't until much later that Christian learned that Morgan buying him wasn't some grand, overarching plan. That the part of her still grieving her own lost children couldn't walk away from a bleeding little boy who'd peeked out at the unfamiliar sound of a woman's voice. At the time, all he knew was that she'd saved him. This clean, tall lady was like one of his mother's angels, carrying him out of hell.

After he'd been cleaned up and fed, one of the first things Morgan had done was to show him a picture of a chubby boy. He was just a little older than Christian himself, obviously squirming in front of the camera. "This is my grandson, Matthew," she said gently. "He's the reason you're here. Don't ever forget it."

Christian hadn't. And three years later, he'd shown it to Morgan's new slave, Nikki. The picture had changed, now replaced by a blurry shot of a gangly teenager, but the message was the same. This is your reason for living. This is why you are here. You are expendable. Never forget that.

And sure enough, when Morgan set him free in Texas fourteen years later, Chris still hadn't forgotten. When he was standing in the Saharan heat of Nigeria, Matthew Dean himself staring at him and an assassin dead at their feet, he remembered.

God, he'd hated Jeff then, in all the ways he should've hated Morgan. But Morgan had raised him, patched his wounds and held him on her lap as he learned how to read. She'd taught him how to kill, how to take his tea, how to survive and why he'd even bother trying. Jeff had just been a concept, as clean and remote as a story-book saint. No blood on his hands, no time on his back, spoiled and protected, but Christian had nothing else. When Morgan freed him, he'd lost whatever other family he had.

By the time he'd found Jeff, Chris had been a starving, filthy, half-feral wreck. Any other man, faced with a vicious mute stalker, would've been at least nervous about it. After a few hours of trying to ditch Christian, Jeff had finally rounded back, tapped him on the shoulder and offered him half of his lunch. Since Christian was already following him, hell, Jeff figured he might as well share.

Even now, nearly a decade later, Christian couldn't suppress a smile at the memory. His only thought back then was "Morgan never mentioned that he was retarded."

Jeff took him back to his apartment and cleaned him up, fed him. Taught him to blend into the cultures that they visited. Taught him how to live. It had taken a while, but he slowly came to understand that Morgan had been right. Jeff was exactly what the US needed. Infinitely kind and patient, but not afraid to get his hands dirty. Not afraid to be ruthless when it was warranted.

They'd been friends, then lovers. Truth be told--

No. Despite this--and every other dust-up they ever had--Jeff and Jared were good together. Jared fit with Jeff, made Jeff light up and kept him steady. It was good to see them together. It was good.

Christian pulled in front of the house. He parked, sparing a quick wave to Al and Tom as he trotted up the drive, and tapped on the door. Thank God he wasn't the one crouched in the snow, freezing his balls off.

The door opened, and Jensen regarded him nervously. "Hi."

"Hey, Jennyboy," Kane forced an easy smile. "How's he doing?"

"He's up in the loft." Jensen drummed his fingers on the doorframe, obviously frazzled, then dropped his voice. "Drinking. What happened?"

"Pre-wedding jitters?" Kane said. "They had an argument. It happens. Can I come in? I brought stuff for dinner."

"Oh." Jensen straightened, backing quickly up to give Chris room. "Yes. Sorry. Thank you."

The inside of the house smelled warm, like tea and bread hot from the oven. Kane's apartment had never smelled like that, but the memory of Morgan's kitchen tugged at him. He smiled, sliding out of his jacket. "Thanks. I didn't know you baked."

Jensen shrugged, his attention mostly on Jeff's loft. "I couldn't be on my back all the time." At Chris's amused snort, he remembered himself and added hastily, "Um. Sir."

Or maybe not. Maybe Jensen had all the angles and had figured the best way to appear to Kane was this: cynical, bitter, concerned for Jeff. Morgan had sure as hell drilled Chris in how to read what their clients wanted to see.

Waving Jensen off, Kane said, "I told you, Chris is fine. Or Kane."

"Okay." Jensen shifted his weight nervously. "I have cookies in the oven. Do you like chocolate chip? I found a recipe."

"I love chocolate chip. I'll be right there. I'm just going to check on Broody Mc Brooderson." Even as the words slid out of his mouth, Christian cursed himself. That was one of Morgan's things--a saying from her teenage years in the early twenty first century.

Sure enough, Jensen's head jerked up, eyes wide. "What?"

"Something Jeff says now and then," Christian covered quickly, shrugging. "I'll be right back, okay?" He waited for Jensen's nod before heading up to the loft studio.

Jeff was curled in a miserable heap on the floor, bottle of whiskey in his hand. "Hey," Christian murmured, sliding in beside him. "How's it going?" The look Jeff shot him made Chris smile. "That good, huh."

"I fucked up."

"You did," Chris agreed. "But that doesn't mean it's a good idea to get trashed with an assassin downstairs. I know I taught you better than that."

Jeff motioned at the ceiling. "Watching him in the skylight."

"Oh. Good. Dude, c'mon-"

"Don't. Don't tell me it'll be all right. You don't know that," Jeff spat. "You didn't see him-"

"No. I didn't. And let's be honest, he's got every right to dump your ass. You lied to him. For five years. You lied long after you needed to."

"I know that!" Jeff's head slumped. "I just--It's hard. I mean, when do you bring that kind of thing up? Too early, and its a security risk. Too late, and you didn't trust him."

"It's a shitty situation all around," Chris murmured. "But there's not a whole lot you can do right now. And getting smashed won't help, so get your ass downstairs and have some dinner."

After a long minute, Jeff nodded. "Yes sir," he muttered.

Kane went down the ladder first, to give the illusion that if Jeff took a header, he could save him. Reality was, he'd get squished by Jeff's big ass.

Dinner was quiet and tasty. Kane had to give it to Jensen--boy knew what he was doing in a kitchen.

Jensen's obvious pleasure at the compliment made something in Christian's stomach warm.

"I brought something for you to try," Christian murmured. "I was talking to Samantha at the market, and she said you'd really liked fresh fruit."

Jensen nodded hesitantly. "They were good," he hedged, as if giving anything up would only get him kicked.

"Well, here's a new way for you to try them." Christian pulled out the little container of chocolate, and the fondue warmer Jeff and Jared had given him for Christmas. In the month since then, he'd gained four pounds from the little bugger.

The warmer under the pot clicked on and Chris added the chocolate, throwing in a shot of amaretto for extra flavor.

Jensen's eyes widened as Chris laid out the various fruits and bits of pastries to dip. "That--I don't know what hardly any of that is."

"Well, you had strawberries, right? This is pineapple. This is mango. These are mandarin orange sections. And over here are dippers. After you get the chocolate on them, you can dip the fruit in this stuff. Nuts, coconut, sprinkles."

Jensen, Kane quickly decided, wouldn't need a knife to kill any of them. The open, honest way he enjoyed the fruit bordered on obscene. The way he wrapped his lips around the mango slice, licking the chocolate off...



Across the table, Jeff raised an eyebrow and gave Kane a silent look. Chris knew him well enough to interpret that as 'see what I've been dealing with?' Biting the inside of his lip to keep from smiling, Chris shrugged back and kept watching.

Such blatant sensuality in an ex-slave was rare. Usually, they'd had any genuine enjoyment beaten out of them. He'd think Jensen was playing him, except for the nervous start when he'd caught Kane staring. Jensen's enthusiasm lit a warmth in Kane's belly that had been dead for years, hope ground to ashes under the weight of Nikki's death.

For the first time, he thought maybe, just maybe there was enough of Jensen left to bring back. Maybe he could have the happy ending that Nikki hadn't.

Sooner than Kane expected, the pot was empty and Jensen was left licking traces of chocolate off his fingers. He eyed the fruit, hopeful, and Kane pushed it at him with a smile. "Go for it, kiddo. I'm stuffed."

Jensen hesitated, hand over the fruit, and glanced at Jeff.

Jeff grinned. "Same here. I'm going to head upstairs and get some work done, if you two'll be okay?"

Even from across the table, Kane could feel Jensen's tension rachet up. Still, Jensen nodded, his expression composed.

"It's all right, Jeff," Chris drawled. "I'm just going to lead the kid down the path of gambling, boozing and smoking up. You've got nothing to worry about."

Jeff shook his head, giving Chris a wan smile. "Well, all right then. You have fun with that." He headed up the ladder slowly, and Christian had to fight to keep from going to comfort him.

Instead, he turned back to Jensen with a smile. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Jensen looked at him warily.

"Oh yeah. That's considered a high crime in the lower thirty, isn't it? Don't worry. Up here, it's no big deal."

"Unless you mind losing all your money to Chris. Then, you stop inviting him to the biweekly games," Jeff called down.

"Well, you must love losing then," Christian said.

Jensen gave him a tentative smile, and Christian grinned. "So, you wanna learn?"

Christian was pretty sure that any "learning" Jensen did was on how to read Christian's tells. Morgan had made sure that all of them knew how to stack a deck.

By the time they'd finished, Chris had to concede, Nikki had taught Jensen well. He'd put up a good fight, but in the end, Jensen had cleaned Chris out.

"You wanna watch a movie?" Chris asked idly.

Jensen glanced up, and Chris became aware of the soft snoring from the loft. "Don't worry, he sleeps pretty deep," Chris lied.

"You don't have to do this," Jensen blurted.

Automatically, Chris let himself slip back into a calm, steady voice. The director, the counselor. "What am I doing?"

"I know you don't like me. Or trust me." Jensen's level stare was intense, clear on the surface with only darkness beneath. "It's okay."

"So I should what? Smack you around? Use you?"

"If it pleases you. I won't tell anyone." Jensen started to slide off the chair, onto his knees, but Chris put out a hand to stop him. Jensen shied away from his touch, skittish.

"Don't. Jen, I like you fine. What I know of you, at least." Chris sighed. "You've been here three days. I don't know you that well. I'd like to, though. You seem like a good guy."

Mouth twisting bitterly, Jensen shook his head. "I'm not."

Well, damn. Kane hadn't expected that to make his chest hurt, like he'd cracked a rib or something. "How about we hold judgment on that one?" he asked. The gentle good-cop note that made most everyone else settle just made Jensen tense up further. Christian sighed. "The ink on your release papers are still wet, kiddo. You don't even have a passport yet. You're still in survival mode; I've been there. I've done some godawful things just to live one more minute, one more hour, one more day."

Jensen's expression thawed, a silent hope. Kane hated Jeff for a moment, his decision that they keep up this bullshit charade until the wedding or until it became clear that Jared wasn't coming back. Then he let it go, like he always let it go, and only said, "It's your choice, who you want to be now. Make sure it's one you can live with."

Jensen studied him for a moment, idly touching his shoulder where the scorpion probably resided.

"Just one thing to remember," Chris added softly. "You're not alone. We're behind you, and we've got your back, okay?"

After a long moment, Jensen seemed to come to a decision. He nodded. "Got it."

"So, movie?"

After a long moment, Jensen nodded. "Okay."

A movie, of course, meant introducing Jensen to the joys of popcorn with garlic parmesan salt on it. Chris had to admit, he didn't think the boy would be skinny for that long. He could really pack away the food, humming with quiet satisfaction.

Silently thanking Jared for his love of ancient children's movies, Kane cued up the list of animated films, deciding on one of the early computer generated ones, "Toy Story." He wondered if Jensen would realize the choice was intentional, with the movie's themes of friendship and sacrifice.

Jensen slid on the sofa next to him, and to his credit, only flinched a little when Kane looped an arm around his shoulders. "Easier for you to reach the popcorn," Kane lied, running his fingertips up and down Jensen's arm.

Jensen nodded, scooting a little closer. The move was deceptive; Kane could feel the wire-tension of Jensen's body against his own. He remembered those first few months with Jeff. He hadn't recognized his own tension, the aches and pains of his body. They'd been with him so long they were background noise, something he had accepted as inevitable. Jensen's muscles twitched under Christian's hand, taut like a horse straining at the reins. Christian remembered that, too.

Keeping his focus centered on the screen, Christian held the steady rhythm of stroking Jensen's shoulder. Down to his arm, dipping as low as Jensen's elbow to brush over bare skin before coming up again. The touch was harmless by itself, but to a ex-slave, even a friendly touch could be terrifying.

Christian could see Jensen staring at the side of his face. After a few minutes, Jensen shifted. With it came the tentative pressure of a hand on Christian's chest.

Well, damn. Christian stared at the screen, watching Jensen in the corner of his vision, waiting. Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe this was the part where Jensen tried to kill him with his bare hands. If Nikki had trained him, Jensen certainly knew how to--

Jensen's hand began a slow slide down his chest, down his stomach. Hope sank with it. Christian let him get as far as his waistband before firmly grabbing Jensen's wrist. Jensen jerked, eerie quiet broken, and glared when Christian didn't let him go. So that was what Morgan had seen in him, that raw fury beneath the cracked surface.

Christian shook his head. "No, Jensen."

"You want to," Jensen said. "I know you want to."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"You're--" Jensen gestured with his free hand, taking in the couch and Christian's hand on his wrist. "You were touching me, you fed me, you're being too goddamn nice. That's how it works."

"You're mistaken," Christian said tightly. "I'm sorry you got that impression."

Jensen's fingers flexed, trying to reach.

"You know, there are laws in Canada against trying to have sex with somebody who doesn't want it," Christian said. "It's called rape."

Jensen stilled, his eyes wide and shaken. He blinked at Christian for another few seconds, then averted his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured. When he tugged against Christian's grip again, Chris let him go, and Jensen shrank back. "I'm sorry."

Fuck. One step forward and three steps back. Christian sighed. "That wasn't a threat, Jensen. I'm just telling you that things are different up here. You can't assume what people want because they don't treat you like shit."

Jensen nodded, eyes still down. Fixed on Christian's belt.

With a flick of the remote, Christian paused the movie. Then he leaned into Jensen's line of sight and said firmly, "Look at me."

Jensen raised his eyes. They were lost, shocky, fixed somewhere beyond Christian. "If it pleases you."

"Don't give me that, kiddo. C'mon now." Christian glanced at the loft; Jeff slept on, goddamn him--wasn't this supposed to be his problem? Christian didn't want to turn his back on Jensen for the seconds it would take him to get Jeff upright. Looking back at Jensen, Christian said, "You're in Canada."

Jensen stared through him, lips moving. His whisper was nearly subvocal, raising the hair on the back of Christian's neck. "Cleanse me with hyssop, and I shall be clean. Wash me and--"

"Jensen," Christian barked, cutting through the quiet.

Jensen jerked like he was shot, attention whipping back to Christian. He looked at Christian, bleached pale in the ghostlight from the screen. Then he started to shake.

"Jensen," Christian repeated, gentler. "You with me, son? Just nod if you can't tell me."

Exhaling, Jensen closed his eyes and nodded.

"Okay, then." Moving carefully, Christian tugged one of Jared's afghans off the back of the couch and onto Jensen. Jensen watched him, unmoving and passive, so Christian went through the motions of wrapping it around him. His shivering had nothing to do with cold, but sometimes it helped to let them pretend otherwise. Once Jensen was covered, Christian let his hand rest on Jensen's shoulder. "It's a real bitch at first. Tends to sneak up on you, hit you all at once. It'll get better." If you survive long enough.

Jensen just looked at him.

"Do you want anything? Water? I've got some pills with me, they might help with the shaking."

When Jensen shook his head, Christian started to draw his hand back. Jensen stiffened so sharply Christian thought the implant was going off, but no, he was following Christian's hand, surging up at all once. "No, I- please, I won't--"

"Shh." Stroking down Jensen's arm, Christian murmured, "All right. I'm not leaving. You want to talk about it?"

"I can't," Jensen said tightly, then shuddered under Christian's hand. "I'm sorry."

Christian got the feeling that Jensen wasn't apologizing for his silence. He shifted over, putting his arm around Jensen's shoulder and tucking him against his side. This had never been his job, the comforting, the aftermath. Still, he owed Jensen at least a fumbling attempt. "You want to watch the movie?"

Jensen nodded, though Christian would've bet money that Jensen couldn't have described the plot to save his life. The background noise would be welcome; anything to get Christian's attention off him while his facade was torn down.

You're not running, Christian thought at him, and turned the movie on.

As the movie played, Jensen moved a little closer still, his head tilting to rest against Christian's shoulder. When it ended, Christian felt Jensen tense, and flipped through their virtual film library until he found the sequel. He hit play, and Jensen settled a little. By the end of the opening credits, Jensen was lulled again, his eyes heavy and unfocused.

Somewhere between Toy Story 2 and Finding Nemo, Jensen started snoring quietly, his body gone lax with exhaustion. Fighting that tightness in his throat again, Christian turned the TV off and got comfortable, smiling as Jensen made a little sound and snuggled tighter into Christian's shoulder.

"It's okay, little brother," he whispered. "We've got you."

Comments

[celestialseason.livejournal.com]

Another wonderful chapter - looks like Jensen is getting to Christian just like he's gotten to Jeff. I know I say it every time but I Love This Story! All the characters are nicely fleshed out, the plot is interesting, and I'm always looking forward to the next part. Thanks for sharing.

And have a nice vacation :-)