By: Tara Keezer
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grissom/Stokes
Classification: CSI Alternate Universe
Warnings: Slash, graphic depictions of M/M sex, dubious consent.
Summary: In a world where slavery is a form of legal punishment, a new slave comes to terms with his circumstances.
Warnings: In this AU, slavery is a form of legal punishment. Owners can do whatever the hell they want with their slaves, up to and including having sex with them, whipping them and killing them. Consent from a slave is dubious at best, because how can sex be fully consensual under those circumstances?
Notes: This is all nicky69’s fault. [glares]
Summary: Freedom is a state of mind.
Feedback: Love it, want it, can’t get enough of it. Really. And I’m even getting better about responding to readers. Sometimes
Disclaimer: Right. Like I actually own any of these characters? Please. Anthony Zuiker and company own CSI. I own a ferret with an attitude problem.
Prologue
He was lying on his bunk, his eyes closed as he dredged his memory for everything he could recall about chlosyne palla palla. It wasn’t his first choice of activity, but Mobley had taken away his reading privileges the week before, when he helped a fellow inmate prove his innocence. It was a pain in the ass, not having anything to do but wait. Still, he figured it beat the alternative, whatever that might end up being.
“Grissom, front and center.”
Gil sat up slowly, wincing as his back creaked in protest. He really needed to stop lying down for so long. He stood and cracked his back. “Hi, Marty. What’s up?”
“Your lawyer’s here.” Marty opened the door to the cell then herded Gil toward the interview room. When they reached it, he ushered Gil inside. “You two take all the time you want.”
“Thanks.” Gil turned to Mary Creswell and raised his eyebrows. When she didn’t respond, he took a seat and said, “I take it the news isn’t good?”
“Mobley is still pushing the slander charge, and it looks like he can make it stick.” She handed over a sheaf of papers. “He’s throwing witness statements at us like so much buckshot.”
“That’s impossible. Mobley is the only one I talked to about it.”
“Impossible or not, those statements are making an impression.” At Gil’s look of disbelief, she added, “Most of the people who count, including Judge Branson, aren’t buying it, but the mayor is, and you know what she’s like when it comes to Mobley.”
Gil did know, and he had a feeling he knew what Mary was trying not to say. “What’s he offering?”
“Ten years of hard labor —”
“No.”
“Funny. Judge Branson said the same thing.” Mary pulled out a contract. “She dropped it to two years, comparable labor to what you’re used to, time to be served outside of Nevada.”
Gil frowned as he read through the language. “Another state?”
“There aren’t too many people who want to see Mobley get his hands on you. I called Dallas PD at Branson’s suggestion and offered them your contract. They all but snapped it up and said to tell you they’ll hire you as soon as you serve your time.”
“Texas?” The state didn’t have the best reputation when it came to slaves. “Why did she say Texas?”
“I think she has contacts there. It’s the best deal you’re going to get, Gil.” She took out a pen and handed it to him. “I suggest you take it.”
Part One
Nick yawned as he walked next to his father and got elbowed for his trouble. “Wake up, Pancho. I didn’t drag you along just because you have a pretty face.”
“Your faith in me is touching.”
Bill Stokes snorted and directed his son to the pens on the north side. “Find out what they’ve got up there for yard work. I’ll see if they have anyone who can ride a horse.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick stifled another yawn and walked off, limping slightly and rubbing his left thigh to ease the protest his muscles were mounting. He might have reached his goal if his leg hadn’t tried to give out just as he passed the pens for hard laborers. When Nick stopped to let the cramp pass, he heard, “Lift your leg and grab your ankle. Pull it back as far as you can to stretch the muscle. It should help.”
Startled, he looked up and saw an older man — handsome despite the grime of the pens — standing in one of the back cages. Nick did as he was told and nearly melted in relief when the stretch did the trick. As the cramping subsided, he said, “Thanks.”
The man shrugged and turned away, giving Nick a view of his back. The whip marks looked old enough that they should be healing by now, but that was only if medical care was given — and that was a big “if” no matter which auction house was involved. His behavior was a mystery, though, because generally speaking, the slaves who were whipped weren’t the ones who were particularly helpful.
Never one to leave his curiosity unsatisfied, especially when an attractive man was involved, Nick stopped at the seller’s information stand and smiled at the girl — Hayley Flaherty, according to her name badge.
“Hey, darlin’. How’s it going?”
She smiled back, showing perfectly straight white teeth. “Well I’m just peachy, sugar. What’s a fine, upstanding citizen like you doing out on a morning like this?”
“I’m just helping my daddy find workers for his ranch.” He increased the wattage of his smile a little bit more as he leaned against her high podium. “I was passing by, and I got a little confused.”
“You did?” Hayley had perfected her wide-eyed look of wonder, and if Nick hadn’t been born and raised in Texas, he might have been tempted to believe it.
“You see that man in the back?” He pointed to the helpful slave, a man who was clearly — to Nick’s way of thinking anyway — in the wrong group. “You can’t seriously tell me he passed his physical.”
She looked behind her and was still rolling her eyes when she faced Nick again. “That one. I swear, if my mama hadn’t taught me to be a lady, I would have given that man a piece of my mind by now.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Someone gave him a piece of something.”
“That would have been Daddy,” she said, leaning closer and dropping her Southern Belle routine as easily as she might remove a jacket. “He got tired of that old boy’s whining and taught him a lesson.”
“He did, huh?”
“Yep.” She flashed Nick a cute, sweet grin and added, “The lesson took, too, ‘cause he hasn’t said much of anything since then.”
“Sounds like he’s a quick learner.” Nick wondered if the man’s spirit was still intact. “Your doc certify him?”
She looked through the paperwork and frowned slightly. “He did, but he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Can I see?” When she hesitated, he smiled brightly and added, “Pretty please?”
“I’ll bet your mama let you have as many cookies as you liked when you were a little boy, didn’t she?”
As she handed over the sheet, Nick answered, “My sisters, too.”
He read quickly and confirmed his suspicion that the man, Gil Grissom, didn’t belong in the hard labor group. The document looked like it had been tampered with at some point, though that wouldn’t matter much in the long run. Once a man was in the slave pool, it took an act of God to get him out before his time was served. There was, of course, another option, though he wasn’t entirely sure he was interested in exercising it.
Nick looked at the top of the sheet again and frowned when he reread Grissom’s name and state of origin. There was something teasing at the edge of his memory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out — not right then, anyway. He gave the paper back to her and asked, “What price do you have on him?”
“Two thousand.”
Nick looked at Gil for a long moment. Even caged, whipped and half-starved, the man had a certain intensity. Nick thought about how that intensity might be put to use and made his decision. “I’ll give you fifteen hundred.”
“I just told you two thousand.”
“Don’t shine me on, sweetheart.” Nick nodded at Gil. “He’s got whip marks that haven’t healed properly, and from what I saw on that paper, he’s been sitting here for at least three weeks. Fifteen hundred is a good price, and you won’t have to pay the auctioneer.”
Hayley gave Nick a practiced pout. “What would you want with a geezer like him anyway?”
The smile he gave her was still pleasant, but it had lost some of its brightness. “I’m sure I can figure out something. Deal?”
She shrugged and held out her hand. “Deal.” The young woman pulled a pad of preprinted forms out from under the podium and tore off the top sheet. “Here’s a bill of sale. Fill it out and bring it back with your cash before noon, or he’ll end up on the auction block after all.”
“Will do.”
Gil was deep in his own thoughts, the only safe place left to him, despite the fact that his thoughts weren’t particularly happy. He’d been trying to sort out what went wrong since the day he’d arrived in Abilene, Kansas. From there, he’d been shuffled off to Columbus, Ohio, and then to Gainesville, Florida, his trail getting a little more messed up every time he changed hands. The fact that he was in an open auction in Texas — roughly eight months after he should have started working for the Dallas Police Department — seemed like a cruel joke.
The best-case scenario he’d developed was that Mobley had interfered somehow. If that were the case, a call to Judge Branson would straighten out the confusion, but so far, none of the brokers who held his paper would even bother. The worst-case scenario was that his lawyer was in Mobley’s pocket and had fed him a line of pure-spun lies. If she were, he didn’t have a hope in hell of ever —
“Grissom!”
He jumped slightly and looked up. Sam Flaherty, an older man who looked about as wide as he was tall, waved him over to the gate. “Got an owner for you, boy. Time to go to your new home.”
Gil’s stomach dropped. He’d been counting on the fact that no one would buy him to convince Flaherty to give Judge Branson a call. “I’ve been bought?”
“Yep. Come on, boy. Get a move on.”
It wasn’t easy, given the restraints on his ankles and wrists, and Gil ended up shuffling to the door. Though he cringed when Flaherty slapped him on the back, he managed to stay upright.
“Aw, man. Take that shit off his wrists and ankles.” The man — the one Gil had spoken to earlier — looked disgusted.
“Hard labor usually means dangerous, son.”
“I saw his charge sheet — slander isn’t a violent crime.” Gil took another, sharper look at the man. “I want the restraints off now.”
“Don’t think I like your tone, Mr. Stokes.”
“I got a bill of sale right here that says you don’t have to like it. I think my daddy would probably agree.” Gil found it interesting that Flaherty went a bit pale at the mention of Stokes Senior. He found it still more interesting that Flaherty immediately signaled his daughter to come and unlock the shackles.
Freed at last of the worst signs of slavery, Gil accepted the collar Mr. Stokes handed him. Though it wasn’t quite as bad as full restraints, the collar represented the end of whatever fantasies he had about simply being jailed. With a brief sigh, he put it around his neck, wincing as he heard the lock click shut.
Stokes nodded in satisfaction and said, “Let’s get you home.”
Nick didn’t worry too much about keeping an eye on his new property. Even if Gil hadn’t been wearing the collar, he was fairly certain the man was bright enough not to try and run. It was a good thing, too. Nick’s leg was starting to hurt again, and he didn’t think he’d be able to chase Gil if it turned out to be necessary.
“Hey, Pancho!”
He saw his father wave to him from near the exit to the parking lot, and Nick waved back, telling Gil, “I just need to talk to my dad for a minute, then we’re out of here.”
When they reached him, Bill asked, “Is this your new slave?” He circled Gil and frowned at what he saw. “You get a discount for damage?”
“Yeah, but probably not as much as I could have.” Nick held out Gil’s file. “I tried to make sense of this, but it’s a mess. I’ve never seen paper this bad before.”
Bill took the information and started glancing through it, frowning at one point. “Someone did a number on it.”
“Can you do anything with it?”
Nodding, Bill said, “I’ll get Laurette to take a look when she’s back from vacation.”
“Thanks, Cisco.”
“No problem.” He turned to Gil and said, “You take care of my boy, you hear?”
“Dad!”
“I don’t care to hear about it, Nick. Now that you’ve got a personal slave, I expect you to get him trained to help you with your exercises. Stan told me you haven’t been doing them.”
“He ratted me out!?”
“He’s worried about you, just like your Captain is.” Nick looked down as the guilt hit him.
“Fine. I’ll get him trained.” Nick tugged on Gil’s arm. “We’re out of here. Tell Mom I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Will do. And don’t think I won’t check with Doc Massey to be sure you talk to him,” Bill called out after Nick.
Part 2
Gil sat quietly in the truck, trying very hard not to make too much of the exchange between Stokes Senior and Stokes Junior. Clearing up his paperwork just made sense — the way ensuring clear title to any piece of property made sense. That it would ultimately help Gil as well was a pleasant bonus. Still, there was something nagging at him, because it really didn’t make sense, not in the context of his life lately. They’d been driving for fifteen minutes before Gil finally decided to ask, “Sir?”
“Call me Nick. I’m not big on formality. Come to think of it —” Nick reached across the front seat to open the glove box. He reached in and pulled out an energy bar, handing it to Gil. “I’m not really big on starvation diets either. Eat this. You’ll find a bottle of water under your seat. Should tide you over until we get to my place.”
“Um. Thanks.” Gil reached under the seat and found the promised water. He took a few minutes to eat the bar and drink half the water then tried again. “Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“I know my papers rated me as a hard laborer. Why did your father call me your personal slave?” Gil watched Nick carefully, alert to any sign that he might have gone too far with his question — he wasn’t eager to be whipped again.
Nick gave him a broad grin before watching the road again. “I love Texas, but my state’s just a little fucked up sometimes.”
“I don’t understand.” Gil leaned forward a bit, trying to keep his back from touching the fabric behind him. It was just scratchy enough to bother him.
“Back in 1878, the legislature passed a law allowing any state judge to commute a sentence of hard labor to personal service.” Nick glanced at Gil and frowned when he saw him leaning forward. “Your back hurting you?”
He’d grown to hate all the questions he was asked. It didn’t matter how innocuous they were or how potentially beneficial, because each was another invasion of what little privacy Gil had left. “Yeah. A little.”
“I’ll have Doc Massey in this afternoon. See if we can’t get those wounds cleared up.”
“Thanks,” Gil said quietly. Since Nick seemed willing to share information, he asked, “Why would they pass a law like that? Hard labor is usually reserved for violent criminals.”
“Remember what I said about Texas being a little fucked up?” At Gil’s nod, Nick continued, “It wasn’t all that unheard of for a pretty girl to be sentenced to hard labor, no matter what her crime was.”
It took a moment for Gil to figure out why a pretty girl’s sentence might be changed. “Oh.”
Hard on the heels of that revelation was Gil’s immediate conviction that the reason for his own sentence being changed was different. It seemed safe to assume that Nick just wanted help around the house while his leg healed up. Gil glanced out the window, thinking about that for a moment. If he were temporary help at best, Nick might get rid of him in a few months; the thought of being sold again was depressing.
“Lucky for you, the law is still on the books. Even luckier, it doesn’t make a distinction between men and women, so I was able to get your sentence changed to personal service.” Nick reached across Gil’s lap again and snagged another energy bar from the glove box. “Eat this, too. You look half-starved.”
Gil accepted the bar with another quiet thanks and again forced himself to eat slowly. The bars weren’t particularly tasty, but they were better than anything he’d had in a long time. The food he’d been given since leaving Las Vegas had been barely enough to keep him going, and that was assuming he was able to keep it down. He hadn’t always.
They drove another ten miles before Gil’s curiosity again overrode his sense of self-preservation. “Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“How did you manage to find a judge on a Sunday morning?”
When they arrived at Nick’s house, he directed Gil inside and up to the third level. He opened the door to a basic room with an attached bath and said, “These are your quarters. You’ll have a chance to earn tips while you’re with me, and if you want to use the money to decorate the walls a little, that’s your choice.”
“Tips?”
“It’s a family custom.” Nick couldn’t keep his distaste from showing as he looked at the dirty cotton trousers Gil wore. “Get those things off and climb into the shower.”
Gil glanced around the room. “What will I wear after I’m done?”
“Nothing — and that’s a kind of Texas thing,” Nick said. “Clothing is a privilege, not a right. Since you’ll be working inside, you don’t need it. Do your job well enough, and you’ll get a chance to earn something to wear on your off hours.”
Nick watched as Gil just stood there, a dull flush of embarrassment rising from his chest. “Gil,” he said gently, “the pants come off now. The sooner you get naked, the sooner you get used to it. Understood?”
There was another brief hesitation then Gil sighed and slid the trousers off. His hands twitched toward his groin, but Gil managed to keep from covering himself. Nick gave him an approving smile then asked him to stand there for a moment. “I want to see if you have any other injuries.” He tapped Gil’s leg and asked, “You ever do any riding?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Nick did a full circuit around Gil. He was dirty and more than a bit whiff, but that was to be expected after three weeks in the pens and God knew how long on the road before that. Happily, there were no other obvious injuries, though the man was definitely underweight. Consistent meals would take care of that problem, so Nick wasn’t too worried. “Okay. Shower the worst of it off first, then take a long bath. And when I say long, I mean I want you waterlogged by the time you get out, so feel free to drain the hot water tank, you hear?” When Gil nodded, Nick added, “I’ll bring you something to eat while you’re soaking. After you get out, take a nap. You look like you could use the sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick touched Gil’s cheek lightly. “Yes, Nick. Now go on. Get in there.”
Once the bathroom door closed behind Gil, Nick picked up the trousers with two fingers and held them out in front of him as he headed back downstairs. If he’d had any sense, he would have put on some latex gloves first, but he didn’t want the trousers in his house any longer than necessary.
And once he scrubbed his hands clean, he’d get some sandwiches up to his newest acquisition.
Gentle fingers probing his back woke Gil from a sound sleep. The touch didn’t exactly cause pain — the sensation was closer to discomfort.
“You awake, boy?”
He sighed, wondering if they’d still call him “boy” if he were pushing sixty. Gil craned his head around to see an older man sitting next to him on the bed. “Yes.”
“How long ago were you whipped?”
“Ten —” Gil frowned. “No. Eleven days ago.” He really should have known better than to push Flaherty on the treatment of the slaves in his possession.
“They put anything on you after?”
Gil shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds. “Cold water.”
“Assholes,” he muttered. “Get your face in the pillow. I’ve got some ointment here that’s gonna make you scream, but it’ll heal you up a treat.”
“I’ll scream?” Gil had discovered that under most circumstances, he wasn’t someone who could bear pain stoically; he’d screamed his throat raw while he’d been whipped.
“Yep. I’ve already told Nick about it, so you won’t get in trouble from him for the noise you’ll be making for the next five days.” The man turned Gil’s head back to the pillow. “Now do what I told you, son. Try to keep still, and feel free to scream your head off, okay?”
The man — Doc Massey, Gil supposed — seemed to be reasonable, so Gil risked a request. “If you give me a few minutes, I can put myself in a light trance. As long as the pain isn’t sharp or sudden, the trance should help keep me quiet.”
He considered Gil’s offer. “Can you let me know when you’re ready?” Gil nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Nick was just leaving the kitchen when Doc Massey came back downstairs. “You hungry? Chili’s almost done.”
“Your recipe or Jillian’s?”
“Mine,” Nick said, narrowing his eyes.
“Thank you, but no. I’d prefer not to be puking my guts out all night.” Massey put his medical bag on the floor near the couch. “Scotch still in the same place?”
“I shouldn’t let you have any after what you just said about my chili.” Nick sat on the couch and reached for the remote to turn the TV off. “How’d you like it if I said something mean about Miss Elvira’s cooking?”
“I’d like it just fine — it would prove you still have taste buds left.” Massey poured himself a shot of scotch, downed it, then poured a second one.
“Jesus, Stan. First you disrespect my chili, and then you treat my twelve-year-old scotch like it’s Kool-Aid. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing a little abolition wouldn’t cure.” He moved to the armchair and sat heavily.
“Never took you for one of them.” Nick got his first good look at Stan since he’d come down. The doctor was in his mid sixties, but right at the moment, he looked at least ten years older.
“I’m not. Not really.” Stan took a sip of his whisky. “But when I see damage like I saw just now, I get to thinking the slave laws maybe need getting rid of.”
Concerned, Nick glanced upward. “I didn’t think his back was all that bad. In fact, I didn’t even hear him scream.”
“He’s a bright one, your Gil. Picked up some Eastern mystical techniques somewhere along the line.” Stan took another sip of his drink. “If you let him put himself into a trance state, you’ll be able to apply the ointment more easily.”
“Good to know.” Nick shifted slightly to ease his weight onto his right leg. “How much damage was there?”
“His back muscles are fine as far as I could see, but if those jackasses had bothered to treat his wounds properly after they whipped him, they would be closed by now. As it is, it’s going to be another five days at least.”
“Son of a bitch.” Nick shook his head. “They swore up and down it was only his age slowing down the healing.”
“They threw cold water on his back for a couple of days, and that was pretty much it. He said he didn’t get any maggots, so at least none of the flesh died.” Stan finished the remainder of his drink in one swallow, ignoring Nick’s disgust. “You should know that I plan to report the broker to the county health department. Not only did they fail to treat him properly after the whipping — and I can prove that just on the state of his wounds today — they also allowed infection to set in.”
“Fuck.” Nick stood up. “I’m calling Captain Markham.”
“Sit down,” barked Doc Massey. “You think I didn’t notice how much your leg is bothering you?”
“It’s —”
“Don’t you dare say it’s nothing, Nicholas Stanford Stokes. I brought you into this world, and if I have to see you out of it, I’ll make damn sure your last days are a pure misery.” Massey, ordinarily a benign figure of Southern gentility, looked mean enough to spit nails. Nick sat down abruptly and without further argument. “I’ll let your daddy know there’s a problem, and he can get word through the proper channels without making a mess of things, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nick’s contrition made Massey laugh a little. “Good boy. I gave Gil a broad-spectrum antibiotic just now along with a morphine kicker to help him get back to sleep.” He reached down for his bag and pulled out two slips of paper, handing them to Nick. “He’s to take this antibiotic for ten days starting tomorrow — it prevent opportunistic infections from attacking while his resistance is still low. The other’s a cream that will help keep the scarring to a minimum if you start using it after the whip marks close up. You’ll need to wash his back for him until the wounds heal — he can’t reach to get them properly cleaned. Acetaminophen should take care of pain relief after today.”
Nodding, Nick asked, “Any sign of rape?”
“No physical evidence, and he says no one’s been after him.” Massey frowned, asking Nick point blank, “Should I assume that won’t be the case for long?” Nick blinked and tried to stammer out a denial, which made Massey snort. “You never were a good liar. Nick, I’m going to tell you what I tell everyone who has a personal slave for the first time — go easy on him.”
Nick’s mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before he could speak. “You can’t think I’m just gonna go up there and jump him.”
“No, not tonight.” Massey scowled at Nick. “I think, however, that as soon as his back is better, you’re going to declare open season on him.” Nick felt his face heat up. “He’s a first-time offender, and he’s been on the block for the last eight or nine months. Give him time to wrap his head around the fact that he’s private property before you make him deal with the Stokes libido — and don’t you give me that look.”
“You make it sound like — like —”
“Like you’re a man who puts the Energizer Bunny to shame? You are,” he said flatly. “Anyhow, you know what I’m saying.”
Nick grimaced. “I suppose so.”
“Just remember that slow and steady wins the race.” With that, Stan stood, no worse the wear for the whisky he’d downed. “I’ll call the Judge in the morning and tell him I want to swear out an affidavit. You take care of Gil, you hear? He’s at least twenty pounds lighter than he should be.”
Nick stood slowly, careful about the weight he put on his left leg. “I will, sir. Thanks again for coming out on short notice.”
“No problem.” Stan picked up his bag. “I’ll see myself out. Take care of that leg, or I’ll get Elvira to come after you.”
Gil floated in a hazy place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, feeling safe and comfortable for the first time in months. He knew that at least part of his sense of well-being stemmed from the shot of morphine the doctor gave him, and that was fine. Morphine was just what the doctor ordered; the thought was enough to make Gil smile a little before he finally drifted off to sleep.
Part 3
“Pretty much everyone tells me my cooking is bad enough to kill an army,” Nick said when they reached the kitchen. “So I hope you know what to do in here.”
Gil shrugged. “I’ve never sent anyone to the hospital, if that’s what you mean.”
Nick smiled. “Good enough. Anyway, that concludes the tour of my humble abode. You clear on your duties?”
It was a moment before Gil answered, “On most of them, but aren’t I supposed to be helping you with exercises?”
“You would remember that, wouldn’t you?” Nick went to the kitchen table, his limp more pronounced than it had been ten days earlier, when he bought Gil. “Okay, you’re right. You’re supposed to be helping. But that was before any of us realized how bad a shape you were in.”
“I’m healthy now. Mostly.”
“You’re also trying to cover yourself again,” Nick pointed out. “I know it seems kind of mean to keep you naked, Gil, but there’s a good reason for it.”
Nick watched as Gil struggled with his response. Eventually, he dropped his hands and said evenly, “I suppose so.”
“I know so. You were a free citizen up until not too long ago, and now someone owns you. Being naked all the time helps you remember that.” Nick spoke firmly and without apology. “Believe me, you’ll thank me for it when you walk out of here wearing the clothes of a free citizen one day.”
“I don’t like it.” Gil sounded bitter, which was fine, as far as Nick was concerned. He’d be worried if the man were content under the circumstances.
“Not asking you to. All I’m saying is that one of these days, having clothes on will help you get back into the mindset of being your own man.” Nick kept his voice gentle, the way he did when he was getting to know a new mount. Helping a new slave get into the swing of things really wasn’t much different.
“I don’t suppose you know when that day might be?”
“We’re still working on it, Hoss.” Nick stared at Gil for a long moment before saying, “You haven’t asked about any of the traditional duties of a personal slave. Why not?”
Gil said hesitantly, “Because denial isn’t just a river in Egypt?”
Nick laughed at that. “You may have a point.” He spread his legs, patting the right one. “Come over here and have a seat.”
Frozen, Gil stared at Nick for a long moment. “Your leg —”
“I was shot in the left leg. My right’s just fine.” He patted the leg again. “I’m not going to force myself on you — I promise you’ll be saying yes first — but you need to get used to the idea.” When Gil still didn’t move, Nick put a hint of steel into his voice. “Gil. Come over here. Now.”
Nick watched as Gil took slow, reluctant steps toward him. Contrary to what Stan believed, Nick had no intention of taking Gil to bed until the man was ready to be a willing participant. Of course, he had no compunction about doing whatever he could to encourage Gil to his way of thinking, but Stan didn’t need to know that.
After Gil sat down gingerly, Nick brought his right hand up to his back and rubbed it in a soothing pattern. “There. That’s not so bad, is it?” Gil tensed up, and Nick said, “Shh. I’ve been washing your back for the last ten days. Only difference now is the lack of water.”
“And the fact that I’m sitting in your lap,” he countered. “I feel ridiculous.” Gil’s face shut down as soon as he realized what he’d said.
Choosing to ignore his tone of voice, Nick asked calmly, “Now why would you feel ridiculous?”
Keeping his eyes down, Gil finally answered, “I’m forty-six years old, and I’m sitting in a man’s lap.”
Nick raised his left hand and tilted Gil’s face toward him. “You’re a damn good looking forty-six-year-old, and you’re sitting in the lap of a man who finds you desirable. There’s no shame in that.”
A dull flush started at Gil’s chest and worked its way up his neck. “I’m not ashamed.”
Nick dropped his left hand to Gil’s leg and left it, ignoring temptation resting just inches away. “Ever been with a guy before? In college, maybe?”
He nodded, and Nick could see that it was an effort for him to do even that. He sighed quietly. “Okay, I get the picture. You aren’t used to talking about it, and I can respect that.”
Gil glanced at Nick and offered a quiet, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I want you to think back to that time — think about what you liked and didn’t like — and when you get a little more comfortable, you and I are going to talk about it.”
“Why —” Gil cut himself off.
“As to the why, wouldn’t it be nicer for you if I at least know what you like before I take you to bed?” At Gil’s stiff, reluctant nod, Nick gave him a broad smile. “Knew you were a smart man. Now get up and see what you can make us for dinner.”
As Gil lay in bed that night, he found that he was relieved, now that his owner had finally declared his intentions. It was the not knowing that had been getting to him, the uncertainty of what his full duty roster would look like. And now that he knew for sure, he — well, he was a little surprised. He was on the wrong side of thirty to be turned into a personal slave, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Nick was even interested.
He sighed and rolled onto his other side in an effort to get comfortable. At least sex with Nick wouldn’t be much of a chore. The man was good looking and charming, and he seemed genuinely concerned about Gil’s welfare — well above and beyond what Gil would expect if Nick were simply keeping his property in good health. The fact that Nick was trying to straighten out his paper trail spoke well of the man’s integrity, though realistically, the good karma of that effort was canceled out by his willingness to seduce a slave. It was nice that Nick said he would wait for Gil to say yes, but as Gil had told his team in Las Vegas all too often, how can a slave give consent? The answer was that she couldn’t. Or he couldn’t. Same difference.
Then there was the question of how much to tell Nick about his history. So far, he hadn’t asked, and Gil hadn’t volunteered. With Nick’s position on the Dallas police force, Gil was reluctant to bring up the supposed deal he’d been given. If Nick investigated and found that such a deal never existed, Gil would have to cope with the bitter pain of finding out he’d been betrayed by those whom he trusted most, including his lawyer.
No, he thought, it’s better to stay quiet. Let Nick figure it out for himself if he wants to. If he doesn’t or can’t, then make the best of your situation. Be a good little slave, and maybe in ten years, you can walk out of here wearing new clothes and the title of free citizen.
His decision made, Gil felt calmer. He could do this; he could play the role of faithful servant for however long it took to earn back his freedom. He could retreat into his mind and still let Nick think he owned him — and Nick would buy it. He would never once believe that Gil no more felt like a slave than Nick did, because Gil wouldn’t let him.
Resistance was a nice idea in theory, but it got a man tied to a whipping post and sold off before he knew what happened. Gil had caught a break when Nick bought him, and he knew all too well that if he were to be sold, odds were his next owner would be a complete bastard. So Gil would do what he had to in order to keep Nick happy and content with him, and he would keep his soul safe from Nick.
Nick opened the door to Stan Massey a few days later and welcomed him in. “I was kind of surprised to hear from you.”
“County wants a report on how Gil’s doing, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”
Giving the older man a suspicious look, Nick asked, “What’s the second bird?”
“Teaching Gil how to help you with your physical therapy.” As Nick started protesting, the doctor shut him down with a sharp glance. “You won’t show up to your appointments half the time, so you have no one to blame but yourself. Gil seems like a bright man. I’m sure he can learn what to do.”
“I hate PT,” he said sullenly.
“You’ll hate being lame the rest of your life even more.” Stan took off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree. “Now — where’s Gil?”
“Downstairs. He’s exercising.” Nick started limping toward the basement steps.
“At least one of you is. And I’d take it as a great favor if you’d find it in your heart to stop sulking.”
There were times when Nick loved living in his hometown, loved being surrounded by people who’d known him all his life. And then there were times like today. He straightened himself up and turned slightly to offer Stan a mock salute. “Yes, sir!”
“Brat.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he answered on a laugh.
“Like hell. You think I don’t still get phone calls from your mother every other week?”
By the time the two of them reached the bottom of the steps, their bickering was in full swing, and they were trading insults with each other as easily as friends traded compliments. Nick happened to glance over at Gil and saw a pained longing in the man’s eyes that was damn near heartbreaking. “Gil?”
Blinking rapidly, Gil looked down for a moment. When he raised his eyes again, his face was a mask of bland acceptance. “Yes?”
“You okay?” Though Nick was certain he hadn’t imagined the pain, the expression on Gil’s face was going a long way toward convincing him he hadn’t seen anything.
“I’m fine.” Gil smiled pleasantly at Stan and asked, “Are you here to teach me Nick’s exercises?”
“That, and to give you the once over.” When Gil frowned, he added, “County wants to start a health record on you. Your paperwork was a little empty in places.”
Gil watched carefully as Massey ran Nick through his paces and showed him how to help. The motions were easy enough to learn, though Gil took the time to match the exercises to what he knew of basic anatomy.
Nick was in shorts for the first time, so it was easy enough for Gil to see the ragged scar tissue that marked the entry wound. When Massey asked if Gil had any other questions, he studied Nick’s leg and realized there was no exit wound. Without stopping to think first, he said, “The bullet couldn’t have lodged against the femur — Nick was walking without a cast too soon afterward. Suspect must have been far enough away that the muscle —” His voice trailed off when he noticed that both Nick and Massey were staring at him. Horrified at himself, Gil offered a tight, quiet, “Sorry.”
“Um, no problem.” Gil could hear the curiosity in Nick’s voice, and he waited, expecting the questions to start. Instead, he was surprised when Nick said, “Doc, why don’t you take Gil to his quarters. You can do his physical up there.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Massey touched Gil’s arm. “You go on up. I’ll meet you there as soon as I collect my bag.”
Gil nodded and went to the stairs as quickly as he could without actually running. Stupid! What the hell had he been thinking? The answer was that he hadn’t been. He’d seen a wound of minor forensic interest, and it sucked him in the way a free drink sucked in an alcoholic. If he was going to survive the next few years, he was going to have to get control of himself and take care with every single word.
When Gil reached his quarters, his pulse was racing, and if the doctor found that out for himself, he’d ask questions Gil didn’t want to answer. He sat on the bed and focused inward, using a calming technique Al Robbins had taught him a few years earlier.
By the time Massey knocked on the door, Gil was as relaxed as possible under the circumstances. “Come in.”
Massey entered and closed the door behind him. He stood for a moment, studying Gil. “You may have noticed that neither Nick nor I asked how you know enough about bullet wounds to make a pretty good guess about distance and trajectory.” Gil didn’t answer, he just watched Massey and tried to will his heart rate back to normal. “Around these parts, it’s considered rude to ask a slave about their life before sentencing. The general feeling is that your memories are the only thing left to you, and you have a right to keep them private.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t think you did.” Massey approached the bed. “Shove over and let an old man have a seat.” After Gil shifted toward his pillows, Massey continued, “You were right, by the way. The shooter was far enough away that the bullet didn’t have enough energy to make the wound a through-and-through. Unfortunately for Nick, it lodged deep enough that the surgery to remove it caused a longer recovery time than the initial injury would have had.”
Gil nodded, though he wouldn’t look up. He was too busy kicking himself again for having said anything at all.
“And now that we’re done discussing our mutual patient, we can talk about you.” Massey’s tone was so bland that Gil had to look up to be certain that yes, the doctor was dropping the subject. “I have a standard health questionnaire I make all my new patients complete. It’s a long one, so let’s get started.”
Still slightly dazed from relief at not having to explain himself, Gil answered the questions as they came. “My father died when I was nine. Heart attack.”
“Hm.” Massey jotted something down then asked, “Anything interesting on your mother’s side?”
“She has otosclerosis.” At the doctor’s frown, Gil added, “She lost her hearing when she was eight.”
“Can’t have been easy for her, being deaf and raising a young boy by herself.” Massey didn’t expect a response, because he immediately asked, “Do you have any chronic conditions?”
“Migraines. I used to get them once or twice a year.”
“How many have you had since you were arrested?”
Answering without hesitation, he said, “Eight.”
“Anyone give you anything?”
“The broker in Gainesville gave me Extra Strength Excedrin.” Of course, if Gil hadn’t been writhing around in agony as potential buyers passed his cage, it was unlikely he would have received even that.
“I’ve heard it can help. Did it work for you?”
Gil shook his head. “It took the edge off, but I didn’t take it soon enough to end the headache any earlier.”
“What’s worked for you in the past?” When Gil told him, Massey took out a pad and wrote a prescription. “I’ll have Nick fill this so you have it on hand.” He caught Gil staring at him. “You needn’t look so surprised. Nick takes care of what’s his.”
At that, Gil dropped his gaze. “Oh. Right. I’m property now.”
Massey sighed. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but depression is a common reaction in the first months after a slave’s been bought. You won’t be able to talk to a therapist, but you can talk to a minister or a priest if you like.”
“I’m not religious,” Gil said, dismissing the suggestion out of hand.
“Maybe not, but slavery has a way of changing a man’s point of view about certain things,” Massey answered, unconcerned by Gil’s rejection. “If you get to that point, don’t be shy about telling Nick you want to go to church.”
“I don’t think I will,” he answered stiffly, “but thank you for the suggestion.”
“No trouble.” Massey gave him a long look then asked, “Did Nick tell you what he expects of you?”
The real question was in the subtext, and Gil had no trouble hearing it. “Yes.”
“You ever been with a man?”
Gil took a deep breath and reminded himself that Massey had a vested interest in making sure one of his patients was able to do his duty. It still didn’t make answering him any easier. “When I was in college, I fooled around a little, but —”
After a moment, Massey supplied, “Never slid into home base?”
The question was absurd and reminiscent of high school, and it made Gil laugh. “No,” he said with a stupidly shy grin. “Never went to home.”
“How much do you know about the mechanics of anal penetration?” Gil found that Massey’s tone, dry and factual, helped steady him.
That same tone gave him the confidence to ask, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell Nick?”
Massey hesitated. “Slaves don’t get doctor-patient privilege, but if what you say has no bearing on your health or service to Nick, then no, I won’t tell him.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. And Gil desperately needed some reassurance at the moment. “Before — when I had a life — I was a crime scene investigator.”
Massey’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he nodded. “That explains a few things. All right, I won’t tell Nick, though I think he’d appreciate the information, considering what he does for a living.”
“I have my reasons for not saying anything,” Gil said. “For now, I’d rather he not be told.”
“Fair enough. I suspect I know why you just mentioned your former profession, but go ahead and put it in your own words.”
Gil swallowed hard. “A couple of years ago, I was called out to a murder scene. A prostitute — a transvestite — had been raped and murdered by her john. It — the rapist didn’t hold back. There was a rupture, and —”
Massey interrupted. “I get where you’re going with this, and I understand your concern. Now, I could tell you that local gossip has nothing to say but nice things about Nick’s prowess in bed, but what the hell do I know?”
“Everything, I suspect.”
Laughing at Gil’s dry tone, Massey said, “That’s just a vicious rumor. What I’m getting at is that you don’t need to worry. I told you before that he cares for what’s his. He’s not about to risk injuring you.”
Gil wasn’t certain that any amount of reassurance would have soothed his fears or stopped him from feeling like a virgin dreading her wedding night, but the doctor’s conviction helped a little. “Is there anything I can do to —” He stopped speaking, unsure of what he was trying to ask.
“If Nick does it right, and I have no reason to think he won’t, you’ll be relaxed and ready for him when the time comes. Just make sure you let him know if he’s hurting you.” Gil nodded, and Massey said, “If you have any other questions, now’s the time to ask.”
Part 4
He was a mystery, no question about it, and Nick wanted to solve that mystery. He wouldn’t do anything so crass as to ask Gil outright about his life, because that just wasn’t done in Texas. And, if he was being honest with himself, asking direct questions made Nick feel a little bit like he was cheating to get the information he wanted.
Instead, Nick watched Gil and listened and paid attention to the smallest hints. Of course, those hints were even smaller since that day in the basement the week before last, but Nick didn’t mind. Solving the puzzle of Gil was a way to keep his investigative skills sharp while he waited for the okay to get back into the field.
So far, he was pretty certain Gil had been involved in law enforcement at one time. A nurse or a doctor might have said “shooter,” not “suspect,” and while Gil had been fairly comfortable with the sight of the scar tissue, he hadn’t commented on how it was healing. Wait — it was more than that. Gil hadn’t winced, hadn’t offered any sympathy. He hadn’t given any sign at all that he thought Nick was crazy for wanting to get back on the street. That wasn’t saying much, though. Gil mostly kept his thoughts to himself, the way any slave with a sense of self-preservation did.
Nick also knew that Gil liked bugs, and it didn’t matter what kind. He’d come home one day to find Gil staring in complete and utter fascination at a couple of ants he’d found in the house. When Nick asked if Gil was going to get around to killing them at some point, the man looked at him as if he’d just suggested that Gil go out and kill the Easter Bunny. Feeling like a complete heel, Nick backed off immediately and asked Gil to put the ants back outside.
And now, standing in the entry to the living room, Nick knew Gil loved baseball. With a basket of laundry in his hands, Gil had been entranced by the game for at least five minutes — the length of time Nick had been watching Gil. At the commercial break, Gil turned and nearly dropped his basket when he saw Nick.
“Go ahead and put that up in my room, then come back down,” Nick said casually, moving to the sofa, hoping his behavior was enough to reassure Gil.
“I’m sorry about —”
“Did I ask for an apology?”
“No.” Damn. Gil still had that wary expression on his face.
“Then don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know when there’s a problem.” Nick gave him a mock glare. “And if you don’t put that basket in my room and get back here on the double, there will be a problem.”
Gil did as he was told, returning before the commercial break ended. By that time, Nick was stretched out on the couch. He patted his stomach and said, “Come over and take a load off.”
Hesitant, Gil asked, “You want me to —?”
“Lie down with me. I don’t want to watch the game alone.” Nick wasn’t all that fond of baseball, but he also wasn’t about to waste the chance to — well — cuddle Gil for a few hours. And maybe he could earn a few brownie points in the process by letting Gil watch the game. “Come on, now.”
It was a little awkward, getting Gil arranged so that he was lying partway on top of Nick, but the end result, especially when Nick covered them with a blanket, was worth it. Gil relaxed almost immediately under the blanket, and no more than ten minutes passed before he was offering Nick a running commentary on the game, its history and the way statistics didn’t really mean much of anything but were fun to track.
As Nick listened carefully, asking the right questions at the right time, he also ran his hand along Gil’s back and through his hair. That was when Nick remembered that he knew something else about Gil — whoever he’d been before his life took a detour through Texas, Gil had kept his hair short and would prefer to do so now. Though Nick was willing to indulge him most of the time, the length of his hair wasn’t negotiable. Nick liked it longer, liked the way it curled around his fingers when he played with it.
Content, Nick listened to Gil’s random bits of trivia and found that baseball wasn’t nearly as dull as he’d always thought.
With the general tidying complete and dinner in the oven, Gil was confident that he had a solid half hour to himself, because Nick never got home before five. He went upstairs to his quarters, stopping at the writing desk just inside the door.
Five days earlier, Nick had given him a tip of fifty dollars for forcing him to do his exercises on a daily basis. Because of Gil’s persistence, Nick was probably going to be allowed back in the field before the end of the month, which was a cause for celebration.
Gil had no idea if the amount was good, bad or indifferent. He’d just thanked Nick and excused himself to go put the money away.
“Not so fast, Hoss.”
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the ludicrous name Nick foisted on him, Gil waited at the bottom of the steps. “Yes?”
“Head upstairs and grab something to wear out of my closet.”
Gil paused, wanting to be sure he understood. “But I’m not free — right?”
“No, you’re not free,” Nick answered. “It’s that there’s no point in me giving you money if I don’t give you a chance to spend it. We’ll head over to the mall and see if there’s anything you might like to get.”
Gil went upstairs with mixed emotions. For the last six weeks, he’d seen nothing but the inside of Nick’s house, a little bit of the backyard and glimpses of the neighborhood through the windows. Frankly, he was getting tired of the scenery; the mall would at least offer something new to look at. On the other hand, Nick was acting like a patronizing asshole, treating Gil like he was a young child to be bribed with the promise of a treat.
As he pulled out a pair of Nick’s old jeans and a white cotton shirt, Gil told himself to get over it. A chance to put something on and get out of the house was nothing to be sneezed at. He couldn’t quite bring himself to grab a pair of Nick’s underwear — the stretchy briefs looked uncomfortable at best — so he slipped the jeans on without underwear and zipped them up carefully. Gil was surprised to find out how well they fit. Clearly, he’d lost more weight in the last year than he initially thought. Dressed, but without shoes, Gil went downstairs.
“Damn, you look good.” Nick walked all the way around Gil. “I think I need to dress you up in jeans a little more often.”
Gil smiled a little, thinking about Nick’s enthusiasm that day. Yes, he’d been a jerk at times, but for the most part, he’d been a fun companion. He’d bought a pair of cheap flip flops for Gil to wear at the mall, and when they arrived there, Nick had played tour guide, pointing out the more interesting shops.
“That store’s owned by a local artist. The woman makes glass beads that are incredible.”
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
Gil cocked his head slightly. “Do I really seem like a glass bead kind of person to you?”
He took a moment to study Gil before saying, “Nope. Guess not.” They went a few more steps when Nick stopped and said cheerfully, “Puppy mill!”
Perforce, Gil followed him into the pet store. As Nick looked at the terrier pups near the front, Gil wandered to the back, where he found — “Brachypelma smithi.”
“Also known as butt-ugly,” Nick said, startling Gil with his proximity.
“Or, as most people like to call it, a Mexican Redknee.” Gil glanced at the price. The tarantula was within his budget, but a full set-up was not. Plus, Nick apparently had spider issues. It was just as well, really. If Nick got bored with Gil and decided to sell him in a few months, he would end up losing that spider the way he’d lost his other bugs at the lab.
“Puppies are cuter.”
“They’re also messier,” Gil pointed out. “You said there’s a bookstore here, right?”
In the end, Gil had spent much of Nick’s tip on a soft cover edition of Shakespeare’s complete works as well as a book of New York Times Sunday Crosswords. Both purchases currently rested on Gil’s nightstand, and both would be ignored for the time being in favor of Ara–a.
The day after their shopping expedition, Nick was an hour late getting home from work. Deviations in Nick’s routine made Gil nervous in a way they wouldn’t have if he’d been free. If anything happened to Nick, there was no telling what might happen to Gil once all the dust settled. So, he watched the clock with growing anxiety.
When Nick showed up, Gil breathed deeply to keep himself from demanding to know why the hell Nick couldn’t have called to let him know he’d be late. His temper under control, he went to meet his master and found Nick standing in the entryway with a sheepish expression on his face.
“Hey, Gil. I hope dinner’s still good. It took a little longer than I thought.” Nick looked like a little boy who’d done — something — though Gil couldn’t figure out whether it was a good something or a bad something.
Puzzled, Gil asked, “What took longer?”
“This.” Nick knelt down and uncovered a cage on the floor. A glass cage. A glass cage holding the tarantula that Gil admired the day before. Speechless, he just stared at the spider for the longest time before Nick asked, “Well? What are you going to name it?”
It was a good question, and as soon as Gil could get over the fact that Nick had actually gone back to get the spider for him, he might be able to answer it. “Um — Ara–a, I guess.”
Nick waited half a beat before asking, “You’re naming your new spider Ara–a?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Ara–a is Spanish for spider,” Nick said.
“It’s a Mexican Redknee. What else would I call it?”
Gil took Ara–a out of his cage then went to the bed so he could let the spider explore. Nick’s gesture was blatantly manipulative, designed specifically to make Gil think well of him, but it was also a fairly standard courting ritual: get the one you want something you know they’ll love. And as obvious as it was, Gil had to admit that Nick’s strategy was working.
Nick was no longer just the bastard owner who wouldn’t let Gil wear clothing most of the time. He was also the bastard owner who liked to have Gil draped over him for every baseball game on TV. And he was now the bastard owner who’d gone out and bought a spider he didn’t particularly like, because he’d seen how much Gil wanted it.
Under different circumstances, Gil might have thought Nick’s efforts were kind of romantic.
“Honey, I’m home!” Nick grinned at the all-too-brief evil look Gil shot him from where he stood at the stove. There was no question about it — one of Nick’s favorite activities of late was seeing if he could get Gil to react in new and interesting ways. “Did you miss me?”
He was impressed by how evenly Gil managed to answer him. “Dinner will be ready in a half hour or so.”
Nick was so impressed that he thought a little reward might be in order. He stood behind Gil and wrapped his arms around his waist. A slight tremor ran through Gil’s body at the unexpected contact. “You feel good, Hoss.”
Gil turned his head so he could see Nick. “Why ‘Hoss?’”
He couldn’t keep from grinning at the pained expression on Gil’s face. “Truth?”
“Please.”
“You twitch a little every time I call you that.” Nick let his hands drop a little lower on Gil’s belly.
“By any chance, did you ever pull the wings off flies when you were a little boy?”
“Nope.” Nick’s fingers brushed along the very top edge of the thatch of Gil’s pubic hair and groaned appreciatively when Gil shifted back in surprise — it was the first time Nick’s wandering hands had ventured so low. “But I used to pull the pigtails on little girls for the same reason.” As his fingers twitched through Gil’s pubic hair, Nick upped the ante by dropping kisses along Gil’s shoulder.
It was nice, this physical intimacy. So nice that Nick was about to tell Gil to turn off the stove when Gil preempted him with an unhappy, “Nick —”
He sighed. “Right. Too soon. I’ll be in my office. Let me know when dinner’s on the table.”
A little stunned by Nick’s abrupt departure, Gil turned just in time to see him disappear through the door. It was the first time Gil had offered any kind of objection to Nick’s touches, and Nick had actually respected it. He’d followed through on his own promise that he wouldn’t push Gil before he was ready.
Oh hell, Gil thought. Nick really does have integrity. Sort of. More than you thought he did, anyway. How in God’s name are you going to defend yourself against his honor?
“Damn it all to hell!” Nick continued to swear loud and long as Gil took him through his exercises. They were getting easier, thank God, but they still hurt like a bitch.
“One more rep, and then you’re done for the day,” Gil said implacably.
“Crap, I can’t take much more of this.”
“You’re a grown man, Nick. Don’t whine.”
At that, Nick glared a little. “Who’s the slave here?”
“I am. Come on, push.”
“Fuck!” Nick did as he was told, getting ever more creative with his cursing. Five minutes later, he lay on the bench, drained. “We’re done, right?”
“Sure,” Gil said with a lopsided smile. “For today.”
“Shit. What the hell was I thinking when I bought you?” Nick pushed himself upright.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Gil smirked a bit as he helped Nick stand up. “I think the whip marks should have been your first clue that I might be a bit of a problem.”
“You know, I’m a little disturbed by the fact that your sarcasm is starting to turn me on.” Nick laughed at Gil’s embarrassment and decided to let him off the hook. “I’m going to get clean. I’ll want a massage when I’m done,” he said, heading up the stairs out of the basement.
In the shower, Nick thought about Gil and the way he looked and felt and thought and spoke and — yep. As sure as God made little green apples, thoughts of Gil led to erections. Normally, he would have started to masturbate by now, but Nick didn’t want to bring himself off alone. He wanted Gil to help, and he wanted him to help that night. Groaning, Nick beat his head against the shower wall, wondering why the hell he was doing this to himself. If he had any sense, he’d bend Gil over the nearest flat surface and put an end to the torture.
When he finished his shower, he dried himself off then walked naked into his bedroom, deciding that Gil needed to see for himself the state Nick was in. If nothing else, maybe the man would give him a hand job out of pity.
Gil had just put towels on the bed when he glanced up and stared — stared at Nick the way a starving man might stare at a table full of food. Stared the way a man looked at the thing he wanted most in the world. Stared the way Nick had been staring at Gil since he bought him.
Nick gave him a slow smile. “Well, now. I think you and I might finally be on the same page.”
Part 5
Gil’s mouth went dry as he looked at Nick, and his pulse sped up as he tried to breathe normally.
Christ.
Desire crashed through him, coming out of nowhere and — wait. That wasn’t right. Gil knew exactly where it came from: a naked and erect Nick turned out to be a hell of a beautiful thing, and it made the last of Gil’s defenses crumble.
He was helpless in the face of his sudden craving for Nick. It had been two, three years since he’d felt anything approaching interest in someone else, yet passion, sweet and rich, rose up in him. Buried for so long — first under the pressure of his job and then under the pressure of Mobley’s witch hunt and almost a year of being little more than property — passion now made Gil oblivious to everything but satisfying this longing.
Nick stood naked and aroused before him, and god help him, but Gil wanted everything his owner had on offer. Wanted to taste every square inch of skin he saw; wanted to see if the texture felt different against his tongue than it did against his fingertips.
“Gil?”
He looked up and saw that Nick had closed the distance between them. Gil was tunnel-visioned on Nick’s mouth, and the mouth in question was getting closer, so much closer. Without thinking, he reached for Nick and pulled him in, wanting, needing to see if the mouth that could say such sweet things tasted as good as it sounded.
Gil groaned when their lips met. So good. So fucking good to be in a full embrace of skin to skin that could last for the next forty years or so, as far as Gil was concerned. How the hell had he gone so long without wanting this? And what made him imagine he could ever hold out against his owner’s determined seduction?
Breathing heavily, Gil broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Nick’s. He had to get himself under control, had to hide, had to —
Nick snaked his hand to the back of Gil’s neck and held him in place for their second kiss. He controlled this one, controlled Gil while they kissed, and Gil allowed it. He offered as much consent as he could under the circumstances, because dubious or not, there was consent. He wanted this. He wanted to feel Nick move on him, under him, in him. Wanted it even if Nick never let Gil fuck him, because Gil had finally reached the point where he would take whatever he could get of human contact and be glad for it.
They were moving now, with Nick guiding them to the bed and Gil trying not to trip over himself. Nick pushed against Gil’s chest, and abruptly, they were on the bed, with Nick covering Gil, warming him with his own body heat as their cocks aligned close to one other.
“Damn.” Nick’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I was beginning to think you’d never get with the program.” Nick moved just so, and Gil gasped at the slow grind of Nick’s hips. “You have any idea how un-fucking-believably hot you are? Haven’t let any of my friends visit — you know why?” Gil shook his head, almost mindless in his need to find his release. “They’ll take one look at you and I know they’ll want you. Ask if they can have you.” Nick thrust hard before grasping their cocks together in his hand. “You know what’ll happen if they do that?”
“No — please — more —”
Nick let go of his own cock and kept his hand around Gil’s, intent on finishing him off as quickly as possible. “Any of my friends even hints they want you, I’ll go crazy. Probably have to kill ‘em —”
Gil came, his orgasm hitting him just as suddenly as his need for Nick had, and he arched up into Nick’s grasp, letting his release roll over him. He barely noticed anything else Nick had to say, barely knew when Nick came.
“Nick —”
“Shh. Busy day, Gil. I’m just gonna move you around a little so we can both get a little rest.” Before he did, though, he cleaned up the mess on Gil’s belly with a warm, wet washcloth, making Gil feel loved, almost. It was nice. So was having Nick help him get under the sheets then curl up behind him.
For the moment, a lot of things were right in Gil’s world; he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
Nick woke from a light doze, happy to find that Gil hadn’t really moved at all since they dropped off. Not that he could have, though. Not with the way Nick was almost pinning him to the bed. He paused for a moment to see if Gil was awake yet, waiting for little tells that spoke of consciousness. When there weren’t any, he eased himself away, taking care not to disturb Gil — not yet, anyway.
He rolled onto his back and stretched an arm out to the nightstand, searching for and finding what he would need soon. Damn soon, thank God. Nick glanced at Gil’s back and smiled. Gil had been — wild. Unrestrained. Unreserved. He’d been kind of perfect, in other words, and Nick wanted to see that again.
He shifted back to his side and trailed his hand down Gil’s back several times, with each subsequent touch becoming more deliberate. By the fifth time Nick did this, Gil started to respond to Nick’s caress, pushing back and into the touch, moving with it.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Startled awake finally, Gil turned his head sharply. Surprise was replaced by memory, and memory was replaced by — “Now, none of that.” Nick spoke softly. “I won’t have you feeling ashamed for wanting and needing something, especially when that something turned out to be me.”
“I —” Gil frowned for a moment, and Nick wished he knew why. “I wasn’t — I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about, Gil.” Nick reached up to cup his cheek. “I just don’t want you feeling bad for feeling good.”
There was still something about the way Gil looked at him that wasn’t quite right, but before Nick could figure it out, Gil had pushed Nick to his back and was on top of him, kissing him and squirming against him, making Nick crazy again. It wasn’t long before Nick rolled them so that Gil was on his back. Nick stopped kissing him long enough to say, “You’re beautiful like this.”
Gil’s expression was unreadable. “I’m not.”
“You’re wrong.” Nick’s voice was low. “You’re gorgeous like this.” He reached down to hold Gil’s cock, half hard already, and began squeezing it with the right kind of pressure. “If I had my way, I’d make sure you were hard all day long.” Gil’s look of alarm led to Nick reassuring him with, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Gil’s dry, “Thank you,” made Nick laugh. And the way Gil arched into his grasp just then made Nick kiss him hard. He broke off and reached for the lubricant he’d found earlier, then worked his way down Gil’s body using kisses and caresses to map a trail.
When Nick reached Gil’s cock, he took it into his mouth for a slow, hard suck. If Gil’s reaction was anything to go by — and Nick thought it was — he’d managed to do that just right. He repeated himself, and then he licked his way down to Gil’s balls, enjoying Gil’s dizzying musk for a moment before pushing himself up on one elbow.
At Gil’s soft protest, Nick looked up and smiled. “Hang in there. I just want to make everything good for you.” He put lubricant on his fingers then bent down to take Gil’s cock in his mouth again. Nick moved cautiously to avoid startling Gil. He brought his right hand, slick with lube, to Gil’s balls then trailed his fingers down the perineum. Nick nudged a finger in between Gil’s cheeks, and Gil responded by spreading his legs a little.
When Nick found Gil’s opening, he sucked a little harder on Gil’s cock to distract him as he slipped a finger in. Gil tightened up immediately, but Nick expected that. He continued what he’d been doing, and pretty soon, Gil relaxed, accepting Nick’s finger as it went in a little deeper.
Nick settled in for the long haul. He had no intention of rushing Gil through this process, no desire to do anything other than make sure Gil enjoyed himself thoroughly. His reason for this was simple — if Gil didn’t enjoy himself tonight, he might not say yes again to Nick anytime soon, if at all. So Nick took his time, driving Gil more than a little insane between the blowjob that always broke off before Gil could come and the two fingers Nick was now working in him.
Gil loosened up a little more, and Nick took that as a sign to add more lubricant and one more finger. Before he could insert his fingers, Gil begged, “Now, Nick. I’m ready now.”
“You sure about that?” Nick pushed in slightly with three fingers, and Gil moved hard to envelope them. “Yeah,” he said with a light laugh, “I guess you are.”
Not willing to let Gil think too long about what they were going to do, Nick rearranged the two of them quickly, putting Gil on his hands and knees and saying, “This way will be easier for you, your first time.”
Nick slicked his cock with lubricant then positioned himself against Gil. “This is going to feel good. I promise.” With that, he pushed himself in slowly, biting his lip against the urge to move hard and fast. Gil grunted a little at first, but then he responded to Nick, his increasing comfort easing the way. Gil’s tight heat was more than Nick could have hoped for — too much, in a way. He didn’t last long, but then, Nick never did when it all felt this good.
Still bent over Gil’s back, Nick dropped a kiss on his shoulder and pulled out slowly. Gil twitched a little before moving to get out of bed. “Whoa — where are you going?”
Gil blinked back at him. “My quarters?”
“Like hell you are. I finally got you into my bed, so what makes you think I’m letting you out of it?” Nick shifted around the two of them around before reaching back to grab one of the towels from earlier. He put the cloth over the wet spot and said, “Come on, Gil. Get comfortable. I want you to sleep with me.” When Nick arranged the sheet and blanket over them, he spooned Gil with a whispered, “Sweet dreams.”
For the longest time, Gil laid awake, listening to the small sounds Nick made as he slept and wishing he’d been able to drop off to sleep the way he had earlier. He calculated his chances of success at escaping to his own room, though in the end, he decided to stay put. He might be able to leave Nick’s room without waking him up, but Nick would be unhappy to find Gil gone in the morning.
He was unused to sleeping next to someone, though, which meant he was left to his own disturbing thoughts when he would really rather be unconscious. It wasn’t that Nick had hurt him. He hadn’t. Massey had been right when he said that Nick would do right by him. Gil had found a great deal of pleasure with Nick; it had been an incredible experience, and he didn’t regret any of it, but —
There had been a couple of times when Gil would have stopped Nick if they’d simply been dating. He would have asked that they hold off a little while longer, asked to be allowed a little more time to get used to the idea. He hadn’t stopped Nick, though, choosing instead to encourage him to keep going, and it wasn’t because Gil had thought Nick would react badly. Rather, he was afraid that if he put off Nick tonight, he might be more impatient the next time, might not take as much care as he had this evening.
He sighed, thinking about Nick. Gil was reasonably certain that his owner had never thought about consent issues with slaves, and he was almost positive that Nick assumed Gil would say yes because everyone always said yes to Nick. Gil suspected he himself would have landed in that category if they’d met as free citizens. Nick was, after all, charming, good looking and sweet, after a fashion. He was hard to resist.
Nick was also damn hard to keep out of Gil’s most private thoughts. For all that he wanted to occasionally slap the other man into a semblance of awareness about the reality of slavery, Gil found Nick to have a kind heart and a generous spirit. He was the sort of man Gil might have been able to fall in love with, and that thought alone was a bit depressing, because eventually, Nick would either sell Gil or Gil would be granted citizenship again. Either way, their association would come to an end, and Gil would be left to fight a host of “might have beens.”
For the first time, he began to understand why Massey urged him to consider attending services. Gil wanted to talk to someone who might understand what he was feeling right now. A church service for slaves would give him the chance to interact with other slaves — slaves who, presumably, had gone through some of what Gil was going through now.
The thought of talking to others was enough to unknot the tension that had been growing in Gil since Nick dropped off. Finally relaxing enough to feel sleepy, Gil drifted a little, thinking he would ask Nick in the morning about going to church.
Part 6
Nick pulled up under a covered entrance behind his church. “Here we are.” Gil looked out the window before turning back uncertainly to Nick. Answering the silent request for reassurance, he said, “You’ll be fine in there.”
“You’re sure I’m okay like this?” Naked, he meant. Naked but for the collar showing that he was owned.
Grinning, Nick said, “Gil, there’s a reason it’s called the Garden of Eden service. Trust me, okay?” When Gil still didn’t make a move to get out, Nick reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to come along today. What changed your mind?”
Gil’s lips quirked upward. “A sudden and complete understanding of the phrase, ‘public nudity.’”
“I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’re worried. You sure as hell don’t have any call to be ashamed of what you look like.” Following two and a half months of healthy eating and exercise, Gil had a body any man would be proud of. And Nick had been celebrating that fact for most of the last week.
One of Gil’s eyebrows went up, and he shot Nick a sly glance. “I could use a hair cut.”
At that, Nick tapped the back of Gil’s head and ordered, “Out. Your hair’s just the way I like it.” Gil took a deep breath and opened the truck door. “I’ll pick you up after Mass. They’ll let you know where to wait.”
Nick watched Gil go inside then drove around to the front to attend the main service. With any luck, he’d have a chance to talk to his father for a few minutes before Mass started.
Gil paused in the narthex, for the moment unable to force himself into the nave. Meeting other slaves hadn’t been what he’d hoped it would be. They were a quiet lot, inclined to keep to themselves despite the fact that the owners were elsewhere, and the way they’d reacted to Gil’s tentative overtures — well — he’d had friendlier conversations with suspects after he’d ordered them arrested. Adding to his discomfort was the fact that he hadn’t been to a church service since 1979; he didn’t belong here, couldn’t believe in Catholic doctrine anymore, couldn’t —
“Good morning.” Startled, Gil looked up to see a very tall older man standing nearby and wearing only the collar of a priest. “I’m Father Augustine. Welcome to St. Anthony’s.”
“I’m Gil Gri — um. Gil Stokes.”
“You’re not one of Bill’s, are you?” Father Augustine touched Gil’s shoulder lightly and turned him toward the nave.
“No. Nick Stokes owns me.”
“Young Nick,” he said with a smile. “He used to get into so much trouble when he was a boy.”
“You know him?”
“I wasn’t always a slave, Gil; I made choices that the law couldn’t forgive. Fortunately, the Church was a bit more understanding and purchased me after I was sentenced. By the grace of my Bishop, I was allowed to remain in this parish.” When they reached the altar, both men dropped to one knee and made the sign of the cross before standing and turning back. Halfway down the aisle, Augustine stopped Gil. “This is a good place for you to sit, I think. Enjoy the service.”
Resigned to staying put, Gil made himself comfortable on the pew — covered with cloth, he was gratified to find — and tried to settle down for Mass.
“You’re about ten minutes early, son.” Bill made a point of looking at the sky. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s one of the signs of the apocalypse. I wonder if Father Michael will say anything about that today.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.” Nick made it up the steps to where his father stood. “See? Hardly limping anymore.”
“Looks like Gil is proving to be a help to you.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about him. Has Laurette been able to make heads or tails of his provenance yet?”
Looking around to see who was nearby, Bill dropped his voice and said, “It’s not looking good.”
“How bad is it?”
Bill’s expression turned grim. “Bad. We’ll talk after Mass.”
Gil was surprised at how much he remembered of the order of service, up to and including when to sit, kneel and stand. In some ways, he was finding the comfort he’d sought. In other ways, particularly when he caught sight of the bruises and fresh welts on a number of his fellow church-goers, he found himself fighting back depression.
Father Augustine began his homily with, “Friends, I have distressing news about Carolyn Graben. Father Michael tells me she didn’t survive the beating her owner inflicted on her two weeks ago. Her brother has informed Father Michael she will be buried in the family plot.”
The mood of the congregation, not very cheerful to begin with, dropped noticeably as Father Augustine gave them the news. For his part, Gil was stunned that the priest had said anything at all. If asked, he would have guessed that Father Augustine might tell a comforting lie, not that he would state the bald truth.
“This is always the worst kind of news to share, and I hate like anything to have to tell you. But if I don’t, who will?” It had the sound of a practiced phrase, and the congregation reacted as if it were. The slaves murmured their agreement, and Father Augustine continued. “We are all of us treated as though we’re small children, and why not? We no longer own ourselves. We’re told what to do, when to do it and how to do it. There are some owners who even go so far as to tell us how we should feel at any given point in time.”
The murmurs grew louder, and Gil found himself nodding. As owners went, Nick was definitely one of the better ones, but up until the last week or so — until they’d started having sex — he’d had a bad habit of treating Gil like a pet at times.
“I promise you that I will always treat you like the adults that you are. I will never treat you like children. Only God has that right,” he said, “and I’m here this morning to tell you that God will never treat you that way. “
A woman near the front said, “Amen,” and was echoed by several others.
Father Augustine shifted slightly at the pulpit. “New slaves often ask how it is that God can condone such a system as we have in this country, and I tell you now that God does not condone slavery. I tell you now that God abhors the practice. I tell you now that God weeps in Heaven over what His children are doing to one another.”
Gil sat up a little straighter. He couldn’t recall ever hearing a sermon like the one Father Augustine was giving.
“Never once believe that God thinks this is right, because He doesn’t. Slavery is an evil, vile practice, and it was born of the hatred found in men’s hearts.” The congregation stirred a bit more at that, with quite a few people saying amen. “Unfortunately, God’s Law isn’t the law of the country that enslaved us. Man’s law rules our actions on Earth, and in these United States of America, man’s law has decreed that it is appropriate to take away a person’s God-given right to free will. Man’s law has decreed that it is proper for an owner to do as he or she will to the slaves entrusted to their care. Man’s law has decreed that it is fitting that a slave should die if her owner decides it.”
Gil added his own rumbles of discontent to the parishioners’ response. He’d never been in favor of the practice to begin with, though he hadn’t despised it enough to join the American Abolitionists Union. Gil favored civil fines for lesser crimes and prison for more violent offenders. It had been one of the issues he and Mobley clashed over on a regular basis, and in some of Gil’s more cynical moments, he suspected that Mobley had been laughing his ass off for the last year.
“You know and I know and God knows that man’s law is wrong. We all know that slavery is Satan’s contribution to hell on Earth, but I’m here to tell you now that as long as man’s law rules this nation, it is appropriate and proper and fitting for us to accept that law as it is.” The disagreement grew a bit more intense, and Father Augustine raised his hands in supplication. “That isn’t what you wanted to hear. I understand that. It’s not what I wanted to say. But I will not, under any circumstance, encourage you to rebellion. None of us is a citizen. None of us has a say in the government that rules over us. None of us is capable of affecting change from within. Rebellion is a path to certain death, and I regard it as suicide. No matter how bitter slavery is, we were all given life by God Almighty, and that gift is sweet.”
The congregants subsided at the reminder, and Gil found himself wanting to stand and applaud Father Augustine’s performance. The man had gone from giving them horrific news to letting them vent their anger over their lot in life to bringing them back to a state where they could reasonably serve their master without going stark, staring mad.
“All any of us can do is commend our soul to God and to pray for the strength to continue on in service to our mortal masters. God loves us more than you can possibly imagine, and He knows how much we suffer. Though man’s law will never punish the Graben boy, I can assure you all that he will find himself on the wrong end of God’s judgment one of these days.”
Around him, a number of slaves were weeping openly; Gil wished he were still capable of tears.
When Mass ended, and Nick’s mother and sisters finished fussing over his leg, Nick tracked his father down in the parking lot. “I can’t talk long — Gil asked to go to the service this morning.”
“Glad to hear it. I imagine Father Augustine has a few things to say to him, so we have a bit of time,” Bill said. He lowered his voice. “It’s beginning to look like you purchased stolen goods.”
“What?”
“As near as Laurette can tell, your Gil was supposed to go to the Dallas Criminalistics Division to serve out a two-year sentence of comparable labor.” Bill glanced away. “He never arrived. Instead, the sheriff of Clark County Nevada reported that Gil had been shot and killed during an escape attempt.”
“No way. Gil wouldn’t have tried to escape.”
“I’m inclined to believe you, son, especially since Nevada no longer has any files on the man, including his employment records.” Bill pursed his lips. “Someone did a pretty thorough job of erasing him from the system.”
“Shit.”
Bill’s reminder was sharp. “Language, Nick!”
“Sorry.” Nick leaned against his father’s car. “What happens now?”
“I want you to talk to Captain Markham first thing in the morning. Let him know what’s going on, and tell him I’ll call the FBI if he doesn’t have a good contact.”
“FBI? What for?”
“Gil was transferred multiple times across state lines after he was stolen.” Bill put his hand on Nick’s back. “I know that isn’t what you wanted to hear. The good news is that you won’t be charged with receiving stolen property — Flaherty was a known broker, and the auction house had already approved his paper on Gil.” Nick shook his head and looked away as his father added, “At worst, you’ll lose the purchase price.”
“No.” Nick stared at his father. “At worst, I’m going to lose Gil.”
“I just don’t understand how you can be so accepting.” Gil and Father Augustine stood inside the entryway. The other congregants were leaving, one by one, as the owners came back to pick them up.
“I submitted myself to God’s will a long time ago,” he answered. “Does it really matter if I wear the vestments of a priest as I carry out His work?”
“I guess not.” Gil frowned as he tried to sort out what he wanted to say. “It just seems like an unnecessary humiliation.” As the priest started to interrupt, Gil said, “I know there’s logic behind it, but I don’t agree with it.”
“Your agreement is irrelevant, son. The law is what it is.”
“Right.” Gil didn’t bother keeping the bitterness out of his voice. “That’s the same law that doesn’t give a damn about that slave who died.”
“No, but God cares.”
“Father —”
“And God cares about you.” Father Augustine watched as the last slave went outside. “That looks like Nick’s truck behind Tammy Kelso. He’ll be wanting to take you home now.”
“If I can, I’ll be here next week.” The words were out of Gil’s mouth before he could stop them. He really hadn’t planned to return.
“I’ve never known any of the Stokes clan to deny a slave the chance to attend church,” he answered. “Son, if you need to talk to me before Sunday, let Nick know. He’ll arrange a meeting.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Gil hesitated for a moment, uncertain of the protocol. Father Augustine clasped his hand in his and said, “Walk with God, Gil,” before turning and heading deeper into the church.
Outside, Gil got into Nick’s truck and buckled up. He was still thinking about Mass and what Father Augustine had told him afterward. The morning had been a shock to his complacent conviction that he’d known what the Catholic Church was all about, and he was trying to make sense of it all.
After a few blocks, Nick asked, “He give you the ‘God hates slavery’ sermon today?”
Gil gave him a sharp look. “How did you know?”
“He preaches it every time a slave dies at their owner’s hands. Has since he was the senior priest in the main church.” Nick’s lips twitched as he glanced over, and Gil shut his mouth, suddenly realizing he must look like an idiot.
“I didn’t realize you knew — about Carolyn, I mean.”
“Yeah. Kenny Graben’s a sick bastard.”
“How can you —” Gil stopped himself. Antagonizing his owner was not the thing to do right now, particularly since the owner in question was one of the better ones. Instead, he deliberately slowed his breathing and made an effort to meditate.
Nick didn’t say anything more until they were a few blocks from his house. “Feeling better?”
Gil looked at him cautiously. “A little.”
“Good.” Nick turned onto his street. “And thank you for not blaming me for Kenny Graben. If I had my way, that little fuck would be up on capital murder charges, and he’d be dead before the next full moon.”
After a moment, Gil asked quietly, “Really?”
“Really.” As they pulled into Nick’s driveway, Nick added, “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but things are improving. Not that long ago, Kenny wouldn’t have gotten a slap on the wrist for killing one. Thanks to a law passed last year, he owes her estate ten times her purchase price.” Nick glanced at Gil before adding, “If he doesn’t pay up, he’ll be sold to her family for a dollar with no chance of parole. Part of me hopes he won’t, but trust me, he’ll pay up.”
“I didn’t know.” Though it wasn’t a perfect solution, Gil had to admit it was better than most states offered.
Nick reached over and caressed Gil’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “I think church was rougher on you than you thought it might be. Take a few hours for yourself this afternoon. You can spend the time in your quarters, if you like, or I can get you signed into the online library. Your choice.”
“Thank you.”
Part 7
Gil put Nick’s breakfast on the table and stood for a moment. When he decided he was hovering, he went back to the stove, and then he went back to the table again. He hated being so indecisive, but he honestly didn’t know what to do. Nick wasn’t actually eating his breakfast, and he hadn’t eaten dinner the night before, either.
As Gil thought about it, he realized that Nick hadn’t had an appetite of any kind for two days. Both Sunday and Monday night, Nick had sent him to bed alone, with just a kiss on the cheek, which was significantly different from the nights leading up to Sunday. Both nights were deviations in Nick’s routine, and deviations were bad.
“Nick?”
“Hm.”
He didn’t want to ask it — couldn’t believe he would — but Gil needed to know what had changed. “Did I do something wrong?”
“What?” Nick glanced up from the food he wasn’t eating. “Why would you think that?”
“You’ve barely spoken to me since we got home on Sunday. I thought maybe —” Gil took a deep breath. “I thought maybe I’d done something to offend you.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I wasn’t exactly pleasant after Mass,” he said, hating the hesitancy he heard in his own voice.
Nick stared at Gil for a long moment of dawning comprehension. “No. That’s not — Look, I got some bad news is all. You’re not — Shit. Is it really quarter to eight?” Without waiting for Gil to answer, Nick stood quickly. “I’ve got a nine o’clock appointment downtown, and if I leave now, I might get there on time.” He started for the back door then stopped and went back to Gil. “We’ll talk about it tonight. I promise. But trust me, I’m not unhappy with you.” Nick dropped a chaste kiss on Gil’s forehead then all but ran out the door.
Gil stood in the kitchen for long moments before finally saying, “What the hell?”
“Detective Stokes?” Nick stood up when the secretary spoke to him. “Special Agent Martin will see you now.”
Bill Stokes stood as well. “What about me?”
“He’ll talk to you after he’s spoken with the Detective.”
Nick squeezed his father’s arm briefly before following the woman out of the reception area.
A few minutes before four o’clock, Gil came back downstairs after feeding Ara–a and cleaning his cage. He was about to head into the kitchen when someone pounded on the door and shouted something unintelligible. Nick had been specific — Gil was never to answer the door. If anyone stopped by during the day, Gil was to ignore it. The problem Gil faced now was that whoever was on the other side sounded pretty damn determined to get in. He moved toward the phone to dial 9-1-1, but before he reached it, the door burst open. The intruders carried guns, and though Gil still couldn’t understand a word they said, he figured his safest course of action was to drop to the floor with his arms out.
After a moment, the shouting stopped, and he heard a very distinct and irate voice. “Jesus! What the hell were you thinking?”
Gil lifted his head up. “Jim?”
“I’m telling you, he’s not going to answer the door. I told him not to. Would you just let me go with them?”
“It’s too late, Detective. Agents raided your home approximately thirty minutes ago.”
Bill’s face turned red. “What right did you have —”
“Your son admitted to being in possession of stolen property with a value in excess of five thousand dollars,” said Special Agent Martin. “That alone gave us the right.”
Gil sat in the back of the Taurus with Jim. He picked at Nick’s jeans and tried to sort out what Jim was saying to him. “So Mobley is under arrest for fraud and conspiracy?”
“Not yet. We still have to prove that you’re you, and then you have to go back to Vegas to stand before Judge Branson so she can issue the arrest warrant.” Jim, who hadn’t stopped smiling since he found Gil on the floor, shook his head. “It was a hell of a thing, Gil, having the FBI haul me out of bed this morning. You could have knocked me over with a feather when they said you were alive and in Dallas of all places.”
Still distracted by the sudden shift his life had taken, Gil nodded then said, “I need to call Nick. Let him know where I am, where I’m going.”
“Nick — the guy who bought you?”
“Yes. I need to talk to him.” Talk to him, try to figure out what the hell was going on. Sudden change never used to be so disconcerting, but Gil had grown intolerant of it. The last couple of months with Nick, he thought, had provided a stability that he’d missed in the months he’d been on the road. And now that stability was shot all to hell again. “I need to talk to Nick.”
“We’ve already told you what happened,” Bill said, when Nick didn’t speak up in his own defense. “And I’d like to remind you that as soon as we realized there was a problem, Nick contacted you. He didn’t have to.”
“I find it difficult to believe that Dr. Grissom was in your son’s possession for what — three months —”
“Two months,” said Bill.
“Nine weeks, two days,” corrected Nick. “And no, I didn’t know. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t ask? You knew there was a problem with his paperwork. How could you not ask?”
Before Nick could respond, Bill put his hand on his son’s shoulder and answered. “Around here, we figure a slave’s memories are the only thing he has left to him. We don’t pry. I think it’s time we called our lawyers in.”
“He’s not your owner — or he won’t be. There’s a federal judge standing by who’s going to overturn your sentence as soon as we get DNA confirmation of your identity.”
Confused, Gil said, “I’m not in CODIS, am I?”
“They’re flying your mom in. And once they confirm you’re her son, you’re a free man again.” Jim gave Gil a puzzled look. “Shouldn’t you be more excited than this?”
“I guess.” Some of Jim’s words finally started to sink in. “Where’s Nick?”
“In custody, if there’s any justice in this world. I still can’t believe he kept you naked like that.”
“Custody? No. You don’t understand.” Alarmed, Gil scrabbled at Jim’s pocket. “Give me your cell phone.”
“Stop that — who do you think you’re going to call?” Jim batted Gil’s hands away. “He bought stolen property — of course he should be in custody.”
He couldn’t believe this was happening. Nick didn’t deserve to go to jail just because of Gil’s reticence. “He didn’t know I was supposed to be at Dallas Criminalistics.”
“He had to have known.”
Gil looked at Jim for a long moment. “I never told him.”
Dan Markham stepped into the interrogation room where Nick and his lawyer sat. “If I’d known this was going to turn into a complete clusterfuck, I’d’ve come down here with you. I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Not your fault.” He looked up. “You think Gil’s okay?”
“They’ve got him down the hall. He seemed kind of pissed off when I glanced in.”
“Jesus.” Nick had been operating on autopilot ever since Martin had threatened him with arrest. His concern about his career, though, took a back seat to his concern about Gil. “I need to talk to him, let him know what’s going on.”
“They’ve been talking to him for the last hour.” Markham sat down. “He swears up and down he never told you who he was.”
“He didn’t.”
“Nick, not another word.”
Nick scrubbed his hand through his hair. “It’s okay, Lacey. I want this out in the open.”
Lacey Gouten, Nick’s attorney, shook her head. “You’re answering against my advice.”
“Yeah. I know.” Nick looked at her, willing her to understand before he started speaking again. “His name sounded a little familiar when I bought him, but it wasn’t until a couple of hours after Dad told me where he was supposed to be that I remembered.”
“It’s been almost a year since that memo went out. Hardly surprising you wouldn’t twig to it right away.” Markham hesitated a moment, then said, “Martin’s making a big deal about the fact that you don’t have Gil’s signature consenting to personal service.”
That got Nick’s puzzled attention. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I know it seems like a formality, but you should have had Gil sign off on it before you asked your dad to commute his sentence.”
“You don’t get it.” Freed at last from the dizzy numbness that followed the raid on Nick’s house, Gil was fighting Jim’s stubborn, close-minded determination to paint Nick as the bad guy. He’d missed Jim’s insights over the last year, but he hadn’t missed the way Jim tended to hold onto an idea and not let go of it.
Jim slapped the table with his palm. “No, you don’t —”
“Gil!” The voice was harsh, and the sound of his name was malformed.
Both men looked at the woman standing just inside the door. Jim got out of the way as Gil moved toward her with a quiet, “Mom.”
Struggling to keep up with what his mother was saying, even as he reached for her, Gil didn’t notice when Jim left. He moved her to a chair and tried to get her to sit, but Eleanor wasn’t having any of it and refused to let go of him. She grabbed his left hand and began to sign quickly. Gil shook his head and moved back far enough so she could read his lips. “I’m out of practice. Go slowly.”
She bit back a soft sob and did as her son asked, signing letters carefully and deliberately into his palm so that she could tell him of her grief over the last year without prying eyes watching what she said.
“I refuse to believe you’re serious about the statutory rape charge.” Lacey gathered up her paperwork. “There’s not a judge in Texas that will issue a warrant on what they have.”
Markham agreed. “The only person who can’t seem to understand that is Martin. He thinks Nick kept Dr. Grissom under duress, and that’s why the man didn’t say anything about his sentence. He’s using the same excuse for the rape charge.”
Nick felt ill. What Dan was saying didn’t make sense. Gil had said yes — Nick never once pressured him. Encouraged him, of course, but Gil made that move, not Nick. How the hell did they get statutory rape out of that?
“My client rescued Dr. Grissom from dire straights. He didn’t have proof that he would use Dr. Grissom for hard labor, so he did the only thing he could under Texas law.” Lacey glared at the one-way mirror. “And if you think anyone is going to believe that Dr. Grissom was better off dying than he was becoming the personal slave of a respected police officer, think again.”
Special Agent Frank Martin was having a bad night, and Gil was happy to know that he was the direct cause of the man’s misery. “Allow me to repeat myself — again. If you attempt to charge Nick Stokes with anything to do with me, I’ll torpedo your case as soon as I get on the stand.”
“Dr. Grissom, be reasonable. I’ll accept that he didn’t know who you were, but he knew damn well you never consented to personal service.”
“You’re wrong,” he said softly. “I consented the day he took me home, fed me, let me take a bath, had my wounds treated.”
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Stockholm Syn —”
“He didn’t hold me hostage. He bought me in good faith.” Gil caught sight of Eleanor’s face and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before looking at Martin again and raising an eyebrow.
“Fine. Your emotions are running high at the moment — you see Stokes as a kind of white knight, and I really can’t blame you for that. He got you out of a bad situation, and he deserves your gratitude.”
If one more person tried to tell Gil what he was feeling, he was going to commit justifiable homicide. He couldn’t figure out himself what was going on in his head, so there was no way anyone else knew. “Don’t you dare —”
“But he did not earn the right to your body.” Martin leaned in toward Gil. “You don’t want him charged today, but six months from now, when you’ve had a chance to get some distance, you’ll change your mind.”
Before Gil could deny what Martin said, his mother signed into his hand, “Wait. Think. Decide later.”
He frowned at her. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all, and that thought alone was enough to give him pause. Once upon a time, he’d been more open to suggestions — he needed to get back to that point if he was going to have a hope in hell of getting back to anything resembling a normal life. “Fine. If I change my mind in six months, I’ll call you.”
“Good.”
“Right now, though, I want to talk to Nick.”
Martin was shaking his head before Gil finished speaking. “Bad idea. I won’t allow it.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you told me two hours ago that my emancipation papers came through.” When Martin reluctantly nodded, Gil continued, “In that case, you don’t have the right to tell me I can’t see him. Neither of us is under arrest, so it really doesn’t matter what you think, does it?”
“We need to get you back to Las Vegas as soon as possible.”
“Then you should probably get Nick in here quickly, shouldn’t you?”
Nick stood outside the room, reluctant to enter. He’d wanted to see Gil all day, but not like this, not with everyone watching. He’d wanted to be able to hold Gil, reassure him that everything was all right, that it would all work out. He couldn’t, though, not without lying. Nick didn’t know how far Martin would get pressing criminal charges, but he figured the man could probably get him fired if he was of a mind to.
Shaking his head against his thoughts, Nick knocked once and went into the room. His immediate impulse, to go straight to Gil and hold him tight, was thwarted by the presence of an older woman in the room. Gil looked at Nick for a moment, then turned the woman so she could see Gil — signing? After he made a few slow and deliberate gestures, Gil turned back to Nick and said in a curiously formal tone of voice, “This is my mother, Eleanor Grissom.”
Speaking without thought, Nick said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” And then it occurred to him that she might not have understood him.
Some of what he’d been thinking must have shown in his face, because Gil said, “She reads lips, which is why I’ve asked her to leave and go clear out the observation room.”
Eleanor moved to the door, pausing as she reached Nick. She stared at him for a long moment before turning back to Gil to nod once, and then she left them alone.
Everything Nick had planned to say to Gil fled in the face of Dr. Gil Grissom, world-renowned bug expert, nationally respected forensic scientist. Some of Martin’s accusations started to sink in, and Nick finally figured out why the man was set on calling it rape. “Holy shit.”
“Nick?”
“You and me. If you’d had any kind of choice, you’d have said no, wouldn’t you?”
Gil’s eyes darted to the right, and Nick thought the other man was resisting the urge to look back at the one-way mirror. Instead, he said cautiously, “I don’t know what I would have said under other circumstances. I only know that I don’t regret saying yes under these circumstances.”
“I don’t know how you can feel that way.”
Gil smiled a little. “What can I say? You’re a caring, considerate lover.”
“No I’m not.” Nick felt ill, and he really just wanted to vomit. “I’m a —”
“Man with an open heart. I question your taste in partners, though.”
The wry comment made Nick laugh a little, and then tears came to his eyes. He swallowed hard. “What happens now?”
“I have to go back to Las Vegas, help root out some corruption.” Gil hesitated then continued with, “You’re not going to be charged with anything. I told Martin I would kill any case he tried to bring against you once I got on the stand. He thinks I’ll change my mind in six months, but I won’t.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Miserable, Nick looked down at his feet. He’d been right this past Sunday. He was losing Gil, and it was in the worst way possible.
Nick was startled when Gil lifted his chin — he hadn’t noticed the man approach him. “You need to care. It’s important, because you did nothing wrong. Remember that.” Gil punctuated his command with a slow, sweet kiss that left Nick wanting more. “Goodbye, Nick.”
Gil walked out of the room without another word.
Epilogue
“. . . said he was grateful for the support of his mother and friends.
“In other news, Judge Moira Branson today handed down sentence for Bryan Mobley, former sheriff of Clark County Nevada, following his conviction of multiple counts of fraud and conspiracy. Mobley was sentenced to a lifetime of hard labor to be served under the state’s jurisdiction. Legal experts tell CNN that it is likely Mobley will end up working with the stock of depleted uranium currently stored in the Yucca Mountain Repository.
“Mobley also faces two federal charges. This coming November, trial will begin for the murders of Mary Creswell, a local lawyer, and Conrad Ecklie, the dayshift supervisor for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Creswell was legal counsel for Dr. Gil Grissom, the man currently fighting to gain control of Mobley’s holdings, at the time Mobley initially filed charges against him. Special Agent Frank Martin of the FBI told CNN that Creswell and Ecklie were working together to clear Dr. Grissom’s name when, the government alleges, Mobley ordered the pair killed. If convicted, Mobley could face death by hanging.
“That’s it for this edition of CNN Headline News. Stay tuned for more news at the top of the hour.”
Nick poured himself a cup of coffee just as his captain, Hal Spinosa walked into the break room. “Geez, Stokes. You finally get assigned to Homicide, and all you do is sit around drinking coffee.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Spinosa glanced at the television before pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “They say if the judge sentenced that fuck in Nevada?”
“Life at hard labor, oversight to be handled by Nevada. Best guess is he’ll be working with depleted uranium.”
“About time. How long ago did they arrest him?”
Nick added creamer to his coffee. “Fourteen months.” It was a timeline Nick knew all too well.
“It’s a wonder criminals ever get what’s coming to them, as slow as things move in this country.” Spinosa grimaced at the taste of his coffee. “They say anything about that guy Mobley screwed over?”
“Appeals Court said Mobley’s holdings should go to him. No word on if they’re going to go to the Supreme Court or not.” Nick took a cautious sip of his own coffee. As usual, it was too heavy and too bitter, even when it was doctored up.
“They’re better off trying to get their client —”
“Captain?” Frank, the department secretary stood in the doorway. “Call just came in — DB with suspicious circs.”
Spinosa glanced at Nick. “How’s your caseload?”
“Both cases are on hold until the ADA gets off her fat ass.”
“Not nice to talk that way about your sister.”
Nick grinned a little. “Yeah, well, you should hear what she has to say about me.” He dumped his coffee into the sink and tossed the cup. “Show me what you’ve got, Frank.”
Twenty minutes later, Nick pulled up to the crime scene to find three unhappy uniformed officers standing on the sidewalk. “Please tell me there’s a uniform inside.”
The sergeant, a woman with whom Nick had worked when he was still in Robbery, said, “No. His majesty kicked my guys out. Said they were messing up his crime scene. His. Can you believe that shit?”
“No. What I can’t believe is that you left a CSI in there alone, Sergeant. You know protocol.” She muttered something under her breath. “Say it louder, and you and I can be downtown in nothing flat to have another discussion with your captain,” he said, giving her a direct look. She glanced away first. “Is the coroner inside?”
She shot him a nasty look before saying, “Yeah.”
Nick grinned widely, though his eyes conveyed anything but friendliness. “Smile, Sergeant! You might just make it through the day without going on report.” He brushed past her and went up into the house.
Anne Chambers, the coroner, turned when Nick stepped in the door, and she put her arm in front of him. “Got booties?”
This time, his smile was genuine. “Don’t suppose you could loan me a pair, could you? I’m not really in the mood to face the three blind mice out there again.”
“Tell me about it. The bitching was loud and long when Tommy and I pulled up,” she said, rolling her eyes as she pulled a pair of booties out of her pocket, “Here. Knock yourself out. Body’s in the kitchen.”
With booties covering his shoes, Nick made his way to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the main traffic areas. He stood in the door for a moment, watching the CSI carefully look for evidence on the body. As he waited to talk to the man, Nick glanced around the kitchen, noting what seemed out of place and what didn’t.
He nearly had a heart attack when he heard a familiar voice say, “If you don’t have anything better to do, Nick, I suggest you look at the pictures on the wall to see if you can find anyone with long blonde hair.”
“Gil?” He’d cut his hair short and darkened it. And somewhere along the line, he’d decided to grow a beard. He didn’t look anything like he did in the news clip Nick had seen just an hour earlier.
“Yes?” He was bent down again, carefully tweezing something from the victim’s body.
“What are you doing here?”
Gil looked up at Nick. And then his eyes darted back and forth as he took in the kitchen before meeting Nick’s confused gaze again. Speaking slowly, he said, “This is a crime scene. I’m a crime scene investigator. Ergo —”
Nick’s paralysis broke. “I mean in Dallas. CNN said you were going to be teaching courses at Quantico.”
“As I recall, CNN also said I died two years ago.” Gil looked darkly amused. “In this case, however, they’re actually correct. I’ll be teaching at Quantico, but only a few courses a year. The rest of the time, I’ll be here in Dallas.”
“But —”
“Is Anne still in the front hall?”
“Yeah, but Gil —”
“Great. I want to get Mr. Sowter to the morgue.” Gil stood up. “Another CSI will be here in a little while to process the rest of the house. Will you let him know I went back to the lab?”
“Okay, but —”
“Anne? I’m ready to move Mr. Sowter.”
She called back, “Got it. We’ll bring the stretcher through the kitchen door.”
Nick stopped short of grabbing his arm. “Gil!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you — We haven’t talked in over a year.” Nick searched for words and didn’t find them. Eventually, he settled on a plaintive, “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
Gil frowned as he reached down for his kit. “I was kind of hoping I could talk you into going with me to Six Flags on Saturday, but other than that, no. Not really.”
“You want us to go to an amusement park?”
“Yeah.”
Nick felt like he’d dropped into the Twilight Zone. “On Saturday?”
“On Saturday. Eight o’clock good for you?” Gil closed his kit. “We can get breakfast on the way.”
Offering a hesitant, “Okay,” Nick watched as Gil exited the kitchen. The hell?
Gil knocked on Nick’s door and had to wait only a moment before it opened. “Hi, Nick.”
“Hey.” Nick looked wary, and Gil really couldn’t blame him. After his performance at the Sowter scene on Thursday, Nick had to be wondering what was going on. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” Little had changed inside since Gil’s abrupt departure, other than — “Ara–a!” The cage had a place of honor on the coffee table. “He’s gotten big.”
“He likes his crickets.” Nick kept a respectable distance from Gil, who sighed when he noticed it.
“I want to apologize for the other day.” Gil watched as Nick turned that over in his mind.
“I wasn’t sure what to think after you took off like that.” Nick dropped into the armchair, and Gil followed suit by sitting on the couch.
Remembering briefly that they’d had easier conversations when he was naked all the time, Gil said, “You caught me by surprise. I thought I’d have a chance to see you here first, but instead, you showed up at a crime scene. I didn’t handle it well.”
“I didn’t handle it all that well myself.” Nick glanced down at his hands. “I hadn’t spoken to you for so long, then all of a sudden, there you were.”
“I’m — I’m not sorry I didn’t call you after I got back to Vegas. I had a hard time adjusting. There was —” He stopped himself. “I was angry for a long time.”
Nick ducked his head as a dull flush rose on his face. “You have every right to be pissed at me. I still can’t understand why you didn’t press charges.”
Resisting the urge to go over to Nick just yet, Gil said, “I was angry at myself. Not you.” When Nick looked up in confusion, Gil continued, “If I’d told you where I was supposed to be, none of the rest would have been an issue.”
“No.” Nick shook his head. “I should have known there was a major problem just from the paperwork.”
Gil scooted closer to Nick. “Stop. Please. I didn’t move to Dallas only for you and me to start blaming ourselves every time we get together.”
Nick snapped out, “Then why did you move here? For the amusement park?”
“No, not just the amusement park,” Gil said on a chuckle.
“You’re not seriously telling me that Six Flags was a factor in your decision.” Nick looked askance at him. “Gil, that’s messed up.”
Speaking quietly, before his own reticence could trip him up again, Gil answered, “I moved to Dallas, because it’s where you are.” When he saw that he had Nick’s undivided attention, Gil continued. “This last year has been difficult. My friends and colleagues helped me through a lot of it, but what worked the best was hope.”
It took Nick a moment to respond. “I’m not following you.”
The time to speak was now, and Gil’s heart started pounding as he realized he needed to put everything out for Nick to see or risk killing his chances for good. He swallowed hard. “I hoped that if you and I had enough space, we might be able to start fresh one day, with our past safely behind us.”
“Start fresh?” Gil saw flash of emotion in Nick’s eyes that gave him the courage to continue.
“I missed you. I’ll admit, there were times when I was angry at you, but mostly, I missed you.” Missed his smile, his sense of honor, his —. Well. Everything, really.
“How can you say that after what I did to you? Martin was right.” Nick sounded defeated.
“No, he wasn’t —” Gil took a deep breath. This conversation had gone a hell of a lot better when he’d practiced it in his head. He left the couch and squatted on the floor close to Nick’s knee. “I used tell my team how it was impossible for a slave to consent, and to a certain extent, I was correct. But I was also wrong. When consent boils down to a choice between staying in a safe place or going to a place that might not be safe, it’s appropriate to say yes.”
“Gil —”
“And saying yes to you was incredibly easy.” He overrode Nick’s attempt to interrupt again. “You screwed up in a lot of ways — I’m not denying that. But I screwed up in a lot of ways, too.” Nick caught his breath at that. “While we can’t change what happened, we can change the way we look at it.”
Nick blinked as confusion and hope warred for dominance on his face. “I don’t understand.”
“I’d like for both of us to not hate ourselves for the mistakes we made. I’d like to be able to put that time behind us. I meant what I said earlier. I want to start fresh with you.”
“What do you mean by ‘start fresh’?” Hope gained the upper hand.
“I want us to date. To see if we can build something between us. To see if we really stopped being slave and owner.”
“So, today is a date?”
“Yes, if you agree.” For the first time since walking into Nick’s house again, Gil thought they might finally be getting somewhere.
Nick was silent for a long moment. “You really think we can make this work?”
“If you can learn to forgive yourself, yes, there’s a chance.” Gil waited as long as he could. “Well?”
Nick took a deep breath. “Just don’t make me get on any roller coasters. They make me sick.”
Gil grinned. It wasn’t the most auspicious start, but it was a start, and that was all he’d wanted. He stood and offered a hand up to Nick. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
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