The journey itself, is freedom
by Ainzfern
14
Exactly how long Enif had been riding his hover bike through the night-time streets of Tanagura he could not say. All he had wanted to at the time do was cover distance, feeling the miles being eaten up under the thrusters of his sleek machine, thinking of nothing more than the wind in his face, the oddly comforting feeling of powering along, alone and untouchable, under the cold stars and the light of the moons.
And now he was here. At some point in his travels, almost unbidden he had begun to follow a familiar path, to journey down roads and streets and broadways that he had barely dared to think about in years.
Apathia.
This particular street was dark and quiet, just like all the rest he had passed through since entering this exclusive part of the city. It was illuminated only by a few ornate street lamps placed at intervals along the roadside, spilling their golden pools of light down onto the wide footpaths.
It was coming on towards the middle of the night and, across the far side of the street from a grand Elite residence, Enif stood in front of his parked bike, his hands shoved into his pockets and his dark eyes staring, wide and filled with memory, up at the palatial building in front of him. Every now and then a visible shiver wracked his body, whether in response to the cold night air and the fact he that he wore no coat, or whether it was a physical manifestation of his deep internal upset, it was difficult to say.
Neither could he explain, even to himself, what had drawn him to this place. He simply did not know. After all, there was nothing for him here.
Not anymore.
Heaving a soft sigh Enif tilted his head, a frown of sorrow, of wistful regret, forming upon his scarred brow.
This house... This grand house with its perfectly manicured gardens and its expensive marble frontage, and its single light burning high up in one of the third floor windows... this had once been his home.
Had he been happy here?
Dropping his gaze to the road beneath his feet, Enif pondered that question. In truth, he wasn't sure. At the time he would certainly have said that he was. But, looking back, had that not just been mere affectation? An outward pose maintained because it was expected, because he had been trained to exhibit certain behaviors regardless of his inner feelings.
Had he not – truly, deep within himself – always known that his luxurious existence within those fine walls was only ever destined to be fleeting? Hadn't there been enough clues?
His Master had petted him with distant approval when pleased, but had he ever really seen him?
Ever? Even once? Enif just wasn't sure. He honestly could not recall a single moment where Kyle Li had looked at him with any emotion outside of a kind of general appreciation for his youthful attractiveness. Certainly the Elite had never reacted to him with any overt preference, differentiating between him and any other Pet that he owned.
Shaking his head, Enif turned his back on his former home and reached for his bike.
He would find no answers here.
"Hey there...," a deep voice, not altogether friendly, came from close behind him.
With a sharp and sudden intake of breath, Enif whirled to face a uniformed man standing just a few feet away from him.
Midas Security... and just beyond him, a second guard standing by the open rear door of a marked security vehicle that Enif had not even heard coasting up towards him, so lost in his thoughts had he been. The guard in front of him let his gaze drift first over the bike, and then Enif himself, his eyes narrowing with blatant suspicion and clear aversion as he quite obviously recognized Enif for what he was.
An ex-Pet.
An ex-Pet standing out in front of a high ranked Blondie's house in the middle of the night, Enif added the proviso silently as his gut tightened with anxiety.
"I, uhm...," Enif ran his hands nervously down the sides of his pants, "I was just leaving, Sir."
"I'm sure you were," the guard smiled at him. It might have just been the dim light, the shadows thrown by the street lamp, but it seemed to Enif that there was something kind of malicious in that smile.
His heart rate began to increase, his shoulders tensing, when he noticed the other guard sauntering over.
"You mind just telling us what business you have, being here this late?" the first guard spoke again.
"I was just...," Enif shrugged helplessly, knowing very well just how weak a reason it would sound, "I was just out riding, that's all."
"Yeah?" The first guard glanced over at his colleague. "Y'hear that, Mitch? He was just out riding."
Mitch barked a humorless laugh, looking Enif up and down with insulting slowness. "Oh sure. An ex-Pet lurking in the dark outside a senior Elite's house... and he was 'just out riding'," he grunted sourly. "Yeah, I'd believe that one."
Enif lifted his hands in a desperate little gesture. "I wasn't lurking anywhere. I was parked out in full view of—"
"This your bike?" the first guard cut him off.
"Yes, but please listen—"
"You own it, you say?" Mitch stepped towards him scowling.
Blinking rapidly, growing flustered by the rapid-fire questions, Enif took a step back, jolting to a stop when the back of his thighs bumped against his bike. "Yes... I do."
"Let's see your ownership papers, then." Mitch impatiently snapped his fingers a couple of times and then held out his hand. "Right now."
Swallowing hard through his dry throat, Enif reached for his back pants pocket and his wallet.
...and froze, his heart plummeting into his feet.
His wallet, and all the papers it contained, including his personal ID; it was not there. Enif's eyes widened in utter dismay as the realization hit him. He had left it at home, sitting on his dining table safe and secure and of absolutely no use to him whatsoever. He began to shake in earnest again, staring hopelessly at the two men in front of him.
Obviously seeing his expression change, the first guard vented a mocking little chuckle. "Let me guess... you forget to bring them?"
"I...," Enif trailed off, closing his eyes and nodding, bracing himself for what now appeared to be inevitable.
Just when he had thought things had gotten about as bad as they could get, his day was quite clearly about to get a lot worse.
"All right," the guard named Mitch grunted as he reached out and firmly took a hold of Enif's upper arm. "Best if you just come with us." He glanced at Enif's bike, once brow lifting. "This thing, we'll be impounding as possible evidence."
Struggling with his fear and a not inconsiderable amount of frustration, Enif tried to free his arm from that powerful grip. "But I haven't done anything," he objected hoarsely. "Why won't you just let me go home?"
"Calm it down, little man," the first guard quickly took hold of his other arm, helping Mitch to force-march Enif to the security vehicle. As they reached the car and firmly, even roughly, shoved Enif into the rear seat, the guard leaned in through the door, pinning him with a flat and unfriendly look. "You're asking 'why'?" he shook his head disgustedly. "We get a call from a high-ranker's Furniture telling us they got some weirdo lurking in the street outside their house... and it turns out to be a fuckin' ex-Pet of all things. One who's not carrying any ID papers and who can't actually verify his ownership of that pretty nice machine back there," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And you need to ask 'why'?... Not too bright, are ya'?" He slammed the door and climbed into the front passenger side next to his partner.
As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Enif stayed silent, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He had the strongest feeling that getting out of this mess was not going to be easy or pleasant. These men were not going to do anything to help him. He could see that clearly enough. Despite the fact that the laws now stated Enif was a free individual with rights; the reality of those facts were ultimately reliant on him being able to interact with civilians who were willing to accept them. Because, as he had just seen so clearly demonstrated, coming across people who didn't, meant that he would be treated just as poorly as if he had never been freed from Karden Maxx's factory at all.
Once again, the dreadful injustice of it all filled his stomach like acid. His breathing was rapid and harsh, his eyes burning from the weight of the tears that threatened, tears that he was now constantly fighting to hold back. He was tired and heartsick, scared and angry and hurt and distressed beyond belief. It was true that he was maintaining his composure, but only just... and only for now.
He had done nothing wrong! Enif's hands clenched, white knuckled and shaking, in his lap. He had been about to leave...
Heaving a great shuddering sigh, Enif rested his hot forehead against the window of the car, staring blankly out, watching the streets and the buildings flash by. And he waited. For whatever would come at the end of the journey. Once again, fate had removed any other choices.
He just had to hope that he would have enough strength left to handle it when it came.
In the brightly lit main office of the Department of Midas Security, bustling with activity even at this time of night, a weary and strained young man was struggling more desperately with every passing moment to keep calm, to retain both his wits and his reason in the face of a situation that was rapidly overwhelming his reserves. It had become very evident, very quickly, to Enif that the two security men who had arrested him were not at all interested in anything that he had to say, nor where they inclined to believe him.
They did however fully appear to be enjoying making him squirm.
"...Please," Enif sighed again for the umpteenth time since being sat down at the desk they were at. "If you would just contact Iason Mink or his Companion, Riki, and they will tell you—" he trailed off once more, hopelessly, when he saw the guards – Mitch and the other he now knew to be called Paulie – give each other a flatly amused glance.
"Look, I know he keeps spinning the same shit, but what do you think, Paulie?" Mitch drawled, leaning back in his chair with affected boredom. "D'you wanna be the guy who calls up the leader of the Tanagura Syndicate in the middle of the freakin' night to ask him if he knows this?" he waved a hand in Enif's direction.
"Oh, hell no," Paulie smirked at him.
Mitch nodded, turning back to Enif again, his face growing hard, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Try again."
Grimacing, his head aching, Enif pinched the bridge of his nose with one shaking hand. "There's no point," he said dully.
Paulie's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "You said what?"
Enif's trembling shoulders drooped with defeat and exhaustion. "I've already told you the truth. You're not hearing me."
Mitch abruptly leapt to his feet, leaning over the ex-Pet and pointing a finger directly into his pale face. "You want to spend the night down in the basement holding cell? Huh? Think your smart little mouth will get you out of trouble in there?"
Shrinking back, intimidated by the sudden attack and the lift in volume, Enif shook his head. "No..." he whispered, shaking his head, his dark eyes filling with alarm.
No. He didn't. In spite of Mitch and Paulie's assumptions, Enif was no fool. He knew exactly what would happen to him if he was thrown into an overnight holding cell with a score of thugs from lower Midas and the red-light districts.
Mitch sat back down slowly, shrugging matter-of-factly. "The thing is, boy – you don't mind if I call you 'boy', do you?" he smiled blandly, "you're not being straight with us. You still haven't come clean with us about what you were really doing out at Sir Li's residence, or where you really got that bike from. All you've done is spew out some total crap about being the most connected itinerant ex-Pet on the planet of Amoi."
"I am being straight with you, and I am not itinerant," Enif closed his eyes and pulled in a deep and shuddering breath, fighting for control. "If you would just call Sir Mink's residence—"
"All right, that's it!" Mitch slammed his hand down on the desk, making Enif jump and drawing some dully curious looks from around the office. He made a curt gesture at Paulie. "Call down to the fuckin' cells and tell 'em we've got another one for the night!"
Enif's eyes snapped open, his face blanching and deep horror rocketing through his body. He'd be killed. If he was lucky. His guts tightened and rolled over, his sudden terror so profound that he fought not to be sick. The kind of men that were in those cells, the drunk and drugged and the just plain violent... they would show him no mercy.
"Evening boys," a warm hand, large but oddly gentle, closed over Enif's shivering shoulder. The voice that spoke was roughened and gruff, a voice hardened by years of shouting orders and parade ground bawling. "Is there some kind of problem here?"
Enif looked up, peering at the man standing at his shoulder. Through the buzzing in his overwrought mind, he recognized the uniform as one of Iason Mink's own security team. He lifted his gaze to the man's face, impossible hope filling him.
Iron gray hair, powerfully broad shoulders, piercing green eyes and a rough-hewn face marked by several scars and the lines of harsh experience.
And, as if fate suddenly realized just how much Enif needed a miracle right now, it was also a face that he knew.
"Commander Mace?" he blurted, relief flowing through him in a great wave, momentarily weakening his muscles.
Iason's graying and bleak-faced security chief nodded tersely down at him in acknowledgment before directing a level gaze at the two guards who had been questioning Enif, both of whom were now upon their feet, having leapt up when Mace and the Commander of Midas Security himself, Hadren, had first reached the desk.
"Hadren?" Mace removed his hand from Enif's shoulder and turned an expressionless face towards the Commander. "These two..." he nodded at Paulie and Mitch, "are they new, by any chance?"
Hadren's face was flushed, and not just with embarrassment. His eyes were flatly angry as he appraised his suddenly nervous men. "No," he grated at length. "But I'd forgive you for thinking so."
"Huh," Mace grunted softly, making some show of looking over the desk in front of him before lifting his gaze back to the two security men again, his face as unreadable as stone. "I'm not seeing a charge sheet or any kind of arrest warrant here, boys."
Mitch and Paulie said nothing.
"How long've they had you here, Enif?" Mace asked, not breaking eye-contact with the guards for a moment.
"Uh...," Enif blinked and frowned muzzily, "I... I'm not sure. An hour, maybe?"
"Yet, no charges have been laid," Mace went on, his tone dangerously mild. "And... if I am not mistaken, as Hadren and I were walking over here, you two were arranging to send this kid down to the holding cells overnight – am I right?"
"Well, we... that is, uhm..." Mitch looked helplessly at his colleague. "He had no ID, Sir!" he blurted suddenly, pointing at Enif.
"Mitch!" Hadren snapped out. "Shut it!"
"Yes, Sir!"
Narrow eyed and gradually turning scarlet, Hadren grunted disgustedly. "You two are a damned disgrace, d'you hear me? Not only did your yelling interrupt a hellishly late meeting between me and Commander Mace, but when we stepped out of my office to see what the hell's going on, we found out that you'd gone and pulled in an employee of Iason Mink's Companion and the Federation Ministry of Trade and Foreign affairs." He threw his hands up in a despairing gesture. "What... are you two fuckin' insane?"
"But... Sir," Paulie had blanched sickly, glancing at Enif and wincing before looking back at his boss, "We got a report that he was loitering—"
"I don't give a good God-damn if he was taking a piss of the top of Eos Tower!!" Hadren roared at him. "You didn't bother to check his credentials, the first rule of any interview. You fucked up, and this kid is free to go!"
"Yes Sir," Paulie subsided, flushing deeply. "Sorry, Sir."
"Right," Hadren looked at Enif, lowering his voice. "Are you okay to get home?"
Enif ran his hands down his thighs, frowning as he tried to assimilate what had just happened. "I can leave?"
"You can, young man," Hadren nodded shortly. "The Department apologizes for your unfortunate experience."
"Oh." Rubbing his eyes, Enif heaved a tired sigh. "My bike... they took it somewhere."
Hadren pinned his men with another deadly look. "Oh beautiful. You impounded his bike."
"Well... yes Sir."
Mace tapped Enif's shoulder again, signaling him to stand. "I'll run him home," the heavy-set security chief told Hadren. "One of my men will be around first thing AM to collect the bike," he smiled coldly, his sharp green eyes shrewdly appraising Hadren's state. "I'll leave this pair to you, yes?"
Hadren gave him a thoroughly evil grin.
Mace turned back to Mitch and Paulie once final time. "I feel that it's only fair to warn you that I will be talking to Enif here about lodging a formal complaint against you both for harassment and wrongful arrest." He shook his head at them, his hard-bitten face unyielding. "As enforcers of the law, boys, there are some things that you simply do not do. Tormenting a helpless kid is one of them."
Enif had to admit, if the two guards had not been squirming before, they certainly were now and if he hadn't felt so awful, he probably would have enjoyed it.
With another terse nod in his direction, Mace indicated that it was time to leave. Falling into step with the big taciturn man, Enif kept pace as he was lead out of the main doors and into the parking lot. In silence Mace waved him towards a Syndicate marked vehicle, the usual long black and menacing monster, and a moment later he was settled in the passenger seat as Mace headed towards the space port.
Enif released a great breath, a profound feeling of respite washing through him from head to toe.
It was over.
"Thank you," he turned his face towards Mace, his cheek leaning against the headrest as he took in the granite-hard profile of the man beside him. "Thank you so much."
Mace grunted softly, his expression unchanging as he flicked on the indicators and smoothly changed lanes. "You wouldn't have needed help at all if you'd had your damned papers with you." His eyes were coldly disapproving when he glanced at Enif. "Stupid thing to do. Even a Civilian will be detained if they're unable to produce ID.... and someone in your position, boy, sure as hell should have known better. There are bigoted cretins like Mitch and Paulie everywhere you go, despite the laws. Only an idiot gives them any kind of ammunition."
Mace was right. Enif knew he was right. But how could he ever explain it? Especially to this man? How could he ever describe the state of mind he had been in when he left his apartment... even if he wanted to?
"I'm sorry," he said instead, turning to look out the front windscreen.
Mace simply made another impatient sound from deep in his solid chest and kept on driving
Enif was not sure how long it had taken for Mace to drive him home. It must have been some few minutes at least, however, because he had actually dozed off, the events of the day catching up with him. He jolted awake with a soft gasp when he felt Mace's hand on his shoulder again, this time shaking him awake.
"You're home," Mace advised him brusquely.
"Oh." Enif looked out the window of the care, seeing that this was indeed correct. He blinked vaguely, struggling to focus his mind enough to even open the door and get out.
It was so difficult.
Whether it was the fact that he was still dazed and muddled from his impromptu and inadequate nap or simply that his reserves had been wholly depleted, but everything seemed far too complicated. Thinking clearly, talking, even moving... he felt scattered all over the place, incredibly vulnerable and terribly, terribly alone.
He was beyond exhausted, both physically and emotionally, his head throbbing and feeling like it had been stuffed with sand. This day... from the dreadful and so very final news of Dian's ultimate end, through literally bumping into Kyle Li, that feared and loved and hated specter of his past, to his arrest and humiliation at the hands of Midas security for doing nothing more than standing on the footpath outside a place he used to live. This terrible, devastating day had completely beaten him down; overwhelming what little resilience he might have still had, crushing his defenses utterly.
And Mace was right here... the man who had rescued him, had seen him safely home. In Enif's disjointed state of mind, he could only focus on the facts in front of him now. Mace had helped him. Mace, although not an Elite, certainly fell well into the category of Enif's social betters – an upper caste citizen who outranked him completely. And Mace had been kind and had saved him, and Enif was so grateful and he was so lonely and so desperately tired of not having anyone to touch him, to warm him, even if only for a brief while and... Well, he really didn't have anything else to offer by way of appreciation, did he?
"You can come in if you like," he mumbled, leaning closer to the hard-hewn man in the driver's seat, "Stay the night? I can thank you properly."
Initially, Mace didn't reply. But a muscle in his solid jaw worked for a few seconds as he stared, stone-faced out the windscreen of the car. At length, he turned in his seat, his piercing green eyes leveling a long calculating look at Enif's pale and drawn face. Without a word, he alighted from the car and rounded the bonnet to the passenger side, opening the door and reaching in to pull the ex-Pet, non-too-gently, out of the vehicle.
Still in absolute silence, Mace marched him to his front door. He reached into Enif's pocket, retrieved his door key and let them both into the apartment, securing the door behind them.
Enif was subjected to another long slow stare and, this time, despite his weariness, he also felt a surge of disquiet, of fear, creeping up his spine. He didn't really like the way Mace was looking at him. In fact, the grizzled scar-faced security chief was starting to look almost frightening.
Not quite the reaction Enif had been expecting.
With a sharp shove from one solidly muscled arm, Mace abruptly sent Enif stumbling towards his sofa in the middle of his living area. Barely managing to keep his feet, Enif turned, hands lifted in a defensive gesture, his eyes widening, "Hey—"
"Shut the hell up," Mace barked at him, his eyes flashing fire.
Enif snapped his mouth shut.
Mace pointed at the sofa, his voice dropping to a deadly growl. "Sit."
Heart pounding, mouth dry, Enif sat down.
The silence drew out as Mace continued to stare at him, then with a shake of his head, the grey-haired man's face creased into an expression of deep disgust. "Boy, let me tell you something," he rasped in his roughened voice, "the last man who insulted me as badly as you just did ended up carrying his teeth home in his pockets, d'you follow me?"
Enif swallowed hard, a soft sound of confusion and distress leaving his throat.
Mace set his jaw. There was not a single sign of softening, not a single indication of forgiveness in that cold countenance. "Now, considering where I found you tonight, I'm willing to allow for the fact that you must've had one hell of a day, kid. But if you ever, I mean ever, think that you can get away with suggesting that I'd be the kind to take sexual favors off anyone, you'd better also be prepared to get your ass kicked."
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Enif shook his head, his face burning, his chest aching.
Mace was having none of it. With a curt gesture of one hand, he cut Enif off once more. "I know all about you," he went on, his voice lowering just the tiniest touch. "Don't you realize that? I know the work that you and Riki are doing for Minister Neeson... and I respect the value of it." He shook his head, his scarred face creasing up again. "But it makes me ask myself: why the hell would you undermine all of that hard work by acting like a brainless whore just because I show you a spark of common decency?"
Enif realized he couldn't answer that question. His throat had closed up too much; his breathing had become rapid and shallow, sweat breaking out on his face, his neck and chest. He was shivering, unable to respond with anything more than a helpless shake of his head, a silent expression of his confusion and upset.
"Listen, son," Mace straightened his broad shoulders, looking sternly down at the young man, "I tell this to the boys in my team and now I'm telling it to you. Too much self righteousness is an ugly thing, but a little bit is necessary to succeed in life." His mouth thinned into a hard line. "What you've got to learn to do is concentrate on all the things you can do, not what you can't. You need to stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself and start working with what you've got. You've got freedom, boy. You're not a God-damned Pet anymore, so get a backbone and stop acting like one."
The heat flooded into Enif's face so quickly, he was absently surprised that his head didn't explode. He stared up at Mace, feeling stung; feeling hurt and angry and embarrassed and knowing that Mace was so right about so much of it, and yet so wretchedly wrong at the same time. He pulled in a breath to speak, to defend himself, to try and explain to the intimidating and judgmental savior in his living room, just how much pain, how much misery he had endured in his short life to bring him to this point.
At least, that's what he had intended to do.
Instead, with that single inhalation, he simply felt himself shatter. It was all too much, too hard. He was too tired, too wounded and heartbroken. A low moan, a dreadful sound of misery and despair, shuddered out of his heaving chest. He began to weep, his tears not just falling, but literally pouring down his ashen face. He hated himself for showing this weakness, for not being able to hide it, especially from this man, this strangely fearsome man with his scars and his grim face and his cold eyes. But he couldn't stop.
He could not stop.
Through his sobs came the words, jumbled and tripping over each other but still coherent enough. Between hiccupping breaths and great gut-wrenching cries of grief and pain, Enif told his story. All of it, from the moment he was first discarded by a Master who credited him with no more value than a piece of gaudy jewelry. His tiny living room was his confessional, and Mace his unlikely recipient. He told of the fear, the cruelty and the brutality of slaving for Karden Maxx in the fabrication factory on the outskirts of Midas. Of never having enough to eat, of never getting enough sleep, of being forced to work through exhaustion and sickness, and injury. Of being at best struck and, at worst beaten, every single day. Of knowing that no matter what happened, he was always to blame, always at fault. Of the humiliation, the suffering and the terror, of being thrown down onto the floor in the center of the factory, to be laughed at and abused and tormented for sport by a drunken group of Maxx's so called 'buddies'... of never knowing when this might happen, of never knowing if, this time, they really were going to kill him.
Trying to run away, but never getting far. Being taken back for more of the same.
And then there was Dian.
Resting his head back on the sofa, Enif stopped even trying to fight the tears. He just let them come, let them flow down his face and dampen the fabric of his collar, while he haltingly spoke of his friend, his lover, his mate; the only person in Enif's life who had ever really cared about him... a gentle, beautiful soul, who brought laughter back into his life, even if just for a short while. Who died, because the callous civilian who managed the factory couldn't find it in his hard heart to allow them even that tiny corner of happiness; who was taken from Enif's arms and thrown to the wolves and allowed to be murdered with complete impunity.
And all because Enif had loved him.
And eventually it was done, it was told. The dam had finally burst asunder; all of Enif's misery, all his grief and sorrow and despair, had gushed from him in one agonizing flood. He could barely move. He just sat there, head back, eyes closed, beyond feeling anything other a bone deep, wearying numbness spreading through his limbs.
Vaguely, he heard movement somewhere in his apartment. Footsteps in his kitchenette. The tap over the sink being turned on and off. The footsteps returned and the sofa cushions shifted a little as someone sat down beside him, then...
"Here." A damp cloth, cool and soothing against his hot skin, was laid over his forehead. "This'll help."
A warm hand, calloused but gentle enough, slipped under the back of his neck, lifting his head up. The cool smooth edge of a glass rested against his lips and he opened his eyes, looking almost uncomprehendingly into a steady gaze that suddenly seemed to be anything but cold.
"Drink, Enif," Mace told him softly. The words were an order, Enif noticed, but the inflection was not. Mace had gentled his voice and his expression seemed almost regretful. "C'mon, kid, you need to get some water into you."
With Mace steadying his hand, Enif sipped at the water carefully, letting each mouthful ease its way down into his tense stomach.
"Do you have any aspirin?" Mace asked him after a few moments.
Nodding, Enif let his head rest back again. He was so tired. Dear God he was so damned tired. "Over the sink," he murmured, his voice a mere breath of sound. "In the kitchen."
With a soft grunt of acknowledgment, Mace got to his feet again. Enif, closing his eyes once more, sat still and silent, listening to the man moving about. When he felt, rather than heard, Mace settle onto the sofa beside him again, he sighed softly and opened his eyes once more, peering blearily at the hard bitten security chief.
Mace reached out and took Enif's hand in his, turning the palm up so that he could drop a couple of small tablets into it. "Take these," he instructed, his manner gentler now, for all that his words were still brusque. "That was one hell of crying jag. I'm betting your head hurts like a bitch."
"Yes," Enif hiccupped again, just softly. He took the pills and washed them down with the rest of the water in his glass, which Mace then immediately refilled without comment, once more returning to sit beside him, patiently waiting, with no apparent need for conversation.
Just being there, Enif realized. Absently, he wondered if Mace ever looked after the men in his security unit like this when they were hurt or sick.
Probably, he figured. Mace seemed like the type to take his responsibilities very seriously.
All of a sudden, even in his currently worn-out state, it occurred to Enif that Mace wasn't actually all that intimidating anymore. In fact, his quiet presence was almost comforting. He radiated a kind of calm dependability; a solid and unflappable, if somewhat bleak-faced, steadiness.
Which, right now, Enif knew he needed very much.
Moments passed in silence as Enif finished his second glass of water. It wasn't a strained or uncomfortable silence at all. Just quiet. Mace obviously did not feel the need to fill such hushed spaces with chatter about nothing.
It was almost peaceful.
In a way, Enif felt a kind of tension had left him. A weight that he hadn't even known he'd been carrying was now lifted. He had needed to do this, to tell someone the whole truth, to share the burden of the pain he carried. He had needed to break down, before he could start to mend. Of course, he had never expected that the person to push that particular button would be Iason Mink's chief of security. That fact alone was more than a little awkward in the aftermath.
"I'm sorry I cried like that," he whispered, resting his head to one side so that he could meet Mace's gaze. "I hope I didn't embarrass you."
Mace stared at him for a second before replying. "You didn't," he said simply. "And, as for being sorry about it? Don't. Some things, Enif, are worth crying over. In fact, some things are worth all the tears a man can give them."
Enif nodded a silent thanks, his eyes drifting shut once more. Again, he felt Mace's hand slide behind his neck only, this time, the older man was guiding him to lie down on the sofa, carefully resting his head against the cushioned arm. All bemused at the apparently genuine solicitousness, Enif roused himself enough to watch through slitted eyes as Mace pulled the folded rug off the back of the sofa and covered him with it, before turning away and approaching the shelf on the far wall that held Enif's meager collection of books. He scanned the selection for a moment or two, then chose a title and moved to the old armchair beside Enif's sofa, seating himself and appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be settling in for the duration.
"You're not leaving?" Enif asked quietly, his words sounding thick with exhaustion.
Clear green eyes flicked his way. An iron-grey brow lifted thoughtfully. "Nope," Mace replied at length, before turning his attention back to the book in his lap and loosening a couple of buttons at the collar of his uniform jacket with one hand.
Enif waited for a little while but, as no more seemed to be forthcoming, he felt himself give a kind of internal shrug, settling over onto his side and heaving a great sigh, allowing his breathing to become steady and deep and even, allowing the world and all its hurts and uncertainties to just slip away from him. He didn't so much fall asleep as pass out but, as the welcome darkness descended over his senses, Enif retained just enough cognitive function to be grateful for the fact that, at least for this night, someone was watching over him.
The journey itself... – chapter 13 << >> The journey itself... – chapter 15