Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
15
Despite his weariness and his deep personal worry, Riki nearly smirked when there was a moment of absolute silence following Tahna Lam's description of the events he had witnessed the previous night. Whether it was a combination of relief that they now had a clear lead to follow at last and a renewed sense of urgency to go with it, or actually sheer amazement that the eminently unhelpful head of history and antiquities had given them something they could work with, Riki could not say.
Either way, the pause in conversation was pretty damned profound.
They stood in a strange little tableau, Riki also noticed; Raoul, Iason and himself on one side, with Tahna and an oddly attentive Chey Neeson on the other.
"We have him, then," Raoul said quietly, breaking the silence, hope infusing every word, "If Blaine used one of those vehicles to transport Katze, we will be able to find him."
Riki looked at him, a slight frown on his face. "How are you gonna do that, exactly? Doesn't the Syndicate have a fleet of about fifty of the things?"
"Yes, it does," Iason answered in his velvet voice, "but what Blaine quite clearly does not know is that each of the Syndicate service vans is equipped with a built-in tracer beacon." He met Riki's dark eyes with grim satisfaction. "Standard fitting out of the factory. Raoul and I know about the tracers because we approved the original recommendation from Jupiter security to install them." The Elite leader glanced at Raoul, his face composed but a wealth of compassion in his eyes. "It now becomes a matter of turning our attention to verifying the whereabouts of each of the vans and cross-referencing that back with the dispatch department."
"Ah. Clever," Chey raised his brows, comprehension flooding his handsome face. "So... if one is located where it actually shouldn't be..."
"Correct." Iason vented a low sigh.
"It's not perfect, of course," Chey mused, frowning deeply, "but it's certainly the best lead we have."
"Indeed it is," Iason's manner became very serious as he gave Tahna a direct look. "You are certain of what you saw?" he asked him. "One hundred percent?"
"Of course I am," Tahna shot him a piqued little look and ran one hand through his pale hair in an agitated gesture. "Now... seeing as I have very obviously played my part in your drama, may I leave?"
"No," Iason flipped his cell phone open, "you may not."
Tahna peered askance at him. "Iason, I am heavily committed in my schedule—"
"Then you will un-commit," Iason turned and walked a few steps away from the group, speaking in a low voice to his chief of security, dispensing a series of concise instructions.
Tahna's jaw had dropped. "I don't... He can't be serious!" The Elite turned to Chey, outrage in his huge eyes.
Riki leaned one hip against the back of the armchair that he had previously been napping in, watching the scene unfold with no small amount of amusement. Even through his own feelings of anxiety over his friend's welfare, seeing Tahna getting his nose all out of joint was always worth the price of admission.
Besides, Riki's lips quirked into a tiny sad smile, Katze would have thought it was funny.
"Tahna," Chey was saying calmly, "you were a witness to criminal act taking place. That means you can't go anywhere until either Iason's security chief, or Midas law enforcement, have debriefed you."
The Blondie glared at him, literally vibrating with anger. "You are bound and determined to ruin my life, aren't you, Neeson?" he hissed furiously.
To Riki's surprise, Chey merely smiled, looking at Tahna as though he was endearing rather than irritating. "Well," he replied quite mildly, "every man ought to have a worthwhile hobby." He gestured to one of the armchairs nearby. "Have a seat," his smile widened. "You might as well be comfortable while you extemporize on your utter disdain of me."
Riki tilted his head curiously as Tahna rather ungraciously seated himself, noting that although the Blondie very obviously resented the hell out of the whole situation, he actually did what Chey had told him to do.
Interesting...
"Well?" Raoul had turned to Iason as the Elite leader completed his phone call. "How long does Mace estimate it will take to verify the vehicles?"
To Riki's eyes Iason didn't look happy at all as he replied. "Another hour at most."
Raoul glanced out the window at the mid afternoon sky, his brow creasing again with a whisper of renewed anguish. "Another hour," he echoed Iason's words, his voice tight with upset, "and then, potentially, as much as one or two more to actually reach the location once we identify it."
Riki nearly winced. That Raoul was allowing even this much outward emotion to show through, especially with Tahna Lam in the immediate vicinity, was clear sign that the strain was starting to hurt. He stifled a sigh as he met Iason's worried gaze. He felt a great swell of almost painful empathy for Raoul's position. He couldn't even imagine now, loving Iason as much as he did, how he might feel, if he could even function half as well as Raoul was, if something like this were to happen to him.
Raoul looked at Iason, a soft sound of anger and distress leaving his throat. "I should have insisted that he attend the after-party last night," he berated himself in a low voice. "This would never have happened if he had been at my side."
Iason moved to stand directly before him, his expression becoming resolute. "There is no possible way you could have foreseen such an event, Raoul. You are not omnipotent."
Peripherally, Riki noticed Tahna straightening in his seat, drawing in a breath to speak. Turning sharply in Tahna's direction Riki narrowed his eyes in a warning glare, prepared quite seriously to tell the Elite to keep his observations to himself for once.
He didn't have to.
Sitting just a few feet from the irritable Blondie, his expression artfully mild, Chey had for some reason casually extracted a notebook from his breast pocket. He flipped it open with a soft papery-sounding snap, fished out his pen and then turned to Tahna, a bland smile on his lips and one dark brow arched expectantly.
With his beautiful eyes flashing briefly with absolute affront, Tahna glowered daggers at the man. Then, in a move that quite honestly startled Riki, he shut his mouth and sat back, his perfect face set in a sullen little moue of discontent.
Nodding, Chey nonchalantly slipped the notebook back into his pocket.
Shaking his head, perplexed by the odd little by-play but far too distracted to wonder about it now, Riki turned his attention back to Iason and Raoul.
Quite unaware of the interaction that had just occurred across the room, Iason was continuing to talk to his suffering friend, his voice soft and oddly soothing. "Mace and his team are already en-route back to Jupiter Tower, ready to escort us to wherever we need to go." He gripped Raoul's shoulder, his clasp firm and strong. "As soon as Hadren's team has a location for us, we will act. Katze will not spend one more night away from you."
Riki smiled grimly. He'd heard that tone before, all right, and he believed without a doubt that Iason would come through.
They would get Katze back.
Anything else just didn't even bear thinking about.
Katze was not sure exactly what had woken him from the thin and uneasy sleep he had slipped into some time after Blaine Dal had stormed from the room; whether it had been a sound or whether he somehow simply sensed a presence near him even as he slept. Whatever the cause, he nonetheless jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his fuzzy mind clearing rapidly when he immediately saw Blaine seated in the chair by the heavy door, just watching him.
Sitting slowly, Katze kept his eyes locked warily on the eerily still Elite, a vaguely sick feeling washing through his stomach as he realized that Blaine must have been there staring at him for some time. Slowly, he lifted one hand to brush the tousled hair out of his eyes, before gently touching the side of his face, wincing as the tenderness of his deeply bruised cheekbone made itself known again with a dull sullen throb.
Fuckin' Platina had whacked him a couple of good ones, Katze worked his jaw carefully for a moment, no denying that. He was probably very lucky that his cheekbone hadn't been shattered, although, from the hot and strangely numbed feel of it, Katze definitely suspected the real possibility of a fracture there somewhere.
"I wish for you to know," Blaine said then, the soft sound of his voice slightly startling Katze. "I... did not mean for you to be harmed. That was never my intention."
The ex-Furniture tilted his head; his gaze shifting to meet Blaine's shadowed grey eyes, searching for some sign of the Elite's current state of mind. Blaine looked calm enough, but Katze now knew that meant nothing. He had also seemed in control of himself earlier, in the instant before he had exploded, literally smacking Katze halfway across the room.
Blaine smiled slightly, reaching down beside his chair and producing small cloth-wrapped object. He rose, slowly approaching the mongrel, holding the item out to him.
After a moment of hesitation, Katze took it from, his expression growing questioning when he felt the coldness of it seeping through to his fingers.
"It's an ice pack," Blaine explained, nodding at it. "For your face."
"Oh," Katze wet his lips, carefully keeping his expression as blank as possible, still cautious of showing any flash of emotion to this clearly unstable Elite. Raising the pack, he carefully applied it to his cheek, a deep sharp inhalation his only outward sign of discomfort. After a moment, he felt the cold easing into his flesh, relieving the worst of the ache, at least for now. "Thank you," he muttered, lowering his gaze again.
"You won't be here much longer, Katze," Blaine murmured. "Very soon, I will make contact with Iason and, once he arrives, I will set you free."
Katze did not reply. He knew if he spoke too much his resentment would surface again, and he was nothing if not a realist. It was very clear to him now that Blaine was far from stable, either mentally or emotionally; a most dangerous state of being for a creature physically powerful enough to shatter bones with nothing more than the strength of his deceptively elegant hands. If Katze was to have any chance of getting out of here without incurring further injury, he would have to play the part of the obedient mongrel. At least for now. Of course, if the Elite dropped his guard at any time, if Katze spotted even the smallest opportunity to make a break for it, he would most certainly take it. But right now... Right now he just wished like hell Blaine Dal would move the fuck away from him.
"Is it providing any relief?" The Elite's deep and silken voice asked.
"Yeah," Katze shifted on the surface of the mattress, moving back a little as he closed his eyes and leaned his bruised face further into the ice-pack.
"My reaction... to your earlier words," Blaine murmured then, his voice still low and tightly controlled. "You must understand, I have lived my entire life according to the conventions dictated by Jupiter's social laws. Killing my belo—," Blaine broke off, and Katze heard him swallow heavily, "killing Tian," Blaine continued after a moment, "was the most difficult thing I have ever done, but at least I was able to find some small comfort in the fact that it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. Now, however..." Blaine's deep sigh sounded as though it was rising from his very soul, "I don't even have that."
Wincing slightly, Katze nodded, even as he kept his eyes shut, kept the ice-pack resting against his injured face. "I really shouldn't have passed comment anyway," he said carefully. "You're right, I don't know what it felt like, being in your shoes, making that choice."
"I suppose you think I'm rather weak, in retrospect," Blaine replied.
Katze grew very, very still, listening intently.
"But once again," Blaine went on in an almost clinical manner, "you have conducted most of your interactions with Blondie Elites... the highest in the social order of Jupiter's caste divisions. Indeed, at times I have seen, all my life, how they circumvent the rules that apply to the rest of us in a myriad of both subtle and obvious ways. So you see Iason Mink is different from me, yes... in that he had the opportunity to make the choice that I did not."
"But, still... the risk he took—" Katze began hesitantly.
Blaine's soft chuckle was filled with derision. "Oh really? There was actual risk? Against Jupiter's chosen favorite? Katze, you are quite naïve in many ways, aren't you?"
Hearing the definite hardening, the unspoken warning in that tone, Katze discarded any further notions of debate. Instead, he nodded again, keeping his voice low and even slightly conciliatory as he answered. "I suppose I am."
For a long moment, silence reigned within the small and spartan room. Katze actually began to wonder at the pause, hoping that it might mean Blaine was about to leave; that the conversation was, at least for now, over. But then the Elite sighed again.
"Tian had hair like yours, you know," Blaine said quietly, almost distractedly.
Katze gasped softly, his eyes snapping open.
"It was exactly the same color," Blaine went on, his tone distant and preoccupied. "At least... that's what I recall."
Katze felt the lightest brush of long fingers across his hair, and a trickle of fear slid up his spine. He swallowed, taking a deep breath, shifting once more and preparing to brace himself for whatever was next.
"It's soft," Blaine breathed, his voice vibrating with longing. "Your hair. It's as soft as his was."
Unbidden, Katze began to shake, the tension ratcheting up inside his gut.
"It's been so long, Katze. Do you understand?" Blaine sighed, deeply. "So long since I touched something as soft as this."
Katze stayed as motionless as possible, his eyes wide, his entire self filling with a dreadful awareness, a dreadful sense of foreboding.
"Tell me," Blaine said almost absently. "When Raoul... when he fucks you, does he touch it?" The stroking fingers began to move with more intent, sliding through the strands, stroking down to the nape of Katze's neck.
"Oh God," Katze whispered. He set the ice-pack down, his heart beginning to thump painfully, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at that wandering unwelcome caress.
"It's what I would have done, Katze," Blaine's fingers gently gripped the soft hair at the base of Katze's head, sifting slowly through it. "If I had ever had the chance to bed my Tian... Oh yes, I would have touched his hair."
It was too much. Even though logically, he understood such an act was foolish, even potentially suicidal, Katze simply could not endure the feeling of those oddly cold and terribly unfamiliar fingers. In one sudden almost instinctive move, he reached up and gripped Blaine's wrist, shoving the Elite's arm away as he twisted sideways and lurched off the bed onto his unsteady feet, his chest heaving and both hands held up in front of him. "Don't," he said flatly, his voice shaking. "Don't touch me."
Blaine's grey eyes blazed furiously. His rich mouth curved into a sudden hateful sneer of rage. "You dare to give orders to me? You? An ill bred mongrel?" he moved in towards Katze with slow deliberate steps, stalking him like some great enraged cat, his formerly calm demeanor flashing away to be replaced by that same dreadful fury, that same insane intensity of ire that Katze had seen before. "You have no breeding... you have received no training. The lowest Pet from the Academy is superior to you and yet an Elite, a Blondie Elite of the highest order, willingly lies down with you, because he is allowed to; sullying his flesh inside yours." He shook his head disdainfully, even as a dreadful need appeared in his wild eyes. "There's no place for your slum prudishness here, Katze." He took another step forward, coming to within arm's reach of the ex-Furniture. "I have been denied my entire life. I will not tolerate it any longer."
Knowing it was hopeless, yet no more able to stop himself from moving than he could stop himself from breathing, Katze made a desperate charge. He darted forward, shoving at the Elite's shoulder with his, the suddenness of it causing the larger man the stumble back a step as he lunged for the door, his hands desperately grabbing for the handle, wrenching at it; betting on the desperate gamble that, this time, it might not be locked; that the Platina might have considered him too cowed a captive to bother.
He was wrong. In the next second, Blaine's weight landed on his back, crushing him against the unyielding metal. He felt his breath leave him in a tortured rush from the dreadful impact of Blaine's powerful body. He felt himself roughly grabbed by the upper arm, the Elite's grip painful in its strength as he was spun to face Blaine's enraged countenance before being shoved backwards, his shoulders impacting against the door with bruising force.
Katze struggled. Twisting within and pushing desperately against the Elite's immovable hold, he did his utmost to break free from that awful grip. But it was no use. A soft cry broke free as Blaine struck him sharply across the mouth, before slamming him back against the door again, leaving him dazed and bleeding and gasping for breath.
And then Blaine was all over him, the Elite's breath hot against the side of his face, his immovable frame trapping Katze in place while those insistent hands roamed gracelessly over his shaking body, covetously groping him, grabbing him painfully about the thighs and crotch, roughly trespassing upon those private places where only Raoul Am was welcome. Katze knew what Blaine was going to do to him, even as he tried to cringe away from the unrelenting heat of the Elite's erection jutting against his lower belly. However, as scared as he was, as hurt as he was, there was a part of the ex-Furniture's mind that stayed coldly clear, thinking rapidly, reaching for something that might turn the tide.
Quite deliberately, Katze stopped resisting. Breathing deeply to compose himself, he pressed his bruised face against the side of Blaine's neck, wetting his lips as the words formed up in his throat. "What you're trying to take from me, Blaine," he said quite calmly, quite clearly, "belongs to Raoul Am... and he is not your enemy."
Blaine froze. Even his breathing seemed to halt.
"You can't go back from something like this," Katze pressed on, lifting his hands and curling them lightly around the Platina's upper arms, pushing gently at him. "Do you really want this on your conscience?"
The Elite abruptly let go of Katze, stepping back, his broad chest heaving as he stared with actual horror at the man before him; at the torn clothes, the bruised and bloody face. Shaking his head, Blaine gulped in a great shuddering breath. "Move," he rasped out, his eyes filled with something close to chagrin. "Move out of my way."
Katze did. Staggering slightly, he stepped clear of the door and, without another word, Blaine hastily unlocked it, stepping quickly through before securing it behind him.
In the silence left behind, Katze sank to the floor, whatever strength he had leaving him under the sudden and profound rush of relief that flooded his body. Breathing heavily, shaking through every limb, he stayed there for a long time, not even feeling the moisture that fell from his eyes, so great was his shock and distress. He had no idea if it was what he had said, or some other influence, that had turned the Elite from his original course but, whatever the hell it had been, he was grateful for it.
After a few more moments, he rose painfully to his feet and moved back to the bed. As he sat heavily, staring at the door with unseeing eyes, he almost absently picked up the ice-pack again and held it to his face.
"Find me soon, Raoul," he whispered at length, his throat aching. "Please... find me soon."
Beyond fate... – chapter 14 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 16